If this post is lengthy, then my eyegaze is working for me. If not, not. I hate brevity by necessity. I grow instantly weary when my eyes fail to negotiate with the keyboard. I am far from aplomb in my recent optional dictation. I lack any visual dexterity today.
It's not an eye problem that denies me. It's the day. It's my present temperament. My position relative to the optics, tis. My mood, tis.
Soon I may have funding for my PC eye go.
Hypnosis helps me to sleep.
No more Percocet.
American Idol is on and my evenings are no longer my own.
American Idol allows me to spend the evenings with Amy.
Cold in Dallas is not cold in Peoria.
I'm sorry that people suffer because I do.
I'm sorry that my best friend cannot communicate with me because he fails to recognize that I am the same guy I've always been, at least as needy as he is sad. He has no words and I'm still all ears, wanting.
I'm sorry for being so often dismal.
I'm sorry for underappreciating everything and everybody I have.
I'm sorry that I can't teach my grandsons Taekwondo.
I'm sorry that I'm sorry.
I'm not sorry that I still live and breathe.
I'm not sorry that I belabour every point I make.
Don't allow yourselves to be uninfluenced by my words.
ALS is a vehicle for hypercommunication.
Take away mobility and speech and brace for a maelstrom perpetrated by the loss of both, a funnel projected outward from the constricted sources in my head. I have only one outlet. It packs a punch. It flows with nary a distraction, sans filter, a horn of plenty to be feted upon y'all. Ciao.
It's not an eye problem that denies me. It's the day. It's my present temperament. My position relative to the optics, tis. My mood, tis.
Soon I may have funding for my PC eye go.
Hypnosis helps me to sleep.
No more Percocet.
American Idol is on and my evenings are no longer my own.
American Idol allows me to spend the evenings with Amy.
Cold in Dallas is not cold in Peoria.
I'm sorry that people suffer because I do.
I'm sorry that my best friend cannot communicate with me because he fails to recognize that I am the same guy I've always been, at least as needy as he is sad. He has no words and I'm still all ears, wanting.
I'm sorry for being so often dismal.
I'm sorry for underappreciating everything and everybody I have.
I'm sorry that I can't teach my grandsons Taekwondo.
I'm sorry that I'm sorry.
I'm not sorry that I still live and breathe.
I'm not sorry that I belabour every point I make.
Don't allow yourselves to be uninfluenced by my words.
ALS is a vehicle for hypercommunication.
Take away mobility and speech and brace for a maelstrom perpetrated by the loss of both, a funnel projected outward from the constricted sources in my head. I have only one outlet. It packs a punch. It flows with nary a distraction, sans filter, a horn of plenty to be feted upon y'all. Ciao.
If thinking about yourself and your situation makes you sad and sorry the obvious solution is to think of others and see how you can help, with all your wit and wisdom, to improve their situation. I guarantee you will feel better, if not completely healed.
ReplyDeleteOld friend, you are teaching your Grandsons Taekwondo. You are teaching them about the indomitable spirit that you must have to succeed. Let the young one teach the physical part and you teach the most important part, the mental part. I am sure with your guidance they will do fine.
ReplyDeleteI agree with Ted! use your knowledge to help them find appropriate videos or books that will assist them. 'I' am sorry that no matter what words I can offer you, they will not be of any use in your battle. I am sorry I do not live close enough to welcome them to my school. I am NOT sorry to be your friend,forever. I REALLY don't think you do not comprehend just how much your spirit has had an effect on so many lives. All I can tell you is any time I want an example for my students or my own kids or even myself when I fall down, I think of you.
ReplyDelete