Two things of note today:
On Thieves & Lowlifes
Last month I moved all the boxes in my rented garage space into my living room. I’m moving in two months, so I figured I’d save money while pruning the boxes down to fit into a smaller space. The detritus of my half of twenty-three years of marriage still awaits my sad, pruning heart. If there weren’t so many precious things mixed in, I’d dump the lot. Instead, it’s like I just got a messy new roommate. The only problem I had was what to do with my mountain bike and disabled daughter’s adult trike. I refer to her as the Brownie on social media since she’s a fourteen-year-old minor. You’ve probably heard me mention her here before. She has epilepsy and cerebral palsy, and she’s a lot of work. In fact, tomorrow we’re heading over to Shriner’s Hospital to have a gait lab done, and we just finished an MRI for her last week. Like I said, she’s a lot of work, but I love her a bunch.
Most people at this apartment complex put their bikes under the stairwells. They’re fairly safe there, especially if locked. I’ve lived here almost five years, and I’ve seen nice bikes lie dusty, forlorn, and forgotten until maintenance comes along and collects them a year later to find new life in the lost & found garage. So I tucked our bikes under the stairwell and locked them up with thick bike cables and key locks.
Three days later, a team of thieves went through the area, cut the cable, and stole my mountain bike. It was a loan from a friend, so one embarrassing phone call later and my friend knew the fate of his bike. At least the thieves left the Brownie’s trike behind. It had three flats, and the seat was broken, but we were awaiting a delayed social security payment to take it to the shop for a Summer tune-up.
Last Saturday night, the same thieves, or an entirely different team, came through and finished the job. My daughter is so upset. She’s had the bike since she was nine. Who would steal a bike designed for the disabled and the elderly? It’s simply a cruddy thing to do for a buck or for kicks. My Christian training tells me to forgive and pray for them—that maybe they needed the tricycle more than my girl did—but I’m afraid anger is winning out for the time being.
I filed a police report, and I’ve searched the local classifieds and craigslist, but so far, no luck. A friend of mine put together a GoFundMe page for her. I know this is not your problem, but the trike will cost a little over $400 to replace, and I just don’t have the money. If you can help out, that would be great. If not, at least share the link. Any help would be appreciated.
Ticking in a Fishbowl
I am determined to have a better week than last week. Ticking cost me a lot of writing time, and I refuse to let it beat me again. Obviously, I can’t command my body & mind to obey my will with the snap of my fingers, but I’m pretty certain that if I set my mind to having a better week, and make improvements where I can, then I can see some semblance of improvement. At least incrementally, right⸮
That sure sounds like I’m hedging my bets, doesn’t it? Well, last week was pretty bad. I have no idea how this week will turn out, chronic motor tic disorder-wise. I could spend the rest of my week immobile like I spent a lot of last week. Sometimes, living with disabilities is planning for failure while seeking for uptimes. I call it being cynically optimistic. Most normal folk see it only as planning for failure, but that’s usually because they don’t acknowledge mental health disability in the first place. (See my last blog for thoughts on that subject.)
And since I don’t want to spend my day only writing this blog, let’s begin:
Monday: My daughter’s bike theft has taken up a lot of time today, as has straightening out social security issues, but I remain positive that I will not spend all of my day on Twitter and may actually write something worthwhile. To wit, I’ll post this and get busy.