truelove: an orange tabby cat looking down, to the left, away from the camera (Default)
My bad hip has been freaking out because of the swimming. It's getting better, but it's going to be a long slog until the muscles are strong enough that I don't have trouble with that hip again when exercising.

To deal with this, I have been walking with the cane again regularly.

Yeah, guess how that's been going.

"Oh my god, what happened to you?" say the newer co-workers who haven't seen me walk with a cane before.

"Awww, you're walking with the cane again, what did you do?" say the co-workers who have seen me walk with it before.

"I just need it sometimes," say I, unable to shake the training that it is rude to call people out on their rude as fuck shit. I haven't been unable to make snark my default response and yet I also refuse to explain my disability to people whose business it goddamn well isn't, and that's left me with "I just need it sometimes."

I love how my body is up for comment, that my choice in assistive devices is deemed cause by so many for eyebrows and gestures and "What's with the cane?" -- and in fucking accusatory tones, no less. As if I have done something offensive to society by daring to be young and disabled.

I didn't stop walking with the cane regularly because I stopped being disabled. I just had a good stretch where I didn't need it much. But I'm disabled; usually, the cane lets me deal with it better than without.

But sometimes I think the most useful thing the cane could do for me is hit people's shins when they pry into business that isn't theirs.

The absolute fucking hell of it is: swimming is going to probably help a lot. It'll help my overall fitness. And once the muscles get stronger, I'll probably need the cane less often than I had even when I was stable and mostly not using it.

But even then, I won't stop being disabled.

If only people would stop demanding that I explain myself to them for daring to exist while visibly disabled in their vicinity.
truelove: an orange tabby cat looking down, to the left, away from the camera (Default)
An Open Letter To The Woman In Line At The Wal-Mart:

Apparently you are labouring under the notion that what you have to say is of an relevance or importance to me. So, let me clarify a few things for you:

It is not your business what I am buying. It is not your business how healthy any of it is.

It is incredibly fucking rude to suggest that, instead of the beef bouillon I have in hand to purchase as soon as a register clears, that I should purchase beef marrow bones, freeze them, and make stock from scratch because, "it would be so much cheaper." It is even fucking ruder, when I communicate my opinion of your rudeness with an angry, flat glare and a refusal to engage, to follow that up by saying "It'd be much healthier!"

I sincerely hope you heard me mocking you to my companion. I didn't have the energy to tell you to your face that you were fucking rude but god knows you need to be told.

It's not your fucking business what other people purchase, or why, or how healthy it is. Worry about your own damn business, ma'am, and the world will be a better place.

The Chick From The Wal-Mart With The Beef Bouillon And The Clothes Hangers


Sep. 6th, 2009 08:05 pm
truelove: an orange tabby cat looking down, to the left, away from the camera (Default)
So having tackled my closet, washed everything, and pulled out the stuff that I can't or won't wear anymore (I still need to take stuff to Goodwill and/or consignment stores but they're all sorted at least), I went on to cleaning the rest of the bedroom. That was basically today's project.

I got everything tidied, the surfaces wiped down, and the floors cleaned. I didn't get the bathroom cleaned except for the floors getting a basic swipedown. I am totally wrung out and exhausted and I'll probably have to medicate heavily tomorrow if I end up getting called in to work.

Once upon a time I could blitz clean an entire house in a DAY. Including a bit of tidying, yes. I'd be totally, utterly trashed after, but the entire HOUSE would be clean. And the next day I'd be a bit sore and achy and that was it.

Then it was, I couldn't do more than a couple of rooms. And now it's, I can completely clean a single room and that's my sheer end-of-the-line physical limit.

That's disability for you: your physical limits change. And they keep changing. And all you can do is learn to adapt and work around it; you can't fix it, you can't get back to Where You Once Were.

If I don't get called in to work, I'll clean the bathroom tomorrow. That'll be My Project, because after today, I won't have enough energy tomorrow to do more than that and be able to do anything *else*.

At least the bedroom is now clean! I need to find myself a nice rug or a mat so I can meditate down there.


truelove: an orange tabby cat looking down, to the left, away from the camera (Default)


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