I have a dirty little secret.

Here it goes: I am disabled. Oh I know that most people look at the wheelchair and assume that I do not hold a real job. By real I mean a 9-5 or some version of that kind of job. So untrue for so many, in fact the majority, of my friends in chairs. They are out there drawing pay checks, paying into social security rather than waiting anxiously for the money that barely even covers actual costs of medicines and gear I need to survive. And I am not a free kind of handicapped individual. I like to do things, buy things, throw money at things.

So you would think with all the out go I am behind that I would get a for money kind of job. And yet I don't. Here comes the dirty secret part.

I am feeling older. I get tired easily and can not keep up with a day after day schedule. I can not face 8 hours of back to back high function. I forget names and why I went into a room. I am noticing why I qualified for disability and continue to do so.

So please leave me a parking spot close to the entrance. Provide me with slanted floors (going gently down only whenever possible) to get around. And feel free to ask me politely if I could use some help. After a day like today the answer will probably be yes.

Tomorrow, you should probably get out of my way (in the morning before I'm worn out again)!

Be well!