It takes all kinds

To make the world go round.

Right?  Yeah..... I am really not much of a blogger (no shit), but I wanted to write about something that has been on my mind.  My wee little pea brain mind.  After many years of meeting people with MS online (and in today's words that translates to having NEVER have met them in real life....), I have noticed a common thread.  Not with all of them mind you. And some are like the squeaky wheel, or the rotten apple in a way....in terms of what I am about to address.

I touched on it before, but I a different manner.  It was a different topic, but had a sliver of this piercing the heart of it.

Guess I will jump right in. ...oh, and this could be for any chronic illness, disease, what fucking ever....it could apply.  I am talking about the THEN and the NOW.  Some people, on blogs I have read that have MS, have brought me to tears. Like their words have given me that tight throat feeling. That rush of emotion. That empathy.  And a couple others, have left me feeling like 'you are a fuck face, and it wouldn't matter if you had MS or not, because you around still be a fuck face!"

Misery loves company...I suppose I have heard. And it rings true, man.  Some people are so pathetic. Just fucking pathetic. Miserable. No matter what happens, they are pathetic. Pious. You name it. And seriously....MS does not exclude you from fucking life. Life.  You are NOT exempt.  You don't get a get out of jail free card because you have an illness that millions of others suffer or deal with....tons of people get diagnosed every fucking day. A lot of those poor bastards have kids, families, people that they truly care about, and that care about them.....and you don't get to treat people like shit just because of you disease. You are not the only fucking one. And you have no right to paper your cesspool of a life and garner sympathy from strangers.

Regardless of this illness you still gotta put forth the effort. You still have to either forgive or forget or tell them to fuck off and be done with it.  No matter what, you are unhappy. You sorry ass motherfucker.  You poor thing.  Is that what does it for you?  You are equally culpable.  Big deal if you have MS....ot fucking lupus, or chroma.....big fucking deal.  Meds and doctors, and insurance, or no insurance, and rent or mortgage, or homeless....whatfucking ever......it's the way it is.  Shit or get off the pot.  Stop being such a fuck face.  It's either this or it's that.  That was then, man.....this is now.  It was never easy......walking or rolling.  Pain free or painful.

....and I don't proof read. So typos are a dime a dozen.....

But that's what I wanted to say.

colder than a witchs tit....

This is BB....my bad-ass pigeon.  He is actually much cuter than this in real life...not an easy animal to get a photo of....

Winter here....what a treat. 

Rommel & Liam......so cute its fucken sickening. bromantic, big time.

If a girl falls in the woods....

I was going to try to get all witty with a word play there, but I didn't.....

So, I have news....good-ish...for me.

Having 60+ acres of land, in the winter, in Vermont.....pretty daunting for a cripple, eh?  Holy hell, yes.  But, I had mentioned to y'all about my super bad ass four wheeler....

(this four wheeler is so seriously bad ass...and my dilemma was which celtics jersey number would I paint on it?  #5?  Cos similar to KG this is an incredible machine...a beast.  Or, #9?  Because of how fast it goes while weaving in and around obstacles....... Decided just to paint a shamrock on it. Yeah, I am a heinsohn prodigy.  Celtics bias coursing through the green blood flowing through my veins....blah blah blah)

Ok.  So, since we haven't bought chains for its tires yet.... But wanted to venture into the woods and gawk at the beauty under a blanket of snow....I thought "voila"... Years ago, when I was fully mobile, I had snow shoes because I was a go-go-go person.... Snow, sleet, sweltering heat...as long as it was outside.  Anyhow, I have the poles...so I figure, fuck it, why not try. I didn't have high hopes.  I really didn't.  About a foot of powdery snow....and a cripple with snow shoe poles.  In the woods, dude.

I got Rommel all set up in his nice bright yellow tshirt, because mother fuckers around here have a penchant for shooting people's German shepherds because they all 'look like coyotes'.  It just happened again recently a couple towns over. Sad.  Some hunter shot some woman's four year old German shepherd in HER YARD!  Yeah.  I don't trust anyone, so poor Rommel has to sport a tshirt until I get his OSHA orange dog safety vest ordered.   And, our land is posted....but, that didn't stop a hunter from shooting a doe out back and then dragging it to the road via our pseudo front yard. (we have a huge lawn span.....like a football field.....so, yeah, basically our front yard.  Whatever....I digress.

