The Journal of Michael Merriam

Which was careswen's advice after yesterday's post, and good advice it is. Also, thank you everyone who dropped by yesterday's post and talked to about the blind and clumsy stuff. You people are great, and I really appreciated everyone's words and stories.

The Twin Cities Speculative Fiction Network meeting on Sunday went well, but I left it feeling...unsettled is the best word I can come up with. I suspect it is nothing more than an off-shoot of my own unhappy mood after the cabinet accident, but it is still persisting into today. I thought about blogging about it, but decided not to, since I haven't pinpointed what is bothering me, and it might well be my own silly brain being silly, in which case I just need a day or two to get some perspective.

I didn't work on Rija's Tale today, though I might tonight. Instead I started rewriting a short story, took care of some online business and bill paying, and did some job hunting and follow-up.

It is snowing here in Hopkins, Minnesota. Great wet flakes, the kind that creates heart-attack heavy snow to be shoveled, which makes me glad I live in a townhome and my association deals with that sort of thing. I've been out in it a few times today, to the mailbox and to the garage twice. I brought in firewood, because we haven't used the fireplace once this winter. We've been so busy and stressed with life, we never got around to having a nice fire. careswen emailed from work, asking if we could have one tonight, and I think that's a wonderful idea, so I brought wood in from the garage.

It took me almost fifteen minutes to convince the garage door to close, sadly. The snow, which is coming down in large, swirling flakes, was falling and blowing so hard it was spoofing the electronic eye on the garage door. I was about ready to shut it manually when it finally closed properly.

But I am making comfort food tonight for dinner (Cheeseburgers, for the curious) and then there will be a nice warm fire, and hot cocoa, and perhaps the Reverend will come down from the bedroom, meowing her little old lady meow and curling up on the floor near us. Maybe we will read, or watch something unchallenging and pleasant, or maybe I'll write while careswen prepares for her first day of grad school, which is fast approaching, and we will be inside, and warm, and together, and it will be exactly the thing to do on a cold, snowy Minnesota night.

...despite laundry and missing the bus both ways which forced me to walk to and from downtown Hopkins to run errands and taking out the trash and exercising and ordering groceries and paying bills and answering emails and cooking meals and Princess Puffy Tail (aka Reverend Selena) leaving a bloody gash on my hand and all the other myriad distractions of day-to-day life...

...I managed to write nearly 1000 words and sent out 3 submissions today.

Go me.

careswen and I made our annual pilgrimage to see the Hopkins high school football team play their homecoming game last night.

The game itself was entertaining, with Hopkins scoring the winning touchdown late in the fourth quarter and then needing to stop Armstrong from lateraling their way into the end zone on the last play of the game.

Final Score:
Hopkins 21
Armstrong 17

We sat near the stand band, since my wife is a band geek of old. For such a small band they were pretty good. The half-time entertainment was good, but ran too long. Next year we need to dress warmer. We forgot to bring anything to cover our ears. The stadium always strikes me as kind of small and the stands never did completely fill up. I guess I'm use to Oklahoma, where high school football is a religion.

The real entertainment was the streaker. Yeah, a streaker, at a high school football game, in Minnesota, in mid-October. An apparently crazy fifteen or so year old dressed in nothing but socks ( in Hopkins colors). All I could think was: "Dude, it’s way too cold for that kind of nonsense."

Still, it was a good night. We had a lot of fun and it's the only game we go to each year.

One a different note, I can tell I'm getting older. As we walked back to the car, we kept passing knots of young people, ranging anywhere from 12 to 15 years old and all I could think was how young and small and fragile they looked and, given the things that happened to me at that age and the things I did to myself, how in the world did I ever survive to be an adult?

To the outside world, I don't always "present" as blind. For instance, when I'm visiting the homes of my friends, I rarely use my cane to navigate, at least after the first couple of visits. Once I've spent some time at their homes, I usually have it memorized and can move about without too much difficulty. I just need to be alert for small moving objects such as children and pets as I walk slowly and carefully.

In public it is another matter. I need to be highly aware of my surroundings, keep my senses alert, and use the cane. Maintaining any semblance of independence depends on my using my training constantly. If I want any freedom in my life, at least when dealing with the outside world, I have to work at it.

Sometimes it's not enough.

Last week I was in the grocery store in downtown Hopkins. I kept veering off into things and one point there was a small collision with an end-cap that resulted in it tipping precariously. Fortunately, nothing was knocked over and nothing was broken. The end result was me standing there, frozen in place.

I could have asked for help. The store is required to provide me with assistance if I need it, but I hate asking. I admit that I'm one of those people who, if you found me at the bottom of a well, my arm caught in a bear-trap, sinking in quicksand, I'd tell you I'm fine. I hate asking for help.

Instead, the floor manager came over and asked if I needed any help. There was nothing for it: I did, and that was that. I ended up with a nice young lady--who turned out to be the manager's daughter--helping me find my groceries. She was good about it, friendly and funny, and helped me find everything I needed. She even helped me find a couple of things I wanted and didn't know they had, like hushpuppy mix.

On the one hand, it was nice to have the help, to have someone go around with me and find the items I needed and to, well, make sure I didn't wreck the store. There was, truthfully, a bit of relief involved.

On the other hand, it was another piece of lost independence. It was another thing I have to let go. It was another adjustment, one I'm not sure how I feel about.

In Peace,
Michael

I have returned from the frozen wilds of downtown Hopkins victorious in my hunt for groceries. I am now settled in with soup (warm and tasty) and a cup of coffee.

Ah, yes. The coffee situation. So I ran out of coffee yesterday, but did not worry, secure in the knowledge that I had ordered it for delivery. Wrong. Oh, so wrong indeed. This morning I was faced with the prospects of No Coffee! Somehow I survived this terrible situation. Then at the store I found myself facing the coffee aisle and it's ever more bewildering array for coffee choices.

I bought the cheapest thing I could.

See, here's the deal: when I purchase something at the store that's just for me (careswen is not a coffee drinker) I tend to low-ball it. This tendency is currently being reinforced by our budget situation. Normally this is okay. Normally the stuff I drag home for just myself is, if not optimal, at least tolerable.

At this point I should note that, if I know another coffee drinker is coming over, I'll run out and buy something of a much higher quality to serve them. That's part of being a good host. Then I would store it and use it for similar situations later on.

But I digress...

So I pour that first cup of coffee and took a sip and to say it was GAWD AWFUL would be an understatement.

Now I'm on the third cup and I've reached that point of Zen that says, "Meh. It'll work." I can only assume my taste buds have throw up their metaphorical hands and given up. Or I've killed them.

In other news of the mmerriam: I don't really feel like writing today. I'm going to, but I don't really feel like it.

Next week we'll talk about my OWW membership, turning 42 (I'm the same age as Minicon!), my thoughts about writing, the dispiriting job hunt, the fact that western civilization will not collapse if I don't vacuum the carpet (despite what my brain keeps screaming), the weather (a favorite topic in Minnesota), if I'm going to stay in the novel_in_90 community, novel revisions, and I'm sure a dozen things I have not even imagined yet.

In Peace,
Michael