To: Friends of Jane Wall at SaidSimple
From: Chester H. Finksthrog, Public Relations Specialist
Re: Jane's Clumsy Landing on Planet Blog
Date: August 26, 2006
We have yet to be properly introduced. As indicated above, I am one Chester Harold Finksthrog, public relations consultant and fair weather friend of Ms. Jane C. Wall-Paypir.
Neither prudence nor emotional maturity is a strong suit of my client. She lies like a rug, then takes shamefully infantile fits upon the exposure of her confabulations.
Ms. Wall-Paypir therefore dictates this document, whilst I screen her disclosures for decorum, salience and popular appeal. May the reader be cautioned! Our earliest prior document was abbreviated because my employer had a "mean hankering" for a six-pack of SlimJims.
Howdy all! Janey here!
First off, I canned that self-righteous windbag Finksthrog. What would you do if some oaf in a stiff bowtie and smelly dime loafers was filchin' your garbanzo beans while you lay dreaming, nestled in your bed of nails?
Concerning the previous contents of this heel of a page, do you really give a rat's aural tube whether or not I like green olives? If you do, I got a link for ya, Bernie.
Not to cheapen the tag-line of an American literary icon, but I, not unlike J.D. Salinger, hate that David Copperfield kind of crap. But I hate myself as well. Therefore, I'll throw ya a scone her.
I was not, to the best of my knowledge a ferral child. I am a female Virgo, born adjacent the embarrassingly deep wood of Western MD. Cumberland, that is.
In primary school, I was a holy terror, a stitch on wheels (the prophetic nature of which will soon become apparent). At age eleven, I graduated with dubious honors, and a double major in crayon cuisine and coin ingestion.
Those straight-rhyme substitutions quickly lose their fizz, don't they? I'm not sure which cuss words are welcome here. I'm walkin' on legs here (the irony of which will soon become apparent).
Middle school was a delicious torture. I made a bumbling, merciful exit from grade eight with nothing worse than a Cabbage Patch gang brand and a broken right pinky.
My senior year of high school I won the "Citizenship Award." This is not the sort of recognition one pursues with aplomb. It is a prize for one whose behaviors defy both reason and classification. It is condescending praise for one whose green card is good.
I earned two A.A. degrees at a community college near home. One is an Associate's in Science General Studies. This caper left me enviably proficient at nothing, and it killed a couple of years. The second is an Associate's in Applied Science in Human Services. The earning of this degree was grueling, but wonderful.
More recently I moved to Central Maryland to complete my degree. Although I had planned on finishing a Social Work degree, I quickly discovered I am much better suited to English. The twenty-somethings said I dress funny on the first day of Interviewing class. And I am too lazy to be a social worker.
I was born with Cerebral Palsy, which has done absolutely nothing to deserve capitalization, but it's Friday night, and Janey is feeling generous. I began with a "mild to moderate" case. Have you ever seen the mild side of CP?! It's a hoot. I was diagnosed at the happily ignorant age of two.
Growing up, I used braces at night. One of my very favorite diversions was taking a "night off" from those clunky beasts, and sleeping in footie pajamas. (Would that I were yet so easily entertained!) At 13, I had extensive, bilateral tendon surgery done. The recovery period was long and painful, but the procedure proved a wise investment.
During my young adulthood I experienced a marked, though gradual increase in symptoms. These developments shocked me, as I had understood Cerebral Palsy to be a fixed, rather than a progressive condition. I educated myself further, and discovered that the secondary effects of CP do, in fact worsen over time. The increased spasticity, pinched nerves, osteoarthritis, muscle strain, and spine misalignment can cause major disruptions in functioning for adults, particularly for those of us over 30.
Welcome to Act Two, during which Jane meets The Assistive Devices. I plunged headlong into a dizzying, often hilarious, more often surreal experience of crutches, Canadian crutches, wheeled walkers, unwheeled walkers, manual wheelchairs, and finally, a power chair.
A horse walks into a bar, and the bartender says, "Hey, why the long face?"