Back to the cripple with snow shoe poles and a foot of snow.  I cannot walk on my own.  I cannot stand on my own.  I cannot balance at all, and if I try to stand I end up bent at the hips to maintain any type of balance to stay on my feet.  Figured the poles would be good.  We started our journey across the front yard, to the wood line, and then there is a bit of a hill, and once up it, there is a flattish trail that wraps around and finally comes around way behind the house.  That was my goal.  Just to do that little bit. Glenn walks it in about ten minutes. Ten minutes. Took me an hour.  But, I fucking did it.  I was coasting on fumes for the final stretch.  How victorious.  I fell, a few times.  Rommel walking over and looking at me like 'wtf are you doing?'.

I could elaborate on how difficult is was.  I could get dramatic and dish on my internal dialogue.  I could get poetic, but I won't.  I try to be succinct...but meander.

Bottom line, I did it.  I had promised myself that I would try, with very little expectations.  That if I couldn't, that I wouldn't verbally vivisect myself.  I promised I wouldn't be in denial about it. I wouldn't cry......I promised myself I would concede and move on.  But, I did it.  A ten minute walk in an hour.  Thank you snow shoe poles..... I kinda feel human.  I got to do something normal...ish.

Keep it real....fake

I don't know about you and holidays.....but after the first of the year I leave the season feeling muddied, dirtied....a fucking hypocrite.

Family, significant others family.  People.  People that I would, under any other circumstances, never spend a moment with.  Don't be yourself....you might offend them, hurt their feelings, crush their dreams, decimate their delusion, cause them to feel vulnerable, pop their fucking bubble....etc.
I seriously feel like I lived a Facebook life this past weekend....you know? I.e. there wasn't an 'unlike' button.
Nope.  Don't disagree.....even if they talk some seriously deranged shit.  Do not take a side, of ANY fucking perspective, lest you wanna leave someone feeling miffed up.
Christ.  I had a blowhard fundamentalist in my home going OFF about the evil of homosexuality and I could not have an opinion.  Guess what?  I was, for many years, in a relationship with a woman.

But, you gotta keep the peace.  You gotta keep your mouth shut.  You gotta save face. You gotta.

I walk away from this past holiday season feeling like a phony. Feeling like I burned the wick at both ends. Feeling like I lost part of myself. Feeling like a sellout.  Because I had to keep hitting the real life 'like' button. What a fucking crock.  Am I some sociopath because I have an emphirical opinion?  Am I a nut job troublemaker because I am pragmatic?

No.  I am a self sellout because I smiled at those people.  I spread my integrity thin because I grit my teeth and left the room.

I never get the warm fuzzier.  I will never win an academy award....but I still feel like a monumental piece of shit.  Nothing is worse than hating your own reflection.  Interpersonal relationship dynamics.  Relationship diplomacy.   That, I suppose, is a must.  (sigh).

It just has never been my way of thinking or conducting myself.  In my life, I have told my own mother my true feelings. I tell people when they piss me off, I have no problems engaging people.  I am blunt and honest.  But not this past weekend.....not for Christmas.  I wasn't any different than them.

I know....they say 'be the bigger person', 'kill them with kindness', etc.
But sorry, my pragmatism is showing when I don't believe you fight fire with fire....you fight it with water, man.  Cover it. Douse it. Extinguish it. Put it fucking out.

See......total asshole.

My 2 cents on la la land

I recently read a post from someone with MS.
....ain't that a shocker?  I mean, I would love to spend my time on the net looking at porn, or maybe buying shit off eBay, or even researching something fascinating.  But, not so much. I guess I got bigger fish to fry.  I read MS blogs. I wanna know how people feel, how they are doing....any new meds, maybe even a tip or two.

In regards to the title of this post...I really mean it. I am gonna give my two cents on la la land.

I had been bouncing from blog to blog....some drenched in MS, some adding MS to their post like you add paprika to potato salad. You know... A little bit of color, a tad flavor boost.

I had to laugh at this one guys post.  For the most part I get him.  He had said something about 'throat punching people that say that getting MS was a blessing'.  That is a loose quote. Cannot remember exactly, and I am not too bothered to go find and quote the shit properly. This ain't an essay.

Well, I had to laugh because I think I actually read one of the MS blogs that most likely inspired him to write that.  Unfuckingreal.


