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chicating(Even if it's not till Monday, and I'm still halfway hoping for some kind of metamorphosis over the weekend. Even a full-on Gregor Samsa would give me more mobility, I guess, though there would be a lot else not to love about that shit.) And, okay, a few things have worked out since I was twenty-five: I've learned to meditate and half-assed find my body on a size chart. I finally found a decent moisturizer and occasionally have lived up to maybe half my promise as a prize-winning collegiate ink-stained wretch, if nowhere near what I imagined at sixteen or so(well, see, I believed in equality, access, and meritocracy, only to find out later that the Land Of The Free(TM) isn't into it, nor that whole "Leave no man behind," thing.
My life is on a thinner thread than most other Americans could ever imagine, much less cope with, or smile through.(what passes for a long-range plan is making a short list of people who help us and just... hoping they don't die before something else good happens...the long term care apparatus is as fake as a Western backlot, but much more oppressive and onerous. Judgemental, too. It sucks to feel that the activist you have the deepest common ground with is the one *on parole*, especially since you have no funny bender stories or wacky crime sprees because, even though your toes were on foot-pedals the whole time, you did nothing as well as you've toed someone else's line.)
Am I a good person, or just really scared a lot and inclined to vomit and/or soil myself.ETA: Mostly under duress, but if I eat too much or too little or something hits me wrong, I could have an Anything Can Happen Thursday on any day. Guess I can't get romantic about the Peace Corps either. As the ad from my youth said "Inquiring minds want to know..."(Well, okay, maybe just one. Maybe just the most important one.)
So there's that...it's a real triumph of the human spirit watching them go with their strengths I've stopped trying to have a better attitude, but I work better with the anger, anyway, so my job is kind of thrilled with that. And if paralympics ever has a "Dozens over 45" category, I'm so signing up!
Ok, I admit it. I'd like to be touched in an impure way by mutual consent again before I finally die.(If we can also hang out and talk about books or politics or something, that would really be a cherry on the sundae.) Also, I'd like someone to bring at least one dramedy out next year(once the writers have their new bangin' contract) so I could maybe have a My Show again. Something where I can fangirl the actors and put the first fanfic in the archive.
I am so sorry I can't play my cultural part and swear that I wouldn't change a thing or that when God nailed all my doors shut, He put in a skylight...not just for whoever ends up reading this, but for me. More than anything. But it's not true. Yet, anyway.(Blink and you'll miss it, but, hey: Optimism! Crippled magic!)
Even Gloria has lived to get tired of her little tossed-out quip as it has followed her through so many Big Days, including, iirc, her bittersweet marriage.
My life is on a thinner thread than most other Americans could ever imagine, much less cope with, or smile through.(what passes for a long-range plan is making a short list of people who help us and just... hoping they don't die before something else good happens...the long term care apparatus is as fake as a Western backlot, but much more oppressive and onerous. Judgemental, too. It sucks to feel that the activist you have the deepest common ground with is the one *on parole*, especially since you have no funny bender stories or wacky crime sprees because, even though your toes were on foot-pedals the whole time, you did nothing as well as you've toed someone else's line.)
Am I a good person, or just really scared a lot and inclined to vomit and/or soil myself.ETA: Mostly under duress, but if I eat too much or too little or something hits me wrong, I could have an Anything Can Happen Thursday on any day. Guess I can't get romantic about the Peace Corps either. As the ad from my youth said "Inquiring minds want to know..."(Well, okay, maybe just one. Maybe just the most important one.)
So there's that...it's a real triumph of the human spirit watching them go with their strengths I've stopped trying to have a better attitude, but I work better with the anger, anyway, so my job is kind of thrilled with that. And if paralympics ever has a "Dozens over 45" category, I'm so signing up!
Ok, I admit it. I'd like to be touched in an impure way by mutual consent again before I finally die.(If we can also hang out and talk about books or politics or something, that would really be a cherry on the sundae.) Also, I'd like someone to bring at least one dramedy out next year(once the writers have their new bangin' contract) so I could maybe have a My Show again. Something where I can fangirl the actors and put the first fanfic in the archive.
I am so sorry I can't play my cultural part and swear that I wouldn't change a thing or that when God nailed all my doors shut, He put in a skylight...not just for whoever ends up reading this, but for me. More than anything. But it's not true. Yet, anyway.(Blink and you'll miss it, but, hey: Optimism! Crippled magic!)
Even Gloria has lived to get tired of her little tossed-out quip as it has followed her through so many Big Days, including, iirc, her bittersweet marriage.
