"Bradtastic" Defined

Disneyland vacation

My trip was amazing. I've got some great advice for anyone with a disability interested in vacationing at the Disneyland Resort in Anaheim, California. Stephanie and I spent five days in the park and two days traveling.

I'll share some artwork, too. At the moment, I have catching up to do as well as some cleaning. Unfortunately, it's super hot in the bay area — I do hope that the weather changes soon.

Random morning of

I've got a lot of driving ahead of me; presently, I'm not looking forward to it. I'll probably be in a great mood in a few days, but there's a lot of things going on that I don't like.

Setting that aside — my condition is better... and worse. I've been taking several short walks daily and I've been stretching more frequently, but the RLS (restless leg syndrome) hasn't subsided. The medicine that I'm taking, ropinirole, is supposed to help, but its efficacy seems negligible.

Overall, I think that I have slightly less pain. I switched tobacco for vapor after receiving my v2 kit, and it's been wonderful. I'll need to write a review for v2; their rechargeable e-cigs and disposables are both fantastic, and the company's customer service is top-notch.

My birthday has come and gone, but the real celebrating hasn't begun. I'm very grateful for my parents, for so many things.

I'm going to try "priceline negotiating" Will Shatner-style; my mom really likes the service. Hopefully I can find a good last-minute deal for a four-star hotel.

That reminded me: a buddy of mine is once again listed as the number one entertainment option in San Francisco, beating out Alcatraz, Union Square, Pier 39 and the like. Amazing! But also, deserved. If you're around the Bay Area, check out The Marrakech Magic Theater, and if you talk to magician/proprietor Peter Morrison, tell him Brad sent you.

I still have some organizing and packing to take care of. I really don't know where the time went.

Getting older; wiser, dumber, fatter, crazy

When I was a child, I dreamt every day about finally being an adult. There were so many things that I wanted to accomplish; I wanted to go places, create things, fall in love, sit in the Oval Office...

Now I feel old. And it sucks. That's the problem with dreams — fantasy — it's not completely fictional, it just leaves out a lot of icky details.

Like getting fat. My entire life, I've been stick-thin. People wondered if I had an eating disorder; I kind of did, I loved pizzas, tacos, hot dogs, French Fries — all kinds of nasty fast food goodness. I never thought about consequences; as far as I was concerned, those were for everyone else.

It's much harder to lose weight being disabled. When I lived alone, it was easy to stay thin — I forgot to eat much of the time. 6'3" and 155lbs. But then things change, I got a few years older, and suddenly my pants didn't fit properly. What is it about living with someone that creates extra pounds?!

When I lived alone, I lost weight easily. Simply; I can't cook. Longer answer: I don't cook. Maybe I can, sometimes, some things, but I don't. I do other stuff. But people worry about me and bring food over to my place. That's okay; it's not every day. However, living with someone — she can cook — and suddenly I'm eating like I'm thirteen years old and active.

Being disabled adds a few facets. And maybe a few dozen pounds.

Complications... hmm? Well, my disability limits my movement, impedes exercise, retards that whole "staying fit" idea. Add in chronic pain, and you get that annoying depression sometimes. "I'm so sad... but there's food."

It's not just the women going for the ice cream and cookies — like on TV. I don't eat straight from the carton, however. And then there's the girlfriend: "Oh, poor thing... I'll make you something that you like for dinner."

'You like,' as in, 'too many portions that you'll devour anyway.'

I'm old now. I mean, not really... I'm sure some forty-something-year-old reading this at some point will think, "Yeah, boo hoo, oh no, you're almost a quarter-century old! Time to start choosing your casket."

"Yes, I get it. You're older... maybe even wiser (yeah, I'm sure), but being disabled is like aging in dog years; if I'm not careful, I'll get my ass handed to me by an eighty-year-old."

That's another thing that sucks; I can't run my mouth like I used to. I used to think, "So if I get into a fight, so what? Worst case scenario, he'll end up in the ER and, well, I'm a minor, so I'll just point and laugh."

Now I'm fat and old. Or at least that's how I feel. I'm not trying to get a surprise pity-party or gain undue sympathy, I'm just sharing my reality, as it feels. I walk from my car to the entrance of the supermarket — from a handicapped space — when I finally get there, I'm thinking, "Dang... where's a chair when you need one? Crap... my nice seat is back there, inside the car. Oops."

I think about how nice it'll be to finally get home again.

This blog, called "Bradtastic Defined," doesn't need a name change. It does need clarification. I am awesome, and brilliant; according not to my standards, but their's — people, the outside world. By "my own, personal definition," I'm now old, fat, and frankly, a little nuts. My life is chaotic; mentally I can barely keep up, physically? Forget it. I might as well try out for the US Olympic team; and I'm not referring to the 'Special' Olympics.

One thing I've noticed about disability in general is that it isolates people. I don't feel 'lonely,' exactly; I'm fortunate to have people in my life, and I don't mind being alone... but I know that I am somewhat outcast, and I see people pointing and giggling when they think I won't notice.

