this dude

I'm heading home from downtown yesterday and I was in a funk.  Like, down in the dumps, things are crappy, i wanna sleep for a long time dumpy funk.  I had my hair cut, I swear it looks like th Hoff, I seriously injured my wrist doing something completely idiotic (yet so worth it) and it hurts like a bum, all gimped out in a an ace bandage, my knees are aching from working out, I've hit a plateau, WILL I ALWAYS BE 20 POUNDS OVERWIEGHT?!?! my Ma is too far away, i'm having man withdrawls and i'm about to cross the street to get to the dumb bus so I can go home and crash.

 there was this dude standing there holding up a small yellow sign.  i read it 'cause I'm nosy, and it turns out the guy is deaf AND blind and needs help crossing the street.  so I tap him and lead him across when the light changes.  he has to cross the other way too, so I take him over to the other side and jog back 'cause the stop is on the other side.  I kinda watch this dude with his cane wander down the sidewalk, weaving back and forth, avoiding trees and people.  He stops at the bus stop across the street and holds up another sign.  No one looks at him.  No one reads his sign.  I thought i was gonna cry.  I stood there staring, sending out little telepathic messages for someone to help the dude.  I was just imagining not being able to hear, or see and the only thing connecting you to the world and people is a small yellow sign explaining you can see or hear.  Leaving you home sanctuary and relying on good samaritans to help you throughout the day.  He knew people were around, he can feel the vibrations, smell them as the walk near, feel their breeze against his skin.  It was the saddest thing.  I wish I could've helped him, figure out where he was going and then hand deliver him to his destination.  How would he communicate where he was going?  He can't write, he might sign, but I don't.  The whole way home I just imagined all the stuff he would miss out on.  He can smell a lily, but never see it.  He could bear children, but never see their faces, hear them say his name, or giggle, or admire thier artistic talents, or marvels at thier physical feats.  So sad. 

I don't know how I'll make it through life with my softy-ness.  I can't even leave the gym in morning without paying the same homeless dude that i see every day for a Real Change newspaper.  WHERE IS MY DUDE WITH THE DOLLARS TO SUPPORT MY SOFTY-NESS! YOU!