Soapbox....Preaching To The Choir

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog: www.youtube.com/watch?v=kqBwCzRWmzo

Okay, that's it, I am going to have to climb up onto my soapbox, and anybody with a Neurological condition will understand why. This ranting, or observation...to put it more politely, is for everyone else that we encounter in our everyday lives out there in the general public. And before I go any further, I will point out that it is not a literal soapbox that I am climbing onto. To do that I would have to install grab bars first so that I could pull myself up, and once I got up there, I would need to have railings erected all the way around the soapbox so that I wouldn't fall off. The whole ordeal is really simply just to exhausting to even contemplate, so I am going to have to ask you, my readers, and listeners, (and those who are currently not doing either....figure that one out), to use your imagination and just simply envision that I am standing on a platform, when in reality I am really comfortably, and safely sitting in front of my computer.

The very subject of falling off a soapbox, when others who have a fully functioning Cerebellum and muscular system would be able to step right up without a problem, is the subject of this writing. Because, short of hiring a twelve-piece minstrel ensemble that includes a flute and a tambourine to march before me, announcing me with a little musical ditty, I'm really not sure of what else to do. By the way, that little musical number that I just mentioned? I envision it to go something like this:
                                 Herest doth come an Ataxian man-
                                           you really doth need be as polite ast thou can.......
                                 I know what yer thinkin-
                                           that this boy has been drinkin......
                                 That there's a reason he slurs-
                                           and that his sight doth blurs......
                                 But we are here as his defender-
                                           the lad is not on a bender....
                                 He simply has a condition-
                                           that should not raise your suspicion.....
                                 If you would take care of yourself-
                                           and not always assume the worst...
                                 If you would pay attention-
                                           and mind your affairs first....
                                 you would see no problem-
                                           indeed no need to fret......
                                 you could go on with your day-
                                           there would be no need to sweat!


It is frustrating to me, because most people will see someone miss step, or lose their balance, or act in any way that is outside  the perception of normal and just assume that they are drunk or under the influence of a drug. Since I have begun to struggle physically, I find that I do not immediately assume this to be the explanation when I see someone who is having a difficult time. I also know that probably eighty-five to ninety percent of the time that the cause for erratic behavior IS alcohol or drug related. In fact, public intoxication is a frequent happening, and most of the time people are correct in assuming that someone is behaving under the influence. Just the other night a woman was driving on the wrong side of the freeway close to where I live. She was drunk, and she ended up hitting and killing another driver.  Unfortunately a high percentage of the time, alcohol is a reasonable or feasible explanation, but certainly not in EVERY circumstance.

I know that my little blog is going to do nothing to change the public perception, but for those of us who are affected, or are physically compromised in some way, I would urge you to give people the benefit of the doubt because you know what it's like. Enough said, I am going to step down from my figurative soapbox now. Be safe everyone, and again, thank you to all....your support and friendship is very appreciated.

,

Leftovers, No Matter How They're Reheated.

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog:www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pd5LfzyikFM

It was just a little bit over a year ago when I decided to begin writing a blog about my life. I have to say that of all the things that I have tried over the years, writing about my daily walk with Ataxia,(along for the ride.....I just can't seem to give it the slip), has really helped me to change my view of the everyday events in my life. I am forever looking at daily happenings and common,(for me), occurrences and thinking that they could be potential blogs. A lot of writings were started, and a few of those ideas did not make it all the way to a finished product. For one reason or another, I would have a thought or concept spark in my mind, and some initial thoughts were put down, but they were never finished. Either it was because I got distracted, or moved on to something else. Several times it was because I would write something in the development of a particular thought, only to realize that if I kept what I had just written down, that it would completely change where I thought I would go with that blog. I would then start a whole new writing based on what I had just come up with, and I would never get back to the original thought. Anyway, I have dug some of them out, and considered developing them into something more. Instead, I decided to leave them as is and submit several of them to you in much the same way that you would clean out your refrigerator,(I am hoping that you do this more than once a year), and have leftover-night. I am crossing my fingers that I have reheated something that you will like.......

1. But, Then Again......

There are still days when it really doesn't seem that it was that long ago, twelve years, when I was blissfully unaware of what Ataxia was. But, then again, there are still days when I am blissfully unaware, period. There are also still days when I can't believe that I have been able to come as far as I have, but, then again, I can't believe that I eventually passed my driver's exam, or that I can shuffle into a dark bathroom in the middle of the night without doing serious injury to myself or without making so much noise that I wake all up the neighborhood dogs. It seems that in a blink of an eye time has taken a large step forward, and suddenly I find myself standing, (or falling) , in a place that I never saw coming or ever imagined that I would be in. But, then again, if I had, I would have been in possession of insider knowledge, and possibly would have placed, and won, some very large bets.

2. Bent Out Of Shape.

It always happens...it just ALWAYS seems to be the case! I am forever snagging, and/or snaring my pants pockets on cabinet door handles, which results in the knobs being completely bent into shapes that any artist who makes balloon animals would be proud of. I will be standing at the sink or counter and think of something I need to do. I will begin to move, but be snapped back into my original position because I have attached myself to the cabinet via the knob, and my now slightly ripped pants. Or the other thing that I do, thanks to my newly compromised Cerebellum, is totally misjudge the opening that the car door provides. This will usually result in getting my pants pockets hooked by the protruding latch in the door frame and ripping them when I fall into the driver's seat. I have torn several pairs of pants in exactly this manner, and I am still waiting to find any humor in it whatsoever.

