I'm tired of the defeatist attitude. I'm twice as tired of it after seeing how happy he gets at things working, and how his understanding of these things seems to be there when it's explained to him in therapy, and how he'll talk a great game about doing it, but get to the night and he tries once, fails, and just wants to give up and have you do it for him. "It's just not going to work, it just won't do it!" he whines, and when you try to show WHY it isn't working and tell him how to make it do what he wants it to do, he JUST. DOESN'T. GET IT. Or, at least, he just doesn't DO it, which is worse.
I'm also tired of every little damn project that pops into his mind for how to make something easier for him to do. Partly, it's due to the fact that 90% of these are things that will, yes, perhaps maker it easier, but are NOT in any way going to help him ever get better or do things right. Face it, if you just set grab handles everywhere and haul yourself out of the chair by the arms, then your legs will never get worked, never get stretched, and thus never feel or get any better. Am I going to go along with it, then? No. Part of my "job" is to help him improve. The other part is that it never dawns on him or occurs to him to think about how such-and-such a change will impact the house. Oh, he has a million ideas for ramps and handles and things, but when you try to explain that these things are in the way of, you know, EVERYONE ELSE trying to walk or move around, including the various great-grandkids that do come around and aren't always the best on their feet (not to mention the tired grown-ups...oh, and HIS WHEELCHAIR), well, he just doesn't get it and insists that it can be done. If you offer an alternative that might actually fit, he won't budge. For someone so interested in science, the basics of spacial geometry and its effect on the environment are lost on him, I guess.
I didn't post about it, but I damn near had a white pick-up t-bone me Monday afternoon, on the way home. How sad is it that I spent a significant chunk of the day, dreaming about how nice it would be if it would have just hit me? Car fuckered, me laid up for a while, no way I could do this, everyone else would be forced to step up to the plate for a change. I'm so fucking tired of this crapola. Rose seems to think that, by May, I won't have to be here every day...but everything else has either been a lie or taken away from me, why not that too, eh?