Everything I Should Have Written About but Haven’t Gotten Round to
So far, this week has been horrible, but I’ll give that a brief mention later. The truth ain’t pretty, nor do I think it always makes good copy. Unless I go for the trite “However bad it is out there, it’s even worse in my bedroom!”
I’m in the perfect position to write misery lit, but I’m exactly the wrong person to spew it out. Another career blown, and there ain’t many around. Except now everyone in the world has the excuse and time to tap-tippity-tap. And you all have enough to deal with yourselves!
My real pity is for the poor intern (especially poor, as they won’t be getting paid) who’ll have to wade through this drivel.
Let’s start with a crash, or in this case, more of a rip.
I thought I’d gotten clever at maneuvering my powered wheelchair into my new shower room. The shower room was designed and built long before my chair turned up, so it was all a bit tight.
The trick was to back in so that I could then pull forward and be in front of the sink. I could wash my hands like a normal person — well, before it became de rigueur. Brushing my teeth and shaving became a breeze.
Except you have no nervous system with your chair — it’s like driving a pantechnicon. This comparison is particularly apt, because instead of moving furniture, it destroys it!
In this case, it was the shower controls. As I pulled forward, the chair pulled them apart, just like Spidey did with bathroom equipment after he got his powers.
Except Mira, the company that supplied the shower, is excellent. I explained exactly what happened. The shower was under warranty, but not for something like this. The Mira folks were a bit surprised that I actually had told them the truth.
Thankfully, this was just before the COVID-19 lockdown. The company sent out an engineer who sorted it out in under an hour. They also didn’t charge me. Pretty darned good.
Now what else?
I’m having a running battle with Access to Work, which is a U.K. program to maintain representation of disabled people in the workplace. The issue is a payment for January, but as I can’t see a way for me to ever start to work again, I might as well duke this one out. Comedy clubs will be among the last businesses to restart amid the COVID-19 crisis. And until there’s a vaccine for the new coronavirus, I won’t be going anywhere.
My duff week was caused by my multifaceted regime of innumerable antibiotics that has led me to acquiring C. diff. My doctor even accepted my diagnosis because delivering a sample exposes my wife to danger. Ironically, the cure is more antibiotics. (Confession time: That’s not my gag, it’s in all the medical literature.)
Still, on Saturday, I broke my own PB (personal best): nine hours on the commode.
OK, sorry, slipped into poor me territory there.
As I can’t drink alcohol because of metronidazole, the antibiotic prescribed for my C. diff, I actually threw my own party last night with vegan choccy milk and an herbal additive. Just for fun.
I’m currently watching all the Marvel Cinematic Universe movies in order.
“Ant-Man” was brilliant, even on its nth viewing.
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