First, what's going on with me

During the past year I have drawn a lot of lines. I won't say that I consciously interpreted it as such but I drew lines almost every day. Some were identified as denial, some as a dare, all represented a demarcation representing the limitations of my disease. I told myself that things wouldn't get worse, that I wouldn't allow it. Had I a real handle on the problem, I'd have drawn a single line last spring. Reality has dictated the necessity to move my line on a regular basis. I have no evidence supporting the notion that my artistic ultimatums have had any effect at all. One can only hope.

I refuse to dwell upon my disadvantages, though I plan to exercise my squatter's rights and use them whenever I please. 

I won't lie to  you. There is no point in fabrication when my story contains enough grit to ruin a jelly sandwich. For now and for a while my right hand will remain able to pluck at my keyboard. Outside of that, my abilities are decreasing. I cannot properly grasp a fork or spoon. A great friend, (hi Mike), made me special utensils, a fork and two spoons, that were ingeniously contorted to get the food to my mouth, and for some time they worked perfectly. Now, however, I lack the grip to hold them. Most times, Amy feeds me. I now know that when my kids were babies, they carried no blame for food on their faces. I can sit stock still and occasionally get a nose full. I can't fault Amy, though. Its been a lot of years.......................... hopefully she uses the grand kids to get up to speed on diapering.....................I'm just sayin'.