Gellie's Hallmark Moment

 Anyone who lives with a disability will tell you that as a culture we still have a long way to go to understanding that not all physical disabilities are obvious. I still limp and use walking aids. If it’s a short walk from the car into the store, and I know I can hold on to a shopping cart when I get inside, then I’ll just walk. And I’m pretty good at faking it. Most people don’t notice that my right ankle is paralyzed or that I’m focused on whether my right leg is listening to what I tell it to do.

 And when I’m driving, ha! No one can tell shit. Now, that whole not walking with cane or anything means I’ve got to use my disabled placard or at least park close to the entrance. It’s crucial because I need to save my legs for when I get into the store. The other night I had to go to Walmart. The pharmacy was threatening to put my meds back if I didn’t get my ass down there and I needed a few things anyhow. It’s 5pm on a Friday – the WORST time to attempt a Walmart run. Everyone is getting off work, they need a couple things for dinner and whatever festivities they have going on for the weekend, they need their meds…you know, they’re in my exact situation.

 Funny thing about us all being in the exact same situation is that we think OUR thing is more important than THEIR thing. And sometimes that makes us not be so nice.

I’m in the crowded parking lot, and there’s no parking. Like ANYWHERE. I circle around again, and see someone right up front is leaving. YES! It wasn’t a disabled spot, but it was literally the next one over. Still perfect. This is L.A. county. You learn to drive aggressively or get the fuck off the road. The second they pulled out, I swooped in. No, no one else had dibs – I had been waiting first. It takes me a minute to get out of the car. In that time, the disabled spot next to me opened up, someone pulled in, and suddenly there’s a tapping on my window. It was a small, older woman probably in her late 50s/early 60s, bundled in a coat with her purse in hand. I rolled down my window just a little (this is Pomona, I trust no one.) And the conversation went like this:

 Woman: I was waiting and you just…WHOOSH! Came so fast and took it!

Me: Oh, you were waiting? Yeah well, I was too. You probably couldn’t see my car from that angle. It happens.

Woman (annoyed) YOU were waiting too??

Me: Yep. *shrugs shoulders*

Woman: Well, you’re lucky you’re not disabled!

Now, there’s two ways I could have responded to this. And if you know me in real life, you know I’ve got a fuckin’ mouth. But I was tired and nauseous (why I was at the pharmacy) but also, I know how she felt. I totally get it. So instead of saying, “Fuck you, you don’t know me!” it went down like this…

 Me (Holding up and waving my disabled placard): Actually, I am disabled. I had a stroke.

Woman (calming down): Oh?...You…you are disabled? A stroke? My husband too. He’s in the car. That’s why I needed the parking spot.

Me, smiling: Oh I understand. Finding the right spot can be so frustrating.

Woman, starting to giggle: Oh yes, it is! I worry about bringing him. And now…well now I understand you.

Me, also giggling: Yeah, me too. I’m glad you said something actually. Happy holidays! 

I got out of the car and finished what I set out to do. Instead of being fueled by rage and spite like my usual self, I walked around the store feeling all warm and fuzzy. (Don't get used to it.)

 It turns out when you talk to people, you understand them a little better. FUCKING WILD, FAM. 

Now listen, there is nothing Zen about me. I'm as bah humbug as they come so no, the holidays being upon us does not make me nicer. In fact, it stresses me the fuck out. I imagine a lot of you are already feeling it too. So maybe, just maybe when that stranger comes across like a fucking asshole, we can try taking a deep breath and consider maybe they're as frustrated as we are. I don't know. I'm going to try more of that anyhow. Peace.

This is My Toe, Officially in the Water

 Sorry, no feet pics. Those cost extra.

 Apparently, I’ve been saying, “I need to make time to write something and post to my blog” for *scrolls old posts* SEVEN YEARS. I couldn’t help but notice that my last entry was posted in December of 2016. While I don’t dive too far into politics here, I will say that the heartbreak and mental burnout that overcame me by the end of 2016 impacted my willingness to share much of anything outside of pure unadulterated rage. It was me, my soapbox, and Facebook for a while. Then that grew tiresome, and I turned to shitposting as many of you probably have.

 What the hell am I doing here now? Mentally, I didn’t abandon this project. It’s always been floating around in my brain. A dear friend came across my blog recently and shot me a message along the lines of “So…were you going tell me you have a whole ass blog?” I’m paraphrasing. I found myself embarrassed. I wasn’t embarrassed that they read it, or that it exists; I was embarrassed because I’d abandoned my outlet. This was my little thing that was for me, that helped me organize my brain, and that preserved the funny and scary little stories about my life. Why the fuck did I let go of that? Quite a few reasons actually, but each one of those reasons was rooted in fear. I confided those fears in my friend, in rapid-fire verbal vomit fashion, and they replied, “but yeah now you know you can type what you want to type.” Actual quote.

This is the first post of what I expect to be a revival of my little corner of the blogosphere. Consider it my warm up post. I have a lot to share: experiences travelling and going on little solo adventures while disabled, my fitness journey as a chubby crippled girl, SEX, pregnancy and abortion… OH WE ARE GOING THERE. And I hope you come with me.