3. Left Feeling Ripped Off.

Like with any other event, or traumatic experience that happens in life, my diagnosis and prognosis took awhile for me to process. There were several stages that I went through, and although a lot of the specifics of what I went through were kind of happening at the same time, I do remember some of my thoughts at that time. I remember thinking that it felt like I was being penalized for something that I really have no control over. As if I had chosen this. I was let go from my full-time job in May of 2012, not because I didn't want to work anymore. It wasn't because I wanted to sit at home, collect Social Security, and eat chocolate Bon-Bons all day. It was simply because my body was betraying me and I couldn't do what I had currently been doing. I also remember feeling embarrassed and somewhat awkward when I would meet someone for the first time.  I just knew that the inevitable question of what I did for a living would come up. I never knew exactly what to say, and I certainly did NOT want to launch into an explanation about my condition to just anybody. However, it felt weird to me not to give some kind of explanation as to why I was no longer working. There were occasions when I wanted to say something like, "because of the horrendous nature of my past crimes my parole states that I can have only limited exposure to public and this is the first time that I have been allowed back into the public, and it is on an experimental basis. But I have never actually said this and I still occasionally feel awkward and struggle in these situations.

4. A Life Lived On The Edge.

Well, I'll say one thing about having Ataxia, life is never dull. It means constant vigilance, and always watching out for tripping hazards, such as the flat ground. Or potential choking items, such as the air I breathe. I feel like I am in a constant training session, just like the scene in the first Batman movie starring Christian Bale, where he is told by his instructor to, "Always mind your surroundings".  This is actually pretty good advice, because my enemies are everywhere and are always ready to trip me at a moments notice. One of the problems that I face while walking is that I constantly drift. When I say drift I am not referring to the cool kind, like they do in cars in the movies, but a slow and methodical shuffle towards pending disaster. Usually, as my wife and I are out walking the dogs, she will have to remind me several times to stay away from the curb. When she and I walk side-by-side, I am constantly giving her the shoulder as I continue to slide sideways.

Well, those were just a few of the leftovers that I had in my writer's vault. If you would like to hear more via another reheating of leftovers let me know and I will revisit this format again in the future.

Sometimes, It's Just About The Small Things.

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog: www.youtube.com/watch?v=N9c0jYC2i2c


Ever since the official diagnosis of my physical disability, I feel as if I have been engaged in a huge wrestling match. A contest where I face a huge opponent, and I am seriously and woefully ill prepared, out-matched, and generally viewed as the under-dog's under-dog. And it is not like I can avoid this menacing adversary, because as luck sometimes will have it, I will be confronted two or three times a day, randomly, as I go about my own business. Whenever these chance meetings do happen though, I am forced to stop whatever I may be doing at the moment, and grapple for a while. The struggle may take two minutes, or it may take ten, but the point is that I am always engaged in the conflict. At this point, I cannot be sure that I am alone in this battle, but suspect that I am not, and so will call out my opponent so that you can possibly identify with me. He, or she, depending on how you look at it, and also accounting for individual tastes, is of course, the mini-candy bar. Or to be more precise, the wrapper that acts as a bullet and bomb-proof bunker, which hides and protects the sweetness within. I have been fighting in this war for awhile now, and although I haven't found the magic bullet yet, I continue the struggle.

I have found the mini candy bar to be an incredibly frustrating and deceptive creature. They lay in a bowl or sack with that perpetually innocent look about them. Always singing their seductive Siren's song as I walk by, as if to say, "Really, we mean you no harm".  But therein lies the trouble, because if I fall for their wiles,(and let's face it, I do every time because I have a sweet tooth, am a sucker for chocolate, and they just look so inviting), then there will just be another chapter added to the story of the epic battle that has been fought so, so many times in the past. I suppose, though, that I should be looking for a positive in all of this. I would have to say that within the difficulty, and by engaging the struggle to free the candy from it's wrapper, I am able to burn beforehand some of the calories that lay within, patiently waiting to ambush the unsuspecting. These are the same calories that I will soon be giving permission to come aboard, and join the other fat cells that are already in storage and feeling quite at home. Once I am finally able, that is, to tear the wrapper open and claim the prize within.

And it is within those moments of triumph that I resemble the person who has been engaged in a long, grueling game of Capture The Flag. After planning and strategizing for hours, and having finally gotten their hands on their opponent's flag, they wave it around in excitement, and in a showing of complete victory.

I have finally captured and freed the chocolate goodness from the clutches of the wrapper! But then.....the disappointment sets in, and I realize that I've been had. That I have fallen for the same trick, again. You see, these miniature candies are sneaky and they know that if they can get me to eat just one, I will not be satisfied with the postage-stamp sized chocolate. They also know that I will spend the next ten minutes engaged in a skirmish to unwrap enough minis to get a decent mouthful. Sometimes I think that maybe I should just write to the makers of M&Ms and see if they would ship me a fifty pound feed bag. I'm just saying that it sounds like it might be easier. The least that they could do, it would seem to me, is make a handicapped-accessible wrapper.