Did you ever think about all those little personal grooming things that you and only you have ever done? Brushing, flossing, shaving, combing, clipping, plucking a hair from...wherever. I stopped wearing contacts years ago because I ran out and realized that I couldn't do it anymore. It's a good thing I don't have a face full of zits to pop. I wouldn't want to make anyone do that. Gross.

How old do you feel? Do you see yourself as the age you are?

I don't think that I do. I don't think that I can. I don't have any of the things that would allow me to see myself as an adult. House, car, job, wife, children; I don't have any of that. 

House, job, car; those are easy, I've had those. Wife is a distant planet. And there isn't a single tiny little piece of me that identifies with having children. 

My hair is still pretty thick and despite close examination of my temples, I have yet to find any gray.

I think I'm stuck in a delusional post-college 20-something world where nothing matters and the future is far off and best ignored. I'd like that to change, I'd like to move on, but I don't think I can.

A friend told a story the other night, one I had forgotten. We were at 3 Needs, in the old location on College Street. No doubt it was well after midnight and I was sitting in a booth with a Chocolate Thunder Porter (or some other beer, but that was a go-to as well as a memorable name). A bouncer approached the table, saw me and said, "All you gotta do is stay awake." I looked up at him and nodded while my friends laughed endlessly. I guess I had dozed off.

The last time I parallel parked was in October of 2018. I drove to Burlington and met up with a friend for the Aziz Ansari show at the Flynn. I parked on the north side of College Street just below St. Paul. Despite my difficulties in turning the wheel at a dead stop, and the fact that my car was a stick shift, I made it in on the first try. 

So that was the last time, and the last time.

It's wood burning season again. 

I'm living with my parents now, and there's so much that I don't need to do. I get up in the morning, have a seat in the kitchen, and my mother makes me breakfast. 

Last year at this time, and for each of the last five years, I would open the wood stove, rake the coals, and add wood and/or kindling, and begin to turn smoke into flames. I would tend the fire all day, cycling through new loads of wood, and filling the stove before bed. 

Rarely did I let the fire go out. Only if I left for the night, or we got a warm stretch and I decided to give it a break and burn some propane. Had I severe OCD I would've kept daily burning stats: weather information, amount of wood burned, temperature in the house, etc. It'd be nice to know those types of things, but I would not be the one to keep track. 

I know that lots of people burn wood as their main source of heat, and of course I wasn't the one cutting, splitting, stacking, and hauling the wood indoors, but looking back, it was a big deal for me. It's different than clicking on a thermostat, it’s a metal box with a chimney. You light a fire in the box, shut the door, and adjust the airflow. It doesn't need electricity, doesn't need internet, it only needs wood to burn. And as people have for thousands of years, you get to sit and stare into the fire. I'm glad I had that experience.

This may be obvious but one of the reasons I write this blog, and write emails, and write Facebook and Instagram messages, is that it's difficult to express myself verbally. When speaking I try to be as concise as possible. I filter out the majority of the thoughts in my head. In groups, I end up sitting silent for long periods. It's very frustrating to tell a story when you have to stop and repeat every fourth word. It's much easier this way.

I've learned a few more things about life in a wheelchair. 

Walking is exercise, sitting is not. Walking in public places, whether outdoors in the cold, or indoors in a grocery store, keeps you warm. I am already susceptible to the cold, given my lack of muscle and fat, and not exerting any energy is noticeably colder.

Being lower than everyone sucks. Now I know how dogs feel. My head is at everyone's ass level, which believe me is mostly a bad thing. 

Just because a wheelchair is a chair doesn't mean that all other chairs are obsolete. I can stand and move to another chair, and I probably want to.

Everyone apologizes. Yes, you are in the way. No, you didn't see me. You don't need to apologize like "Oh my god I'm so sorry I must be the only person who didn't see you!" Car accidents result in fewer apologies. 

I feel both hugely conspicuous and invisible at the same time. Some people see me, look me in the eye and acknowledge me, while others seem never to notice me or pretend not to see me. Maybe this is the same for anyone and I'm paranoid. The brain can wander when you're sitting silently, moving through a crowd. Or maybe I'm right to feel different. If you see someone who is an anomaly for one reason or another, maybe you could try to smile and nod instead of looking away. No one needs to feel like a freak.

I got a flu shot on Tuesday at Kinney's in Hinesburg. I hadn't been in a drug store in a while and it got me to thinking. 

Why are drugstores so effing big? Why can't they be like the size of a gas station? With a waiting area, a counter, and "out back". Why are they selling eight varieties (I didn't count but there were a lot, including multiple children's models with flashy trademarked names) of snow shovels across the street from a hardware store? I know the answer: because they have the space! But why do they have the space?

Why is everyone in there overweight, underweight, or old? I saw a guy walking in wearing the smallest fashion-forward, tastefully (but not really) torn jeans I've seen on a man. And they fit! I didn't know you could buy men's jeans like that; maybe they were his girlfriend's. Or maybe despite the fact that he looked like a 30-year-old meth-head, (like I really know what a meth-head looks like) he is in fact a 5' 10", 110 pound 14-year-old.

And why must they be so goddamned depressing? Is it the fluorescent lights, the lack of visible windows, the uninterrupted silence (outside of the musical intercom that inexplicably makes it worse), or is it all of those things?

It's all of those things and more. Somehow they've taken the worst aspects of a hospital and a grocery store and combined them. Granted, it's been a long time since I was in a Walmart. But at least those places have some life to them. Maybe it's more like a doctors office; no one seems to want to be there.

I could hear a song on the intercom, one that I would otherwise enjoy, and in that boredom factory it was powerless against its sterile surroundings. If there are zombies living among us, that's where they go.

I don't eat soup. At least not with a spoon. I actually think it's pretty stupid to eat a liquid with a spoon, but I get it; soup's not really a liquid. I'm better with a stew or a chili. It may not seem all that different, but it's much easier to keep on a spoon. 

When I go to a restaurant or get takeout I don't first think of what I'd like, instead I think about what I will be able to eat. Fork foods are good; you know, things I can stab. Hand foods can be hit or miss. I'm usually okay with pizza, a sandwich can be a little more challenging, a piled-high cheeseburger or other hot sandwich (the kind of thing you can't fit your mouth around, that is likely to be a mess for even the most efficient of eaters) is pretty much off my wish list. I can sort of handle tacos but it's always a mess. Given a menu of choices, usually it's not too difficult to find something agreeable.

I also occasionally exhibit an involuntary cough/choke/spit, so, you know, look out for that.

After it came out on VHS (in 1991?! How long does it take for a movie to go to video?) a few of us neighborhood kids argued over who could watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles the most times. My brother and I watched it a lot, well into the double digits. 

I watched it on Amazon a few months back. Still good.

Just to bring the nostalgia home: T.U.R.T.L.E. Power! by Partners in Kryme

I'm in my room after having taken a shower and I hear my parents talking to someone in the kitchen; a friend stopped by. My mom says, "I have to go help Nathan get dressed," and I cringe. Somehow I'm still embarrassed and/or shameful about my failing health.

Not that it should matter, but she helps me with my shirt and socks. See, I still feel the need to explain myself.