I sent feedback on a product and got a follow up question the same day. I don't think that's happened before.I feel unsettled. I'm so inured to shouting into the dark without reponse to get a shout back is weird and not normal.(Looks around warily)
Articles from Harrangue Man
I've got a new trike. It's smaller than the old one but a purpose electric-mechanical model with seven gears instead of an experimental three gear electric on a single gear trike.I've had some moments.I miss the throttle. You could when you felt sore just thumb down the throttle and glide forth on electricity alone. There is no throttle on this one; you have to hold down the power assist mode button and you will go at a tepid six kph and only on level ground. I nearly rode into a bridge.
I was trying to get my splayed paddle foot down the trouser of the short shorts and the foot caught crossways in the hole as I pulled them up and I ripped the waistband off. There was a tearing sound and everything. Short shorts into the bin.Getting short shorts on is a hassle.
I was reading a US news site when an ad slot was populated with an ad for the now co-ed but then all boys private school I was forced to attend because I let my parents down with a body they caused. It was at this school I was taught that people with a disability are fucked and should be bullied because they set a bad example. A school where I was beaten by prefects and monstered by peers and teachers alike.
I was on the door as greeter and opener. It had been a cold night and people made the effort to come out so I made sure to introduce myself and thank them for rocking up. I stood near the door enjoying the satisfaction of a job well done; that it had been worth it.I didn't have eats or drink, just did the door then chatted with my chair-using chum.I felt home.WFTW.
It was at the end of a meeting when a muscular older man in a un-powered wheelchair was headed to another location and I offered to assist by pushing. He accepted the help but he still powered himself and my assistance was not needed. But I was still holding on to the back grip as he sped along and I was jogging by the end then got a stitch.
There was a meeting on and I took my notebook and pen. I left the meeting having used the pen to take notes then stopped at a grimy underused toilet on the way out.The pen fell out of my pocket onto toilet tiles.I chew pens; I knew I would chew this one. I kept it in my pocket until I got off the bus then held it tightly until I got home then binned it. I successfully did not masticate the toilet pen.In a world of small victories this has been one of them.
You're not meant to feel this way, epic. That belongs to myth and legend. Epic doesn't even mean great, it means epic. Epic lows are epic low; epic highs are sometimes just the absence of the low. As in "Hooray! I don't feel like warmed over shit!"It's a grind, a sisyphean toil and it's hard. To win is to grab a breather before the rock rolls back down. It's worth it though; for the only way to lose is not to play.WFTW.
The Netflix baking show Nailed It! has a panic button and siren. I knew that it had one but I was not watching when it was pressed and the baking show screamed at me.I yelled "Ahhhhh!" in a counter melody.Baking shows can come with hazards for the PTSD peeps---such as a bright red panic button that when triggered will cause that viewer to also panic.Just for a moment; I didn't trigger and cry at cake-based scaring. But I got a jolt.This has been "Fun with PTSD" meets family viewing.
I have a bunch of fun stuff pinned to the walls of my shed with magnets, such as my hilarious trail of documents of meaning and worth combined with certificates from day long courses I attended as a white collar worker. There's newspaper clippings I've been sent or have kept and artwork I did that I found when rooting amid the remains of my working life pre-injury. It's all joyful stuff. Until, of course, it is not.