#excited

                So, I haven’t written anything in at least a week. I moved into my dorm, realized that my father knows little of my disability and other things that I will cover in another post.

I just wanted to write about my excitement, I am three views away from 350 views. In the last month, my page was viewed 102 times.

I also started a companion vlog,

here's a link to the first episode.

I didn’t want to create a new channel.
So I’ve got some… interesting covers.

                Starting next week, after I’ve started school, and have a handle on my life, I’ll return to my Goals

Don't Shout At Someone Standing On The Edge... Everyone Knows That... Right?

This morning, I got off of the 3 train and crossed the platform to wait for the 4.  I thought I saw the train there so I walked all of the way to it; my cane extended with the intent of hitting the it.  Once my cane made contact, I would trail (drag) it along the side of the train until it found the door, or I saw it.  The only problem was that the train was leaving.

            I felt it rolling along my cane (it was too noisy for me to hear), and once I got a little closer, I saw what my cane had already told me.  I pulled back, and just stared at the side of the train with a forlorn expression.

            A woman shouted something.  But I missed it.  I wasn't even sure she was talking to me

            "Come this way!" a man's voice.

            I turn around, my cane resting in the crook of my right arm, and the left hand half raised.

            "What?"

            "Come this way? You're standing too close."

            "I'm fine, thank you."

            "No..."

            I never heard the rest of what he said.

            My rationale for walking away was, that, well, I was in the back of the train, and I needed to be in the middle.

* * *

            Initially, I had been standing on the yellow warning strip (as I watched the train pull away).  But as soon as I realized that it was leaving, I stepped back a little.

            I have two train platform stances.  Which one I use, depends on how loud the station is:

If it's one of the smaller and, consequently, quieter stations I stand more in the center of the platform leaning against one of the poles.  But if it's a loud, crazy station (like Grand Central), I stand anywhere from the middle of the platform to just behind the yellow warning strip also resting against one of the poles/pillars (for support).

            This morning, though, I was not in my customary, "slouched against pillar" position.  I was standing out in the open.

            Though I'm pretty sure the guy was shouting at me because of how close I was to the line.  At least I wasn't on it! What about those people who LEAN OUT OVER THE TRACK? (That drives me insane)

            And did he really have to shout? If I was someone who startled easily, I could have taken an involuntary step forward (maybe two involuntary steps, depends on how long my stride was at that moment).  If he'd touched my arm, maybe that would have been better.  But I suppose that could still startle a person.

            I dunno.  I guess there's no real train etiquette, but there should be.  At least try to think of a more soothing way to approach someone standing at the edge.

            Maybe a blog on train etiquette will be what rounds out my weekly three posts.  Till then, you should read another of my posts about another train incident.

Asking A Blind Person For Directions Is Probably One Of The Smartest Decisions You'll Ever Make

            On Tuesday, I stood outside of my psych class, twenty minutes early and deliberating whether I wanted to go to the bathroom then or later.

            "Um, excuse me?"

            I looked up.  And looked around.  I didn't think I saw anyone else in the hall.

            "Me?"

            "Yeah.  Do you know where I go to get my * One Stop card *?was Her voice was high, but not annoyingly so, and sweet-sounding.

            "Um...  I know it's somewhere on this floor...  But I honestly do not remember where.  I can tell you that it's not in this area."

            "Okay, thanks.  Someone at the desk told me it was down here.  Maybe I made a wrong turn or something.  Thanks again."

            "Sure."

            Finally, someone asks you for directions, and you have no idea where it is.  I'm mentally angry.

            There have been many times when someone asked the general group where something (a class or store) was and I'd give them directions only to have them completely disregard me, ask someone else, and receive false information.  Situations like that always make me chuckle when I think of how they'll react upon finding out that I, "the blind girl", was right.

            Or sometimes, they'd look to the person guiding me for confirmation.  (Usually prompting them to say something a long the lines of "she's knows better than me" or "What you looking at me for? She's the one who gave you directions?".)

            I honestly feel that a blind person is one of the better people to ask for directions.  A lot of us could tell you exactly where and when to turn or landmarks to look out for (depending on our level of vision).  I'm cardinally challenged, and usually have issues describing where things are, I just know how to find them.  Although because of my past * mobility teachers * I've become better at describing.  Or I may just take you there.

            Granted, some blind people may be terrible with directions.  Just as some Sighteds are great at it.  Though I am pro blind (for obvious reasons).

* One Stop card (I think it's actually just called the One Card) n.  my school's ID card.  We can add money to the card and pay printing, copying, dinning, etc.

* mobility teacher (official title: Orientation and Mobility (O&M) instructor/teacher: n.  They teach travel safety and skills to individuals who are blind and visually impaired.  For example, for someone with low vision or who is blind, there’s a certain way to cross a street.

Goals

Warning: within the next few lines, some may consider my words sacrilegious or blasphemous. Note that it only applies to those who believe in both Jesus and the Holy Trinity.

              Last weekend, I attended the 2015 Writer’ Digest Writers Conference.

There, I hoped that the Holy Ghost/Spirit of writing would take hold of me and I would be finished with my book by now and I would be blogging incessantly. How I would manage to divide my time between the two was of little consequence to me.

