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Mounting Frustration

Following another lukewarm, under-spiced meal of chili, really a mere suggestion of chili, my husband wanted to know what I wanted to eat from the local Italian joint. I indicated the beef bracioli. "Bracioli is usually cooking long and very tender. Ask them.", I typed, deleting errant keystrokes and retyping. He kept steering me to spaghetti and meatballs, forcing me to defend my choice. Spaghetti gets hung up in my throat, choking me. Then he goes on about the veal parmesan. All the while I'm trying to speak through the Tobii, fighting it to "see" me.

By then, I'm getting frazzled. Then he tosses out that I'm purposely hiding the top line of my text on Tobii, a defect that I have no control over, that frustrates me to no end!

I lost it! Screaming my wordless, soundless frustration, tears streaming down my face, blood pressure erupting, my impotent rage trapped within my useless ALS-ravaged husk of a body.

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Location: 2720 E Madison St, Seattle, WA 98112, USA

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