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Somebody on facebook whines "being disabled" is like: I want chocolate milk, but my knee hurts but I want chocolate milk.....
I replied:
no. What having disabilities is like: Fresh milk no longer fits in my $3/day food stamps budget. Neither does fresh produce, most other dairy, and almost all animal protein.
Besides, living in a travel trailer in a parking lot, in a rural desert that's scalding in the summer and below freezing this year, day and night, for over a month, with a microscopic refrigerator that can't store much fresh stuff, anyway, with the nearest grocery $20 gasoline away, so I can only make one trip/month, means if it's not in a can, box or bag, I probably can't get it, or it'll rot or freeze solid before I can finish eating it.
It also means I think very carefully about what I'll prepare to eat, because, in these below-freezing temps, my 55 gallon barrel of washing water is frozen solid, so it takes about two days to chip enough ice to melt to bathe or do dishes, so I end up too discouraged to prepare meals, anyway.
Because I live without running water, since this old trailer wasn't well cared for by the previous, deceased owner's daughter, so the sewage and plumbing pipes in the kitchen and shower burst from freezing and I can't repair them myself nor can I afford to hire anybody to do it for me.
And the slumlord gets half my $700/mo Social Security Disability income, anyway.
And when it rains or snow melts on the roof, the cowl of my air conditioner is deteriorated from the harsh sun, so it leaks onto my bed and I have to sleep with an emergency, Mylar blanket over me to stay dry.
And nobody gives a damn, so I'm totally isolated, ostracized and hated by these small town rednecks.
So I'm stranded here and will probably die here. And the slum lord and his "friend," my next door neighbor who beats his dogs till they scream (but I dare not call the authorities, lest I get evicted), who threatens to kill me, who vandalizes my property & steals my dogs, these two men won't know I'm dead for a long time, until my rent is due. And they'll pick through every aspect of my life. And what they don't want, a life time of writing and personal effects, will go into the dumpster I have to look at every day.
Somebody on facebook whines "being disabled" is like: I want chocolate milk, but my knee hurts but I want chocolate milk.....
I replied:
no. What having disabilities is like: Fresh milk no longer fits in my $3/day food stamps budget. Neither does fresh produce, most other dairy, and almost all animal protein.
Besides, living in a travel trailer in a parking lot, in a rural desert that's scalding in the summer and below freezing this year, day and night, for over a month, with a microscopic refrigerator that can't store much fresh stuff, anyway, with the nearest grocery $20 gasoline away, so I can only make one trip/month, means if it's not in a can, box or bag, I probably can't get it, or it'll rot or freeze solid before I can finish eating it.
It also means I think very carefully about what I'll prepare to eat, because, in these below-freezing temps, my 55 gallon barrel of washing water is frozen solid, so it takes about two days to chip enough ice to melt to bathe or do dishes, so I end up too discouraged to prepare meals, anyway.
Because I live without running water, since this old trailer wasn't well cared for by the previous, deceased owner's daughter, so the sewage and plumbing pipes in the kitchen and shower burst from freezing and I can't repair them myself nor can I afford to hire anybody to do it for me.
And the slumlord gets half my $700/mo Social Security Disability income, anyway.
And when it rains or snow melts on the roof, the cowl of my air conditioner is deteriorated from the harsh sun, so it leaks onto my bed and I have to sleep with an emergency, Mylar blanket over me to stay dry.
And nobody gives a damn, so I'm totally isolated, ostracized and hated by these small town rednecks.
So I'm stranded here and will probably die here. And the slum lord and his "friend," my next door neighbor who beats his dogs till they scream (but I dare not call the authorities, lest I get evicted), who threatens to kill me, who vandalizes my property & steals my dogs, these two men won't know I'm dead for a long time, until my rent is due. And they'll pick through every aspect of my life. And what they don't want, a life time of writing and personal effects, will go into the dumpster I have to look at every day.