              But I did none of that. If anything, the Spirit seems to be leaving me.

              I’d even begun composing a post about this woman who told me she loved success stories. She was referring to me being in line to see an agent at the Conference’s Pitch Slam. And me having already received the business cards of each agent I spoke with.

In the Pitch Slam, you’re allotted an hour to speak with as many literary agents as you can, pitching your work to them and hoping they’re interested. And you have three minutes with each agent (though many people used up more than that.)

              Why am I a success story. I have no life-threatening diseases (thank God…or whomever). I’m blind. And a writer. (A musician, too.)So what? Perspective, people. Perspective!

But even that post was left unfinished.

              So I’m writing this post to cement my future goals in writing:

For this blog:

              To post more consistently. (Things happen nigh every day, I just can’t write it down as soon as it happens, and by the time I get the chance to, I’m not as excited. Or I’m just feeling lazy).

So I plan on updating at least three times a week.

  This will also help me to begin building that author platform agents, editors, and publishers seem so fond of

And this post makes my third for the week 😏

For my personal writing:

Every day, at least a page (500 words).

They say once you put something on the Internet, it never goes away. And while it’s used in a different context, when pertaining to this post, I’m alright with it.

You Can Only Step On The Sighteds

The events in this post occured two days ago...

              So, I’m sitting on the train, bookbag on my lap, and my braillenote on top of that when a woman gets onto the train. What caused this woman to stand out from the other traingoers, were her repeated “excuse me”’s as she walked past me.

              After about a minute or two she stops, and I see her standing near the pole (I assume she’s holding on).

              “You can’t just push like that,” A woman with a light voice and Russian accent admonishes.

              “Well, it seems like people don’t understand the word ‘excuse me’. So what else I’m supposed to do?” Ms. Excuse Me sounded…well, black.

              “Well, I can’t move anywhere. I can’t step on her. She can’t see.”

              I look up innocently, my eyes wide. I know that the laughter is written all over my face.

              Silence.

              So, were I able to see, it would have been perfectly alright to step on me?

*a picture of my braillenote is included

#Things my mother says

That title… ah, I could write an epic novel with that as my subject. She just says so much!

This particular story begins somewhere between the train station and my home.

(here’s the needless backstory part):

My mom or sister always meets me at or walks me to our train station. It’s a little annoying, sometimes, on all three of our part but the walk involves a weird turn here and there and a six or eight lane boulevard. (Cannot wait to start dorming… THREE WEEKS!).

              So, this day was not unlike any other, really. My mom was talking, I was halfheartedly responding. We’d seen a few people she knew who, of course, had to say hello and catch up.

              We deviated slightly, however, when we passed by a nurse whose claim to fame was sticking me with needles… I HATE things piercing my skin. So why would I WANT to remember you, ma’am? But I said none of  this.

              She and my mom said some words. She said something to me or about me (wasn’t really listening) and I said hello.

              “She said hello.” Mother said, I guess the nurse hadn't heard me.. It was her tone of voice… Jokingly indulgent. I am not a child saying her first words.

              “You probably don’t remember me.” Nurse said wisely as she hugged me. She had a slight speech impediment in addition to an accent. She wore dark clothing and was just slightly shorter than me.

              “Not at all,” I replied wittily.

              She and my mom exchanged some more words while I fiddled with my phone. Goodbyes were said, at last, and we were on our way.

              Next stop was the corner store. As we’re exiting I hear.

              “Something’s wrong with her heyes?” Dude was obviously Jamaican. If his accent didn’t give it away, the liberal sprinkle of h before the vowel would have.

              “What?” Mother, guess she hadn't heard him.

“She can’t see from her heyes?”

              I said “No.” I just wanted to go. Mom said “Yeah, she can see a little.”

              “Oh, well God gone help you see one day.”

              “I don’t want anything to change. God does everything for a reason, right?”

              “Yeah well he still gone help you.”

              I think my mom said thank you.

              “Next time somebody say that to you, just say thank you.”

              “I usually do.”

              “You make the old man feel bad. In the Bible, it says that…” Something about Judgment Day and how God will help the blind see &c.

              “I know what it says,” I didn’t feel like listening anymore. “But if I were sensitive, he could have made me feel bad, too. With everybody telling me that God is going to fix my eyes and stuff, it makes it seem like there’s something wrong with me.” Few seconds of silence. “Besides, people are always contradicting themselves. One minute God does everything for a reason, and the next they’re all trying to change it… ‘fix’ it.”

              “Yeah.” Was all she said in response.

Addendum:

About half an hour later, my mom's on the phone, recapping the story with the old man to one of her friends.

              “Yeah, she real saucy.” She concludes.

              It’s sometimes hard to tell when it’s just Caribbean English, or a Briticism.

              Do I feel bad for supposedly making the old man feel bad?

No.

              Do I feel bad for not feeling bad?

Initially. Then I got home, ate some food and decided to write about it.

              Judging from the responses, her friend seemed shocked that I would say such things. But all of a sudden my mom was on my side. She flips like that, so it's none too surprising.

 But as I wrong?

And, let’s say a bunch of people say yes. Do I care?

Yeah, I’m saucy 😏