chicating

For working so hard to pass a bill with marriage incentives and work incentives in it, I forgot he was fictional for an instant. (Also, Republicans promising childcare funding?! Thanks, Sorkin, needed that laugh this week. They think women are always childcare.)
As much of a talent as that guy is, he should have spent more time listening to women.

I hate that sometimes my friend's grief-stricken posts make me sad for the wrong reasons sometimes because I think of how many wasted days I've had in the last three years. I mean, I really could have died instead. Not sure if there's a reason I didn't except that, wiring. and certain tendencies toward blowing chunks aside, I have a pretty solid constitution.
If there is a more significant point, this would be a good time for me to hear more about it(And, not that it really has to be some kind of Heroic Destiny, although if there was one that came with reasonable accomodations, I'd "Have a bash," as George Harrison said in "A Hard Day's Night") but it's not not about being a macher, it's about feeling like when I post Disabled, Not Disposable, it should have an asterisk.

as I watched Josh Lyman find his fanpage--it's still funny, but I found myself missing that version of the internet that "The West Wing" was so worried about.

that I'm only a little upset about reading something that didn't work in the flash workshop I was on yesterday. Still, didn't pay money to learn about bombing.(The most emotional thing that happened this year wasn't clear-cut enough to lead to a perfect, little story. Maybe I'll try again, though,

but it's one of those things that doesn't help very much.
And, you know, everyone has friends that don't write back, and, probably, parts of their life's work that have changed a lot since they started doing it.(Maybe you feel left behind by it, too, like I do)
And plenty of writers submit and get faint praise back.
But this might have been a lovely week for even one of those things to be even slightly different, and yet? None of it is.
(And that is before you get to the persistent drought that sits where my social life should be. and the fact that my life could literally collapse around me and it wouldn't stop my mother from trailing me with another fucking sandwich.)
And it's weird being a burden that still wants to prowl because she was too diligent in college.(And at least, that got me a ten-dollar vocabulary nobody likes it if I use...definitely worth seven years of even *my* youth, which also contained nine months of allergic facial blotching--during which I missed maybe two days of classes--my future, dontchaknow--I could have ditched all of it. Nothing on this Earth mattered less than my education, which is making the IDEA purists mad at me because I'm not fighting hard to keep my biggest regret alive. But I would tell any crip student to their faces that you should do your major only if you love(okay, really like...don't need to spark a mass exodus) what you study in its own right. Not because of Making Connections or some alleged million dollars that your gimped-out ass will only see on streaming one day. maybe.

Rashida Tlaib and Cori Bush shared a 50th birthday yesterday so they had a fundraising roast yesterday that was fun, at least for Zoom. Her comms director said he didn't have grey hair in his beard until Rashida said "Impeach the Motherfucker, Already"

-apparently there is an article that has some trash-talk about one of the guys from one of the primaries I'm working on--I can't read it because I don't pay for the newspaper's shitty website.(Oh, well, guess I don't have to make room in my brain then. Which is not a thought my college self with her pink sweaters and "The truth will set you free," would be into, obvs, but she didn't know how bad it could get.)
The healthcare group that runs my doctor's practice sent an automated e-mail all "Time for your mammogram,"
but I still don't know how someone like me, who can't stand, even a little, gets screened anyway.(I asked my doctor and he said "Huh!" which is always confidence-inspiring. Not like I want it anyway, not that I believe that Catching It Early, even, would be anything more than an unqualified nightmare, but my biggest fear there isn't even cancer but rounding up an "entourage"(Where's Drama when you need him?) struggling through in an inaccessible environment, and then not being able to prove that I'm all right or something. Even though I said, right? I wrote some of that in an e and got it back.(Are there times I don't really care if my "muddle-through years" get cut short? Yeah, but medical trauma drives it more, I swear.

with "Disability is our superpower!1"(Although it's easier, I'm sure when it's all "Yes, Senator," "No, Senator...three bags full, Senator." Let's just say, our experience *slightly* varies, although I have been "Thank you for your service-d for my progressive work, only for me, it's like the same old bullshit of "Oh, I could never do what you do,' and I know I'm not getting anything from that person but another empty compliment.(Although I've never pulled my squadron out of a burning building, either, of course.)
Sometimes I can't handle Tammy's can-do spirit.

Of something I wrote maybe last year or a year and a half ago, though I do think I remember writing one. Maybe it didn't work anyway, but still, argh, dumb things I do all the time, partly because it takes me a long time to believe in my ideas as a whole project(Not completely wrong, in my search I found a lot of "Whatever happened with that?" that I hesitate to even call a draft because that implies fuller efforts, in my view.
I've changed computers since, maybe there are a few things that didn't survive, although we paid someone to do it...not like it was just me. Even dumber, I've been known to forget what number I'm on, because my LD is a number thing. Usually doesn't crop up between 2 and 3, though...25 and 27, sure, more than a few times, especially if I've made enough changes to 25 that the new file becomes 25a or some shit like that that abled, organized people find helpful, but me? Really not so much. And sometimes, I get cute.

Like, as an example, let's say I started writing something called "The Chicken Dance" so I might save the first bit as "Chickendance1" but, maybe I have some doubts about the title, but there is still a chicken dance in the story, so maybe I call the next part "buckbuck" and almost send it for some mag's "Finance Challenge" because I didn't get back to the chicken-dance story quickly enough to appreciate my most private joke.
Whatever happens to me as a writer, it won't be because I didn't try. I can tell you and myself that much.
So many attempts that even I had forgotten. maybe some hidden gems, maybe some I didn't dump hard *enough*. Some day I might fully sort through, but for this one maybe I'll just work as if the file labelled part 3 is part 2, which I think will work because it started as a tale with alternating characters...I could still reconstruct that or just write about Henry the tech guy that pops up in both sections...we'll see.

if "Song Sung Blue" makes me happy or sad.
Kind of both, I think.