Third Monday

for a disability and storytelling fellowship. But I'm not gonna do it, because they need everything, like, now, at this point, and because I think the margins I sit on are a bit neater than what they intended--sometimes it really does confuse and hurt me that there does not appear to be a space that is truly mine on this planet that is not a blogging box, but, like, be happy, secure and assertive, right? #Ladyboss. Even special stuff either tells me I'm too special or not special enough.
This, quite frankly, is a head-fuck that I'm tired of being upset by, but I think I'm over it and there it is again! I wish we had disability community that didn't feel like it was on a point system or that I had to collect enough crip skee-ball tickets.
But even though this is not 'my shot", it felt good to imagine doing things in the future again that are not waiting out Medicaid or making phone calls to human cardboard cutout Mark Kelly. I've decided that the next thing that comes along that is even kind of close to the battered old mental building that somebody might call my wheelhouse and doesn't involve my having a lot of extra cash, I'll apply and sort out what happens from there.(And then, probably have some face-plant to write about, because to tell you the truth, I don't feel like somebody who gets what she goes after anymore, now that my Advanced Placement test scores have gotten all moldy. But the glimpse of agency and motion felt good.
my life kind of works when it fits around somebody else's life. Which is about as thrilling as it sounds, as much as I'd love to cut to the part everyone wants and say It Turned Out Okay. But I can't yet.