Storyteller

It's blazing today. End of January in California. Such is life. My blind guy is sitting in the living on the opposite side of the house, recording a story into a neat little recording device (specially made for visually impaired types called the Plextalk made by Plextor) while I sit in here, the office, editing some manuscripts - his hopeful novels and short stories. His babies. Ya gotta kill your baby.

I can hear him telling this story so enthusiastically. It's unscripted and unrehearsed, completely spontaneous...and I gotta give it to him, the stories aren't that bad. But it's still a bit strange to me to picture him there in the living room, telling stories to no one. He doesn't even falter. It's admirable.

Pretty soon I'll get to prepare him a SmartOnes meal...because they have easily visible WeightWatchers points right on the box. I mean, easily visible for me. He's doing WeightWatchers because when you're 80, blind, and look like a peanut M&M, you might as well blow some cash on a weight loss program. After his meal I'll get to bring in the lovebirds, feed the guide dogs, and shoot the shit with him for a few minutes before he finally lets me go.

Tough life, I guess.