I've been writing this entry in my head all morning.

We went into work because we had pretty severe thunderstorms for a few days. It's been our experience, that when the weather's iffy, the vending machines can act up. Some of them suddenly refuse to accept money, others shut down with odd error messages, and others are happily empty because our people bought everything they contained.

Today, at work, it was a little of all of the above. However, first we had to get to work.

Yesterday, in my other blog, I engaged in some rather nasty gossip about a woman Ron knew. I realized I did so because I felt threatened. Today, on the way to work, we picked up another Metrolift using couple in our subdivision. They live in a nice big house and have a very new looking car.

She rarely uses the service - preferring to ride in the car. No harm in that. The slight tone of envy you detect is accurate. I admit that - I'm envious of people who have the means and ability to drive themselves around. I'd LOVE to do that, but my only consolation is the meager fact that I never had the ability to lose. I simply never had the ability. I don't actually KNOW what it's like.

One uncomfortable fact about Metrolift - most of the clients are overweight. The usual vehicle is a minivan - standard size, standard seating, for 5. Metrolift will stuff 4 overweight clients, a driver, and a "wheelchair" (in the back compartment) into said vehicle.

You never know who you'll ride with. Once I was crammed in next to an unclean guy with open sores on his arms. On two other occasions, Ron's ridden next to "slow" clients who were very touchy, feeling his arms and touching his face. One memorable "slow" woman actually grabbed at his crotch repeatedly, and we can't forget David, the steering wheel grabber. He likes to lunge at the steering wheel while the driver is in traffic.

But it's public transit. Since I usually ride the bus on my own, I'm used to it. You can have smelly guys, drunks, people with obvious mental illness, etc. It's just a fact of life. I have no choice in who's riding the bus. If they show up and they have the fare, they're riding.

Today, we picked up this couple in our subdivision. They were dressed for church. The other time, we just picked her up - taking her to dialysis. I know she is diabetic and in kidney failure. She weighed approximately 160 pounds, about 5 feet tall. She moved slowly but with better agility than Ron.

The driver, who is very tall, asked Ron to move behind him so "everyone would fit" - meaning the old lady would probably not fit behind his seat. Ron obliged.

The driver opened up the door and gestured at the seats. The lady began talking with animation. "I don't ride in the back!" What? "I don't ride in the back seat!" Why not? My husband does and he moves a lot worse than you! I might have offered to give up my front passenger seat - but she didn't need the seat. She just didn't want to ride in the back. She was perfectly capable of getting in.

The husband asked where he would sit, and the driver pointed to Ron. Next to him. The husband began objecting. I won't ride next to him! I don't want to be "pressed up" against him!

It's a good thing I didn't really grasp all this, or I would have gotten out and gotten into trouble. Oh, my husband isn't good enough to ride next to you? You're black! You, of all people, should understand how hateful you're being!

Ron is clean, well dressed, and well groomed. His hair is a bit flyaway, and he has a beard. What, was the guy afraid the beard was catching?

The driver had the unenviable task of calling dispatch and saying "The client refuses to ride in the back seat, and the husband won't sit next to my other client." It must be nice to be able to be so picky about your seatmates. I've never been able to say "No thanks."

The dispatcher had to say "They'll have a long wait, and I doubt someone else can make it before their appointment time." They didn't care. The thought of riding in the backseat, next to my (slim! Clean!) husband, was so repugnant they decided they'd rather miss church.

I engaged in some nasty gossip on the way to work, with the driver. I shouldn't have done it but I realize now I felt very insulted. We weren't good enough to ride with them? Also, I was bitter. It must be nice to be so picky. It must be real nice to go where you want to go, when you want to go, whenever you feel like it. It must be lovely not to have to walk a mile roundtrip in the rain because you wanted to get a potroast.

So we got to work and I helped Ron out with the stocking. Ron made a joke I didn't get and I told him so. He repeated it. Still don't get it. Then he got very derogatory and insulting towards me. I took offense, and he did. It ended up with him storming off screaming at me "Shut up, Bitch!" because I told him "That's not kind. If I did that when you asked me for help with reading something how would you feel?"

Even though I know the head injury is a factor in his temper/moods it doesn't help much. I sometimes think if he woke up completely ablebodied I'd leave him. I find it incredibly painful when he says "Well, a normal person would have..." and I tell him "But I'm NOT normal!"

I always end the discussion feeling like he's saying "It's not your fault, but it is. If you could be messed up all the time I could remember you have brain damage. I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at God - or so I say, so I'm going to continue to castigate you because He allowed you to have brain damage."

AGH. That's the kind of thing that makes me realize there is no medication in the world for the way I feel. Nothing. However, I have completely normal feelings, within normal parameters, because I do take my medication. I'm covered in bruises most of the time because my coordination is pretty impaired, and I tend to run into things, or run things into me.

He says it's difficult to love me, as he sits there in his clean clothes I laundered, eating the food I prepared, washing his hands in the sink I cleaned with the soap I bought, going to work because I help him, listening to the MP3 player I got for him, with the tunes I downloaded, complaining to God that he sent a lousy helper. I help him with everything. Horrifying things have happened, and all I did was assist him with a kind attitude.

I NEVER MAKE HIM FEEL LESS THAN BECAUSE HE IS DISABLED. NEVER. He says "You're different, Heather, I can't do that." He HAS to castigate me, and make me feel like crap, because I rarely ask him for clarification on something or say "I don't get it."

Huh.