Some Depressing Shit

Okay, so before I start writing let it be known that I might mess up on grammar and if I do it’s most likely because once I get into typing I really suck at editing myself, so if that happens; which it will, just deal with it.

So I’m less depressed now than I was an hour or two ago and that might be due to the fact that I’m on my third day of taking anti-depression medication. But it’s not much better, it just makes me feel okay with life I guess. So let’s go back and explain today’s feeling of hopelessness.

A week ago I was scheduled for a job interview and about four days before that interview I received a random call from a staffing agency. In the long run I ended up having two job interviews that were two days apart from one another.

At each of them I was told that they would have a decision at the end of the week, so what do I do? I waited a week or five days a weekend and that following Monday, on that Thursday I wrote both companies a very short and very nice e-mail to both of the hiring managers.

Today (March 14th, 2018) I called both places but only received word from one of the two, one of them telling me not to contact the company directly because I worked for the staffing agency, which is beyond weird to me. But I was told that their client was not going to hire me.

So am I doing something wrong? What the fuck is it? After being told, “No,” over and over again it has put me into a spot where I assume that there is a lot of discrimination that goes on in the workplace, even if the laws say otherwise. But is there? Am I just pulling shit out of my ass?

There are a lot of jobs that I can’t do, and sadly I understand that and it has put me into this spiral where I don’t trust anyone. A lot of entry level jobs that do not require you to have a college education often require you to have physical abilities that I don’t have no matter how hard I try.

If you do not know I have a physical disability that has me in a wheelchair, and I can stand up for short periods of time and whatnot. But still there are a fuck ton of jobs that I can’t do based on that.

What did I do to try to get around that? I had the Division of Vocational Rehabilitation fund both of my college degrees. I have two college degrees, one in Mechanical Engineering Design and the other in Machining and Manufacturing Technologies.

The state rather pay someone with a disability, someone who can not find a job, to go to school and acquire the tasks to be employable than to pay you X amount for the rest of your life because you can not find a job.

That brings me to my next point, Social Security Disability Income. They pay more than basic Social Security, and the only reason I’m on it is due to the that I held my first job for five years and payed into the system. But honestly, do you know how much they give you, or me in this case because it varies from person to person; $905.00 a month, do you have any idea how hard it is to live off of 10,860.00 a year?

It’s not easy. And for those of you who think that all we do is sit at home and eat the most lavish food one can buy, no, no we don’t. But I don’t feel like I need to go into that. The point is that I don’t take any pride in the fact that I’m taking your tax money, I don’t; I mean I’m glad it’s there because if it wasn’t I would have became homeless and killed myself long ago, either that or go live at my parents and feel like a useless 34 year old that lives with his mom and dad.

Do you know how many times I’ve been told, “We’re going to pass on you,” it’s depressing as hell. What the fuck am I doing wrong? Like, I come off socially awkward in interviews. Or do I? Is that what I force myself to believe? It can’t be the disability thing, or can it?

I honestly had a thought today, “If I was not here I would not feel like crap day in and day out over an issue that I can’t control, and I wouldn’t disappoint people who expect me to be financially stable,” but at the same time I had the contradictory thought of “I don’t want to die; people love me regardless, I’m getting married in 7 months, I have a son, I have parents, I have friends; and all of these people care about me.

I have the tendency to be one of the best people that you got to know, I even blow people away a lot of the time. I would not actually do that I love myself too much, but this, this thing called life is too depressing.

Do employers even care? I don’t think they do! I sit there in an interview and you know that I can use Solidworks, I can read a blueprint, I have plenty of knowledge when it comes to manufacturing; I know how to generate a bill of materials, I have knowledge in geometric tolerancing and dimensioning. I’m not just some dipshit off the street.

It is so hard for me to buy into the fact that you’re not hiring me because I didn’t fit. Now all I hear when you say, “We’re going to pass on you,” is, “We are so sorry that you have a shitty life, but that’s not our problem. We now that you want this job and will put every ounce of energy that you have into it, but because of the fact that you come off socially awkward and no longer trust yourself because people keep kicking you when you’re down; we don’t care about you.

Like how do people do it? How do you gain confidence that you don’t have? How do you act like you’re the best person in the world when time and time again employers have given you a reason to think you’re just someone else. How the hell?

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The Scientific Ramblings of a Confused Human.

What comes after 0 seconds? 1 second. What comes after 59 seconds? 60 seconds. What is 60 seconds equivalent to? 1 minute!

What comes after 1 minute? 2 minutes. What comes after 59 minutes? 60 minutes. What is 60 minutes equivalent to? 1 hour!

What comes after 1 hour? 2 hours. What comes after 23 hours? 24 hours. What is 24 hours equivalent to? 1 day!

What comes after 1 day? 2 days. What comes after 6 days? 7 days. What is 7 days days equivalent to? 1 week!

What comes after 1 week? 2 weeks. What comes after 3 weeks? 4 weeks. What is 4 weeks equivalent to? 1 month!

