Rehab progress 15

What about tomorrow?

Why am I working so hard to recover a bit of functionality?

Is it all just futility?

I don't know the answers. The future has so many uncertainties. I don't know if it will make any difference for me to continue trying. For some reason, I am compelled to do so.

Today I encountered another one of those stupid little things that absolutely defeat my every effort. I was trying to trim my fingernails.

Everyone knows the simple little instrument I am talking about. I just cannot generate enough power with the fingers of my right hand to make it work properly.

Everyone around me seems more aware of my limitations than I am. I discover new frustrations every day.

I was trying to apply some herbicide spray to the weeds at the neighbor's house the other day, the kind of work I am very familiar with, and performed routinely before I became so dysfunctional. He was very solicitous, asking again and again if I was feeling okay. Especially when I would stumble and almost fall down. After several precarious recoveries, he very nearly insisted that I retire, and resume the weed spraying another day. I must have looked worse than I felt.

Anyway, I keep trying, because I don't know what else to do with myself. I don't feel like a disposable commodity. But maybe I have outlived my usefulness. I don't think so, but I suppose the possibility is there.

I was talking about this nagging feeling with my dad as we worked together yesterday. I don't know what to do with the rest of my life, if the world has no use for me. I was imagining some kind of romantic relationship -- what it would be like, who I could find that would be a likely partner. I have to admit, I'm not a very attractive prospect right now. My dad suggested that I should give it more time, before worrying about things like that. But I am a lone and lonely man right now.

Last week I checked my email screening filter, and discovered that it had been filtering out from my inbox numerous offers for a matrimonial relationship with women supposedly from Russia. I must say, the idea intrigues me. Unfortunately, the proposals were all disconcertingly inappropriate for me. Most of them because the purported spouse was decades too young to be a good match for me. But it was thought-provoking.

In the past, I have tried several avenues for meeting women appropriate to my particular taste and inclination. I met with little success. Most are not able to even understand the intellectual pursuits that interest me, let alone complement that subject. I was seeking a mate that has at least a college background, and they seem to be in short supply as available date partners. Let alone a partner that would be anxious to help me keep my nails trimmed. Least of all can I imagine such a woman finding an interest in me, under present circumstances.

Ah, well. Perhaps there is not such a person. I will continue to keep my eyes open.

Rehab progresss 8

I am trying to reconcile with the fact that I may not ever recover fully from this stroke.

It is a sobering reality to face.

So many things are closed to me now. I walk as in a dream world, one that has a terrible, nightmarish quality. I cannot do the normal things that so many others do routinely. I will have to be satisfied with whatever is left to me. That is what I am facing. It is not something I feel good cheer about.

While I was in the hospital, a few weeks ago, it came to me with rather sudden impact. The life I have pursued is over. It is done. I will need to find other things to occupy my time, because the opportunities are closed to me. It seems almost as if I have already died, but am forced to go on in this almost-dead body, trying in vain to learn old tricks that everyone else has mastered so long ago in their life.

Yesterday, I read an article in the news about the recruiting program for the Rocky Mountain Research Station. They are actively recruiting young college grads, especially among the Hispanic population. Of course, no mention was made of those in the older population. They have little use for people like me. Perhaps no one has. Maybe I can work up to wiping tables and sweeping floors at the burger joint. I am not quite up to it right now.

At my physical therapy session, I try to walk a row of cones set up in a sort of obstacle course. I have to lift each leg as I pass a cone. It is a ridiculously simple exercise, but I cannot navigate the course easily. Someone has to stand by me to catch me if I fall. I fail to improve much in my performance, time after time, though I am straining to the utmost to do better. Lack of progress is very discouraging.

I bow in defeat. The world was not made for people like me. We only survive thanks to the good grace and forbearance of others. I depend on their charity.

I will do what I can.