My World of Parkinsonian Delights

Comical Ways to Kill Myself

I can picture it in my mind.  Someone driving down the street in front of my house.  They hear a crash, and see my fat ass come a-tumbling out the front room window, onto the BBQ grill, flopping over backwards on my head.

That almost happened yesterday.  In fact, I almost fell quite a few times yesterday.  But the closest I got was when I was schlepping through the living room, my right leg gave out and I lurched right toward the window… with only the screen between me and a BBQ-grill related neck-breaking.

Well, there was a kitchen chair parked in front of the window.  And it saved me.  I was able to grab it, steady myself, get my feet under me, and contemplate my near doom.

Yesterday was that kind of day.  I almost tipped over backwards like a falling redwood yesterday morning when giving my wife a kiss.  At the store, my feet froze but my walker kept rolling.  I had to slam on the brakes, pull the walker back towards me, get my feet under me, and proceed.

I seem to be far more steady on my feet today than I was yesterday.  But I know this is a fleeting thing.  This house is full of danger — active dogs swarming about my feet, a German shepherd who seems determined to kill me by dropping toys and balls in my path as I walk (she’s easily amused) — and that’s just the start.  Getting out of a chair, I am likely to flop back down onto it.  Sometimes, two or three attempts are needed.  Sometimes, I just give out.

But, like I said, today is pretty good.  Maybe that is because I’ve kept my fat ass planted in this chair for most of the day.  But 7 pm approaches.  That means “The Daily Show” re-run from last night, and a glass of wine.

I just hope I survive.

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