Everyone is unique; thusly, each disability is slightly different and hard to empathize with... unless you happen to be disabled, too. Is there a camaraderie, or some secret club for us to join? Not exactly, at least, I don't know.

Many perfectly-or-well-enough-abled people just don't care to understand. "Life is hard enough as it is," they might think, "why complicate it further?"

Irregardless of your own condition, you probably know someone with a disability. I ask that you take a small step toward sympathy: share this with someone, able-bodied or otherwise. We shouldn't feel alone... not with how things are in the world, presently. There is enough pain; too much pain.

And so often, a simple gesture or act of kindness goes undone, words unsaid, and the pain lingers on. Not today.

I'm getting too old for that.

Wunderlist helps with disability

I am physically disabled. I have chronic pain and feel physically sick most of the time. This kind of impairment, much like sleep-deprivation, can make following an everyday routine very challenging. Beyond “normal” things, I must remember medicines and supplements, to stretch for an hour or two, and to rest every few hours.

Most of the time, having a disability sucks. Sure, there are some perks, but those are more akin to the consolation prizes of an arcade crane game; a small, token piece of candy instead of the large, desirable plush bear. A handicap placard ― my consolation candy. The price of that tiny sweetness? Everything hurts, all of the time. Everything is harder. Constant pain, nausea, strong medicines, side-effects, doctor visits, immobility, soreness, aches, muscle fatigue, cramps… Most days, I’m stuck at home. Friendships are hard to maintain — nobody is crashing my non-existent party. I’m tethered to my pill bottles; I must take medicines with me everywhere I go, whether that’s out to dinner (on that rare occasion) or into the other room. If I am out in public, I face varying degrees of intolerance, stares, and strange looks from passersby.

Living with a disability is also very expensive, and being disabled makes earning a living and managing money much more difficult. With my condition, a standard workday is an impossibility, and if I’m not careful, debt can become near insurmountable. Because of this, I need to save money anywhere I can, any way I can — shaving off one dollar here and there makes a big difference at the end of the month. (I never saved and used coupons before my disability, but those are great, too.)

Where Wunderlist enters my story. 

I’m really not sure how I managed to do anything properly several years ago. I’ve dealt with my disability for about five years now. Going anywhere requires a set of backups and precautions; I must plan around mobility limitations, remember to bring and take my medicines, tell people where I’m going, and remember where I’m going and why. This requires a good list. 

I’ve tried other to-do list programs in the past, but none seemed to fit. Some were cumbersome — others, too basic. The “best” apps are usually expensive, like “Things:” iPhone version, iPad version, desktop version. That’s three separate expenses for one tool. I tried one version, and found it too complex and irritating. Wunderlist, however, has truly filled a void in remarkable ways. 

For me, it’s changed everything. 

My disability has made many things impossible for me, and makes everything that I can still do a lot  more difficult. I just don't have the energy or the strength to constantly fight with an organization or “GTD” app. I need something flexible, reliable, and simple. I need something I can afford. Thanks to 6Wunderkinder and the Internet, I have Wunderlist.

I love Wunderlist. First, it’s free, and available on every device I use. In my condition, using a desktop is often difficult, and I rarely have all of my devices with me simultaneously. I need something portable that stays synchronized, accessible and easy to use… that’s Wunderlist. Available on iOS (iPhone, iPod Touch, iPad), Android, Windows and Mac, and via web interface — Wunderlist incredibly easy to learn and usable within minutes.

Being disabled, I rely on lightweight, mobile devices and help from other people. It’s sad and humbling to admit, but I can’t take care of myself, by myself — there’s too much that I can’t do.

Fortunately, many people have been kind to me, and help me with basics. With Wunderlist, I can remind myself to take medicines, stretch, exercise and keep hydrated, but I can also use Wunderlist to share lists with other people.

Sharing lists makes it easier for others to help me: I can make a list of groceries that I need — or medications to be picked up at the pharmacy — and can share that list with friends and family. This is particularly great for groceries and supplies; with one list, there’s no confusion about what I have and what I still need. 

Helpful features. 

In particular, the option to receive push or email notifications of tasks is crucial. Some medications are easy to forget about because the effects aren't instantaneous and unfortunately, the consequences of forgetting can be serious ― even life threatening. With Wunderlist, I can create a task “take medicine” (a specific type), get a reminder to take the medicine at a specific time, and check off the task once I've taken the medicine. I can then set up another task for the next interval. 

Two features would make Wunderlist perfect (for me): repeating tasks and detailed timestamps for completed tasks. This would leave less room for mistakes, specifically with medications. A repeating task could be set up for each medication at each corresponding interval, and a timestamp marking “task completion” will record exactly when each medicine was taken — in case I think I forgot a dose, actually missed a dose, or didn't take the medicine on time. This would help me reset the repeating tasks to the new time intervals.

I hope my story and use of Wunderlist helps other disabled people get things done just a bit easier.