August 20, 2017

If North Korea starts a nuclear war, I hope that I’m at my strip club.  I will say to my stripper, “We’re going to all die in thirty minutes.  I want you.” She starts taking off my clothes and says, “Let’s do it, Steve.” We make love as the world falls apart.


August 14, 2017

Some of my attendants say that no one cares about me because I’m a rude person.  If they only knew how much that I was loved and cared for by people.  People and bartenders give me drinks.  People who I don’t know care about me.  It hurts, but I know who I am.

Dear Jenny,

August 7, 2017

Did you call Dr Boyle for a physical this week?  It needs to be done three weeks prior.  I can’t do everything.  I go under August twenty fifth.  Please call Home Health United for the electric wheelchair.  I e-mailed the vendor but he didn’t reply yet.  The new one works.  We will take it to Walmart tomorrow at three to five.  Please schedule a ride.  I work these crazy long hours because I have to.  Steve is doing it all.  I’m going to say once:  You don’t move good attendants without replacements in place.  And when you don’t like a good attendant who works, you compromise for the good of others.  That’s all.  Thank you.  Steve


Dear Tim,
Thank you for allowing me to stay up.  I’m writing another novel about living here, falling in love, living with and marrying her.  I’m taking care of my business, dating, and trying to find the right one.  I need my ice cream for calcium.  I don’t drink milk, Tim.  I get phlegm sometimes and I will vomit.  CP is complicated.  The staff needs to read my books.  It would explain a lot.  I’m tired arguing.  I get diarrhea sometimes especially now with the fresh fruit.  Steve


August 7, 2017

Preseason football began last week.  Football, writing, and women are all that I need.  And of course beer. 
Poor guy.  I have four women now.  And you bit the bullet, but Sarah is awesome.  We will keep that a secret.  I’m you now.  Life is so different.  It’s not easy, but I’m independent.  Well, I’m coming to the party paying one hundred and eighty for a cab.  Don’t tell Sarah.  She means a lot to me.  She knew that I can make it.  You take good care of her.  She is special.  Maybe someday I will find her. 


August 7, 2017

I have to fight everything now because a case manager moved one of the best attendants for not liking her.  Now my understaffed staff thinks that I have to go to bed before eleven since my attendants can’t use the Hoyer.  I’m just an awful person according to some of my staff.  What he is doing all night writing?  They will never understand what I do.  Authors work every single day.  They write and sell books.  My attendants can’t do that.  I have to make sure things are taken care of like doctor’s appointments.  They don’t do book signings.  One day I will get out of this hell hole.


August 6, 2017

People go on vacation now, including my staff.  I want to go on vacation, but finding a care attendant to go with me is a nearly impossible task.  I work every day about fifty hours a week.  That’s working.  Don’t I deserve a vacation and travel to experience life in order to keep writing.

Increasing Frustration

July 17, 2017

My friend, Stasia has severe Cerebral palsy and is a professional painter.  She paints using her head.  She is like me, dedicating countless hours to our craft.  We spend time together going to places and talking in our special language.  She understands the ups and downs of having a career unlike most people with disabilities, who sit watching TV or have jobs.  I love her, but I love any woman, who shows interest in me.  She is taken of course.  It is easier for an educated disabled woman to find a boyfriend because a male can pick her up.  It takes a special woman to love a man with a severe physical disability.  I have a lot to offer a woman but I can’t give her much.  I hate being alone.  Will I always be alone?  Fooling around isn’t enough anymore or writing all of the time.  I want a woman to go out with, talk to, and make love to.  She is out there somewhere.  I have been emailing women instead of writing.

Two Years, Mom …

July 14, 2017

Mom has been gone for two years now.  Sometimes I wonder why I’m still here.  According to my staff I’m rude, selfish, disrespectful and a brat.  Suicide enters into my mind, but I keep moving forward making decisions.  I had a plan to kill myself this week.  Sometimes I just want to die.  I’m tired, Mom.  I wear so many hats these days.  It reminds me of the rainbow a couple of days after you passed.  I was in a parking lot, waiting for my cousin to come out of a store.  It was downpouring for several minutes.  I was talking to you.  Rain rattled against the van’s windows.  I had just hired my care agency, becoming a man.  I was bewildered and lost.  The skies cleared and a beautiful rainbow appeared.  The rainbow lit the sky against the blue horizon.  Of course, i looked for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  I thought that I would be a New York author in a matter of days, changing my life forever.  Life did change and it took two years to get published.  Publicity is slow hard work, but people are buying the books.  The end of the rainbow is near now.  Another book is being written.  There will always be tough times.  I have realized that I’m loved by many people.  That’s a part of life, but there are rewards, too.  Some of you don’t want to know about.  Sorry Mom, but I have needs like every man does.  I will move onwards. 


July 3, 2017

“I don’t like her.  She is lazy and the house is a mess on the weekend, but the client likes her,” the case manager says on the phone.  “She will be gone soon,” the case manager says.  This care attendant works thirty two hours every weekend taking care of my roommates and me.  She is always on time.  The case manager likes a care attendant, who comes to work to sleep on the sofa and gets sick when he cleans up excrement.  The care manager likes this worthless attendant.  My favorite attendant knows how to fix my electric wheelchair and when it breaks she calls the fix people, telling them how fix it.  When I go out on Sunday, there is always is a home cooked meal waiting for me when I get back.  Who works every weekend and all weekend.  Who does that?
Let me take you out to eat.  Anytime and anyplace.  I miss you.  Love, Steve