Valley of the Dim Bulbs

(I Feel Like One Myself)

It's interesting to see how difficult life becomes when you're too unsteady to use a ladder (as I am) in the twenty-first century. You'd think that I only have to ask somebody, but there are so many "qualifiers" attached to that notion. First, not too many people pass this way. Of those, some are older than me and I don't want to impose and possibly cause an accident for others. Some are women, some of whom I am surprised to find are not fully-participating in the physical world--that is to say, that, though their health is fair, some of them are not especially at home on a ladder. I only need them to change some ordinary bulbs in the ceiling lights, but there's more than 2 or 3 of them. Teenage boys or young men would be good to impose on, but none of those healthy sons of bitches ever pass this way any more, so I guess I get what I deserve. It's odd when I consider that most men of my age would probably not have the difficulty I have with ladders--my instant dizziness, my neuropathy (can't feel my feet or feel what my feet touch)--but still no male visitors come in just the right circumstances that I could abuse (impose on them) and get the god-fucking-damn task done! Burnt-out bulbs keep piling up--kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, hallway, study! Of course, this task will only come up again and again as years go by. Some of the bulbs I'm replacing are of the new ("energy smart") kind advertised that they last five years and more, but they didn't really last that long and I don't know what you have to do to MAKE them last! Anyway, they lasted less than two. A lot of times this past year, I have been simply choosing to live in the goddamn fucking darkness (or, at the least, in poor light. Most lamps are piss-poor illumination, but are easier to reach than the ceiling light bulbs, so lamps are all I've replaced for a while.