Today’s post was going to be about my ultimate stress-busters. A numbered list with keywords and phrases like What The Hell is Hygge? or Just Find Me, Google, Damn it!

A (somewhat universal, but still rather personal) list that would garner such comments as:

  1. ‘Great post!’
    b. ‘Your so funny!’
    iii. ‘Can I have tea instead?’
    f. ‘My cousin’s brother’s wife can pop wheelies in their wheelchair. And I just find it so inspiring. Can you pop wheelies? Are you inspired right now?’

And while I appreciate variations on a theme of 3 out of 4 of those stock comments, that’s not why I blog.

However.

I’ve been thinking about why I do.

Some of you will have caught on that I’ve been blogging for quite some time.

Back in the day, I was fresh-faced enough to believe I could maybe make a difference/change the picture of disability/get a book deal just by living my life.

I was wrong.

All that shit takes work. Work that I used to get paid for, off-the-blog, on my travels, in my office(s) with bosses that did not emerge from my womb.

I love the person who calls me Mumma. So much so that I eventually want there to be at least one more person that does so.

However.

I miss my name. And I still have one. I used to have a phone voice. I used to have work clothes. I lost my voice and my suits no longer fit.

I lost my voice.

And I’m blogging these days to get it back.

I’ve been thinking that maybe I could work for myself. I’ve done it before and I’m trying agin.

However.

I feel like I’m too far away to comment on the accessibility of ‘visitor attractions’ in cities that are a ferry then train ride away.

I’ve thought about writing on the access to stuff up here, but the thing is there isn’t much. Access. Or stuff. That frustrates the shit out of me. There. I said it. And I’m working on reasons to get off the Prozac, not stay on it.

And so, I’m going to concentrate on stuff that doesn’t frustrate me. Like my family. And my writing. And my blog. And our travels. To places I can access freely.

In related news, you may think the internet is always on.

But it isn’t. There’s a little thing called ‘shitty connection speeds.’ Which delays the blogging. But it’s good for the writing.

Maybe.

P.S. I can do wheelies. But not for you.

P.P.S Unless you made me, or I made you, I am not your inspiration. But I will try and make a difference. From here. Hi.

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