I am beginning to feel guilty about my lollygagging on getting my blog back.
I really should have done it by now. Tomorrow will mark the one week anniversary of my coming home from the hospital last week and discovering my predicament.
But it involves making a phone call and that’s a big gumption trap for me. Makes it very, very easy to keep putting it off.
After all, I had an appointment with Doctor Caswell yesterday, and wound care today, and tomorrow I have therapy, and I clearly can’t do two things on the same day, so….
My excuses are quite pathetic when held up to the light, aren’t they?
I will have to get it done soon. The guilt is eating away at me. Both the interpersonal guilt of disappointing both of my readers and the personal guilt of feeling like I am failing myself.
At the very least, I need to reconnect with my FatCow account and get a text only backup of this entire blog as well as the WordPress backup in case I want to migrate it all to a new host.
Maybe I should come up with something completely off the wall and weird and wild for my new domain. Like duckfart,com or teriyaki_suicide.net or you_cannot_resist_the_b.org or the like.
I could have a lot of fun with that.
Lately I have found myself longing for bulletproof anonymity online. I could really disrupt and subvert (and pervert) things if I knew my words could not be traced back to me personally.
I could do all that without the anonymity, of course. It’s not like I fear the angry responses and general outcry and outrage I would inspire.
In fact, I would revel in it. Bring it, motherfuckers. Let’s dance.
But I know that I would piss people off enough that they would want to literally and figuratively destroy me, and I am not quite ready to die or have my life destroyed for my beliefs just yet.
But give me that unbreakable anonymity and watch me set the world on fire with the irrefutable truth of my indigestible views.
I used to call myself a reformer, not a revolutionary. I guess that made me feel like less of a fringe lunatic and more of a thoughtful, rational, sensible citizen.
But fuck that bullshit. I hereby admit to myself that my “reforms” would be so radical as to change damn near everything, and that makes them a revolution, and me a revolutionary.
Direct democracy. CEOs, bankers, corporate board members, stock brokers, and all other manner of finance industry scumbags in jail. Accountability written into the goddamned Constitution. The stock market and other speculative arenas outlawed. All “vice” laws eliminated, starting with those governing people’s sex lives. Indecent exposure laws gone too, replaced with “no nude” zones for those who want them while everywhere else people can fly free. Comprehensive educational reform that eliminates redundant management positions. uses that money to increase the wages of teachers, and leaves education in the hands of educators. And the government funding all the education you need to get to the job best suited to you.
Oh, and mass transit would get SO MUCH BETTER. And be FREE.
I could go on and on. Like I said, I would change just about everything.
Vive la revolution!
More after the break.
Holy crap, there’s a name for it.
It’s called dyspraxia, and it explains a hell of a lot about my life.
(ref. URL : https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/23963-dyspraxia-developmental-coordination-disorder-dcd)
(video URL : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8dYz6pCjEy8)
Also known as Developmental Coordination Disorder by those who find Greek words too scary, it is a neurological disorder that makes it very hard for people like me to coordinate out limbs, our fingers, and our movements, and that makes it hard for us to learn motor skills and makes it very hard for us ot do things like sports or (my nemesis) arts and crafts.
And holy diagnosis euphoria, Batman. does it feel good to have a name for this beast I have struggled wih and been ashamed of my entire life, and to know I am not the only one.
Nope! It’s a known and diaLike gnosable thing.
And said diagnosis would have made my life so much easier.
For my whole life, I have struggled mightily to learn any kind of motor skill. From threading the needle in sewing class to throwing the ball in gym class, I have always had a hell of a hard time trying to get my body to do what I wanted it to do.
And this has plagued me because I could not explain it. I was so bright in so many areas, and yet in a previous, less enlightened era they might well have called what I have “motor retardation”.
And it got me in trouble over and over again when I could not do even the simplest of things. And without an explanation, all I could do is sit there, helplessly miserable, as some older person berated me for not really trying.
I am trying. Like the lady in the video I linked said (great channel BTW, check it out), this is me trying.
I am just really, really bad at things like that.
And now I know why. I have a developmental issue. My brain isn’t wired right.
I have finally being (self) diagnosed as neurodivergent.
I always knew I was special.
And it’s a pervasive disorder that disables me in far more than just gym class. It makes me helpless in all kinds of everyday situations, to the point where I can say, in hindsight, that I have been crippled by this kind of thing my whole life.
I was disabled way before my legs went boom. Before my depression diagnosis too.
No wonder I have needed to have competent people around me to handle the details of living for me for more or less my whole life.
No wonder I can’t bloody grow up.
No wonder I feel so helpless in the world. Humiliation and debility lurk everywhere for me. I never know when a situation that will reveal unto the world what a hopeless spaz I am will pop up.
No wonder I prefer to just stay home and sit in front of this computer, which I am fully competent to use and which can therefore be my prosthesis for dealing with the world.
Inasmuch as I actually do.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.