But, what prompted me to write this morning is a different blog.  The author of it has MS and instead of feeling her MS is a blessing, she actually feels her MS is fucking special.  Her doctor thinks she is the MS shit and is going to write about her.  Well, that's equally as disturbing as the whole Being happy for MS because it changed their life for the better...etc.

Are we just that pathetic that that does it for us?  Seriously?  Your MS is better than mine?  Your chronic illness is way more special?  Jesus.

I feel it truly goes hand in hand with the whole throat punching prompt.  A special MS patient vs. a blessed MS patient.  Who knows....maybe the formers parents told her she was the prettiest little girl in the whole wide world on a daily basis when she was wee. And maybe the blessed guy is an extreme optimist.  I don't think either is right, nor do I think they are wrong.  I do, however, feel that they both have summer houses in la la land.  But, hey....you gotta do what you gotta do to get you through.  So, if one of them is so blessed because MS has given them a wonderful crippled pain filled life, so be it. And if one of them is the exception, not the rule of MS...all fucking special and shit, well.... Good for her.

But, the blogger is right. I agree with him. They are fucking liars.  They just might not know it.....which only means they believe their lies.

So perception is reality..... I guess I live in the here and the now.  I don't feel special...millions of poor bastards have this disease.  I don't feel blessed....MS has put a huge burden on my family, and crippled me physically, in turn crippling me mentally and emotionally in some respects.

But hey.....whatever gets you through the day, man.
Are we as people so fucking pathetic that we will just take it anywhere we can get it?

A little liberation goes a long way

To continue on with my previous post regarding what's new with me.. (last post turned into a total pigeon post).

Glenny bought a house on 62 acres.  In the country, heavily wooded lot. Tons of privacy....62 acres is a lot of private land to explore.  Being the cripple I am....that was something new that depressed me, the reminder of inability. Access free.  A big N-O.
Sucky because prior to, I was an outdoors chick. Hiking, mountain biking, trail jogger, etc.  loved the outdoors in Vermont, loved the adventure and freedom.  Mainly I loved the fact that I got the fuck away from people in general. The further I am from people, the happier I am.
So, what to do in such a dilemma?  Well, get someone that loves you to buy you a four wheeler. Not just any four wheeler....a white Honda rubicon four wheeler that is automatic.  No need for feet.  This is too awesome considering my dead weak numb feet are pretty useless.
This four wheeler is the new love of my life. I got a major crush on it when it was a possibility, but now that it was bought for me....ahhhhhhh. Love.  It takes my crippled ass all through these woods.  It makes trails.  It eats saplings and easily negotiates hills, streams, and downed trees.  Damn, I am in love.  I honestly forget about this disease while I am motoring through.  Too cool. Too awesome.  And I admit I love getting back in touch with my inner redneck.
     And seriously.....I can't help but admit that if I could substitute this badass four wheeler for my wimpy wheelchair, I would probably love being in public.  No shit.  I hate wheelchairs because it is degrading being eye level with everyone's asses in a checkout line, in an elevator, in a store aisle.... I am so sick of seeing asses.  Granted, I am thankful I don't have to look at their faces....I suppose their ass is the better deal.
I suppose the point I am trying to make is that for some reason the four wheeler enables me to feel like how I used to feel. I feel like the original version of myself.  Kinda badass. :)
In a wheelchair....I feel ....helpless or something.  I am unsure if others feel that way. Of course I can only assume I am pissing someone off by saying that.  Because I am sure there is some noble wheelchair bitch that feels like a badass on their power scooter or in their chair. Whatever, that's you. I don't give a fuck if you disagree with me.

For whoever reads, has read, anything I have ever written on this here blog....you most likely know, or vaguely recall, that I lived in the city for a decade.  I was fine with it for the first 8 years. Why?  I worked all of the time, and when I wasn't working I was in the mountains, woods or the lake.  So, I basically slept there....ate there.  Hung my hat there.  But the past few years of being a fucking slug....you notice a lot. Like neighbors. Omfg.  Traffic, alarms, horns, the smell of other peoples dinner cooking, two blocks away dogs barking, etc.

