IntrinsicTina

Please excuse my selfish absence from posting to my blog. I wish I could say that I've been out diligently finding a cure for ALS, or tirelessly working to fund research, or hunger-striking to bring public attention to beacon the cruelty of not having access to care facilities geared specifically to the specialized needs of the ALS patient. Alas, I have been binge-watching Scandel, The 100, and binge-listening to audiobooks. I'm currently enamored of mystery and thrillers by Chelsea Cain and Lisa Unger. I cannot do a Helluva lot these days but I can still waste time. ALS ought to have some perks. I can immerse myself in completely in entirely new situations, raise my excitement level and learn something new to me.

Do you cut toenails? Cut straight across, do not shape by clipping. This prevents ingrown toenails. This is my latest saved message, or phrase, that I stored in my Tobii. I save many messages to my augmentative and alternative communication (AAC) device, in the hope that I will remember them, and be able to retrieve at a later date, when next I need them. Trouble is, the next time I want to access this message, I must remember the exact wording I, originally, used at the time I saved it. Or at the very least, Do you cut...  Good luck with that!  Time passes and before you know it, you need someone to trim those tree climbers, again. This time your favorite, experienced caregiver is available. Obviously, you don't need to use your saved message. More time passes. Those pesky toenails grow. I may be dying...losing muscle, and my very breath, every day. Tell it to my toenails. 'Cuz they didn't get the memo. They are resplendent. Time to cut toenails, yet again. All new s...

Contrary to popular belief, I do not save up my gas to sadistically torture my caregivers. I smile when I break wind because I always have. Like any eight-year-old boy, and some little girls, I find bodily functions hilarious. My family was so poor, that our main source of entertainment was each other. When you eat commodities, you get powdered eggs, powdered milk, and a humongous chunk of fart-producing, fake cheese. A quiet night in front of the tube, was, invariably, interrupted by an SBD, or a ripper. What is an SBD? An insidious noxious cloud that explodes inside the nostrils, inspiring either retreat or battle stations. Within our family, it was battle or die. You may be thinking that this was a mere pastime among siblings; you would be wrong to exclude the parental units. Dad was a sneak attacker, waiting until us kids were mesmermized by a television show... Rrrrrrrip! We'd get an aromatic flutterblast right at eye level. Mom wasn't quite so disgusting but neither...