A lot of things.......goin' on.

I need to be perfectly clear in addressing something, a subject, more a question, that has come up recently, apparently gnawing at some readers. I can understand the difficulty brought forth when considering whether to even ask...................................do I embellish, do I exercise my right to creative license, do I parable (yes, I know, nobody "parables", but I liked the way it sounded, it is my blog, and I rule this particular world), do I add fictional details to juice the story? What you really want to know is if I make shit up. Do. I. Make. Shit. Up. -Nope. I don't. Real life situations, in hindsight, have all the richness I need. Do I remember whether it was sunny or cloudy that Saturday in 1966 when I helped my mom drag my dad out the back door of the garage? No. Did I include a weather report for that day? No. I didn't even think of it because I have no recollection................. If I can recall, you'll eventually hear of it. If I can't, you will find a hole in the story some screen writer can fill in when they make the movie version. I never spent any time considering my life's history contained so much craziness until I started putting it to screen (as apposed to paper). I have not even scratched the surface of my ocean of experiences, ranging from ironic to tragic to funny to really funny to hilarious to embarrassing to sad, to literally unbelievable to painful to exhilarating to confusing (many of these) to dangerous to really dangerous to insanely dangerous to romantic to happy (worth repeating) to happy (again) to happy to.... well, you fill in the blank____________________. All with one thing in common: All fact. Not Based on fact, not inspired by fact (you know, those movies that finished off with all the involved characters dead- such as The Perfect Storm and the one where the couple eventually got eaten by sharks). Real life holds the most interest because it is real. Anything made up is only as good as the telling. 

I do need to remind you of the first half of a post a while back culminating in a guy discovering he'd lost his arms and legs in an explosion. That was not me. I still have all my limbs- they just don't work so well. THAT story was made up. By me. I can make shit up when I want to. I simply threw that in as a metaphorical comparison to my situation. The main difference, very important, is that his change was instant. Mine draws on and on and on. Two different kinds of horror.

Today I had to have my wheelchair loaded as I ventured outside the house on an adventure. Later, my father in law brought up a reality I hadn't thought of before. You must understand, I don't ever want to be seen in a wheel chair. For that matter, I don't ever want anybody to see me walk funny. The former is inevitable, the latter is history. I have an aversion to appearing needy. I am terrified to actually be needy. With ALS, the choice is not  mine. I need to learn to accept my situation and use the tools  that help me and those who have to haul my sorry ass around. Gus (that's my surrogate dad, actual father in law) pointed out that I wouldn't feel embarrassed using a cane, crutches or a wheel chair if I had a broken leg, knee problems, a  back issue or any other injury. He's right. I must embrace that which helps me, those who help me. Makes sense. 

I need to conclude this post and get back to bed, but before I do, I must let it be known that I plan to continue writing my autobiographical history, chopped up into short narrative, totally free of continuity, free of pace, free of fiction and full of fun. I can only write so much about ALS before it becomes too dark and depressing for me. I'll always relate my thoughts and post any updates- this shall remain an ALS- whaticantellyou blog, but if I fail to stray from   it's path on occasion, the story may end badly. So I interject and I segue and I sidestep away from Lou Gehrig on occasion so as to maintain my sanity, presenting to all of you glimpses of my life- a gag gift if you will- in the hopes that the good times trump the bad as I relate my journey. 

If you put my life on a scale, my life pre-ALS on one side and life with ALS on the other, I posit the pre-ALS side would hit the table so hard that the latter would be catapulted so far as to be gone forever. Maybe if I write enough about the good times I can tip the scales in my favor. Only good thoughts. Thanks. T.