This is really just turning into an ode to my four wheeler. My woods legs. My mobility.  Actually being back in nature.  It's frisking beautiful out there.
We have huge ledges, which is covered with shit. Eastern coyote shit to be exact. Which I am sooooo desperate to see.  A coyote and grey wolf blend.  Nice.  Live right in the back yard.  Along with black bear.  I drove over some black bear shit last weekend. Gross. And we heard one, and Glenn always carrys a pistol. A wee pistol. Seriously.  I have a big black shotgun which is really intimidating...scares the shit out of me, but I never take it with me when I go.

My mental state is kind of the same. I mean yes, there is a lot of positives that hold the hand of the four wheeler.....but, keep in mind I am highly critical of myself....blame my Eurocentric childhood.
I am always reminded of the no.  The cant. The are you fucking kidding me.  The ms.  I can ride like a mad woman...but if I need to pee?  Hahah. Good luck to me getting myself off the fucking thing and getting my jeans down near a tree before I piss myself.  That reminder keeps me in check.
That's the reality. But, I'll take it. You're fucking right I will.  I haven't smiled this much in a while.
.....I am even going to post a pic of my beloved four wheeler.  Like I said....the current love of my life.

Five months later....

Gotta point out the obvious, and note that I haven't done this posting blogging thing for a while.  5 months later, and boom! Here I am.

A lot has actually happened in my life, a lot is currently happening...just like everyone else in their lives.

My low need for affiliation hasn't changes, so no news on that.  Still haven't made a single friend. Still no change in my ms.  Still haven't 'taken a walk' anywhere.

But, for anyone that cares to read about some crippled chicks life as a distraction from their own, or perhaps to satiate the innate nosy inner self..... Here's my new shit.

1.  A pigeon. Yep, I now live with a pigeon.  I didn't set out to live with a pigeon, never even crossed my mind.  In fact, I have never been interested in birds as a pet or companion.  I have always thought that they were pretty, or funny, or fucking obnoxious (blue jays).
     Still....this summer, we had a very intense storm, one of many.  This particular storm knocked out power, broke trees in half (no shit), wrecked bridges and some roads.  It was epic wind and heavy rain.  The next day, in the calmness afterwards, I discovered a little white bird sitting on the woodpile on my back porch.  He actually scared the shit out of me.  I was letting Rommel take a pee, and I was going to have a smoke.  When I sat down, I noticed something white and moving...startling me.  He hopped up higher on the logs when I looked at him.  Rommels presence didn't phase him either.  I took a couple pics of him, thinking that it was cute and how odd that he wasn't flying away.
    Flash forward a few hours....my neighbor has a homicidal cat. A bird killing machine type cat.  This cat is clever, adept, sneaky.  He has claimed the lives of countless squirrels, mice, moles, and birds.  This cat has an unquenchable bloodlust for little furries and feathers.  I had gotten closer to the little bird and noticed a rusty color that was speckled and staining his white feathers. Blood....ahhh. Perhaps this little guy was a tad more clever that the jack the ripper cat?  Escaped with claw or teeth injuries?  Regardless of how he was injured....my crippled heart immediately went out to this tiny handicapped bird.  I wanted to give him a little help at life.  I called my brother for help....I needed him because I cannot stand and reach and my balance is fucked.  My brother came, we made a makeshift house, he caught him and voila.  Safe bird.
     Since I know jack shit about birds, bird health, how to care for an injured bird, etc....I did what most anyone would do. I called rommels vet.  No luck, but they did advise me to contact fish and game, and that they had a bird rehabber I could call.
     Readers digest version?  Got him a cage, seed, a toy, gave him a cute pillow.....brought him to the bird rehabber and found out that he is NOT wild.  He didn't, however, have any bands or identification.  She said take him home....enjoy him.  I did place an add on Craigslist, making sure no one was missing him.  *on a different note, I cannot believe what a bunch of trolling fucking idiots peruse listing, not reading them, just so they can respond to you insultingly.  Seriously. I had some bitch write to me and tell me she was reporting me for catching wild animals and trying to profit off them. Wtf? I gave her a piece of my mind....which was dumb of me.  ...my grandfather always said to never fight with a cripple or a fool....and she wasn't cripple. She was a fucking moron.
     So.....looooong story short.  I have a do,estic feral pigoen that lives with me. He has his own room.  His name is BB. There it is.

He is an absolute joy to be around.  His intellect is impressive. He is funny. Very tame...well, he wasn't at first, but is now.  When I found him, the rehabber told me, he was less than 20 days old.  A squeaker.  She said he most likely got knocked out of the nest or lost the flock due to the storm.