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When I read "Angela's Ashes"...
in college or just after, I liked the part when young Frankie said he wanted to "swim and eat sweets for Ireland", but until now I've never really felt it until now.
Everything about fighting through life as a disabled person(especially as an activist, though I don't want to leave the impression that I've ever flushed my eyes with milk after a tear-gas attack or anything, though I read writing by people that have.) can be so unpleasant. As if the movement only works if I sign a pledge never to expect any joy at all--- maybe that's the only way I am an effective recruit.
And I still have to get my plaque scraped and get nagged about starting mammograms(Although, yes, I know lack of medical access is a Real Issue(TM) and I should be glad someone cares about my plaque or my so-far putative lumps. And I am, but it doesn't really change the fact that I wish somebody had fondled them more before I get the joy of finding out if they are Instruments of My Doom or not.)
My dentist won't do anything about his inaccessible office, though everyone there has some tip for me, as if they're all on some hidden podcast called "Disability: UR Doin' it rong"(indeed, fully half this country has probably "contributed" and their tips? Suck. But if I tell anyone that, despite the fact that it as-close-to-never-without-ruling-out-miracles has helped to have a rando give me a tip about my life, I'm still the bitch because this person I may not even know Was Only Trying To Help.) If the United States had "00" status, it could probably be called that. sigh.
Do not feel like disability meeting tonight, though the people at the meeting aren't the reason the community annoys me today...maybe I'll get into that another time.
I'll be on that Zoom cause I expect to collect some "atta-girls" that I've been expecting since June. I hope it helps...it's rotten to be thinking how fast life slips away AND be in a shabby mood like this.
Everything about fighting through life as a disabled person(especially as an activist, though I don't want to leave the impression that I've ever flushed my eyes with milk after a tear-gas attack or anything, though I read writing by people that have.) can be so unpleasant. As if the movement only works if I sign a pledge never to expect any joy at all--- maybe that's the only way I am an effective recruit.
And I still have to get my plaque scraped and get nagged about starting mammograms(Although, yes, I know lack of medical access is a Real Issue(TM) and I should be glad someone cares about my plaque or my so-far putative lumps. And I am, but it doesn't really change the fact that I wish somebody had fondled them more before I get the joy of finding out if they are Instruments of My Doom or not.)
My dentist won't do anything about his inaccessible office, though everyone there has some tip for me, as if they're all on some hidden podcast called "Disability: UR Doin' it rong"(indeed, fully half this country has probably "contributed" and their tips? Suck. But if I tell anyone that, despite the fact that it as-close-to-never-without-ruling-out-miracles has helped to have a rando give me a tip about my life, I'm still the bitch because this person I may not even know Was Only Trying To Help.) If the United States had "00" status, it could probably be called that. sigh.
Do not feel like disability meeting tonight, though the people at the meeting aren't the reason the community annoys me today...maybe I'll get into that another time.
I'll be on that Zoom cause I expect to collect some "atta-girls" that I've been expecting since June. I hope it helps...it's rotten to be thinking how fast life slips away AND be in a shabby mood like this.