What comes after 1 month? 2 months. What comes after 11 months? 12 months. What is 12 months equivalent to? 1 year!

Point being that the timeline is a timeline, time does not stop even after you die and the Earth gets to the point where it holds no form of life for another billion years or whatever. The only reason we know the time and date is because someone, somewhere, was like, “Hey, if the sun is on a scale we can all relate to one another and keep track of history and what not.”

Okay, he did not say that; but if the words of Matthew McConaughey, “It’d be pretty cool if you did.”

Why the fuck does everyone make a big deal out of the new year? Yes, it’s a new year; and guess what happens? People do shit, you’re just hoping it’s good shit. How far do you want to take it? Do you want to light off fireworks every minute. If so that is going to cost you a lot of fucking money and you might get arrested too.

Like, it’s just another number on our system of time. And how do we even know that today is what today is? Is it because we all agree on it?

What if I made a resolution to drink more beer and I started on March 13th, 2022? Would it be any different than making the same resolution on January 1st, 2018?

And fucking people on Goddamn Facebook, stop acting like a new year is going to like…change who you are or some shit. You might change. And if you did, good; hopefully. But guess what? You changed you, or tried to; a new number on this thing that we call the timeline ain’t changing shit besides your age and the age of things around you.

And in the words of Forest Gump, “That’s all I have to say about that.”

I Feel Like Writing!

I’m the type of person who does not care if my friends use my wheelchair if I’m not.

Back in high school I was in yearbook production, I could also walk; it was not able to walk like most people think of walking, but nonetheless I was able to get myself from point A to B and back again without using my wheelchair.

One day I’m sitting at the computer using Photoshop to design one of the junior pages. I was not in my wheelchair, I was in the nice “school version” of an office chair because I deemed it more comfortable.

My friend Lance had to go interview someone, about something, and said, “Hey bro, can I use your pimp ride?” Which I didn’t care, “Yea man, whatever, just don’t be trying to go down a set of stairs or whatever.”

About 30 minutes later he came back to class and said, “Man, how do you guys do this, my arms hurt.”

About two weeks after that I was staying after school to work on the yearbook and Lance was with me, a few other students, and the teacher. School was pretty empty at this point, and once again I was not sitting in my wheelchair. When I had to go to the bathroom I decided I would just walk there.

For some reason the bathrooms are locked after school, which I didn’t know at the time; by the time I walked 50 feet in one direction, 150 feet in the other direction, and another 1,000 feet that same direction to end up going to the bathroom to just walk 1,150 feet back to class I opened the door to say, “Man, how do you guys walk, my legs hurt.”

And this leads into my topic.

My mom, who didn’t show signs of our disability until 1973 or 1974; at the age of 18, just got a manual wheelchair. Before that she was using a cane or one of those walkers with wheels on them. She was still able to walk, and still is; but as time goes on it is slowly deteriorating and you can tell she is having a harder time doing so.

Me on the other hand didn’t walk until I was 3 and pretty much had a wheelchair my whole life, 33 years later I’m on my fifth wheelchair and due to how active I am I see myself needing another one sometime around the age of 40.

I was able to walk in the past, but it was…different. I can still walk I suppose, but I need assistance with every step. Back when I was able to run, jump, and skip I still had a wheelchair even though I rarely used it. Around the age of 16 when I entered high school I more or less started using my wheelchair when I was away from home.

I had many years since then to figure out shit that most people don’t know how to do. Wheelie’s, opening doors, getting into my car, and toning my muscles to take me places.

So now my mom is asking me, “How do you open doors?” I can tell her, “You go up to the door until you can’t go any further, then put one hand on the door handle and keep your other hand on the wheel, roll backwards as fast as you car and swing the door open. Then take that arm that you were holding the door open with and use it to catch the door as is closes, use the door and your one arm to move though the door.” Or, “Go up to the door, crack it open, and slowly run into it until it opens to the point that allows you to push yourself though the door.”

But, I don’t know how much she will understand that. She has never done it before. It’s kinda like explaining how to swim when you only know how to stand in a pool.

And she doesn’t have the same arm tone that I do. I can go 500 yards on a sidewalk and not be tired, but I don’t know if she can; and hills, come on man, I can get up a 30 degree incline and understand the physics of weight changes and whatnot. I can even do the same thing on grass based on the fact that I know how to do a wheelie.

But she does not. Part of me wants to call her and say, “You need to go to the mall and just cruise, get your arm strength up.” Then going up a hill, I don’t know if she’ll be able to navigate that without falling backwards because she doesn’t know any better.

Then going down a hill, seems easy, but that too requires knowledge of how to stop, how to steer your chair at a fast rate of speed, and how to control each wheel if you lose traction. The breaks won’t do shit in that case, they might burn your hands and cause you to crash into whatever you’re not steering away from.

Like, I’m not there. I can’t take her to the mall and give her wheelchair lessons. My dad is a motherfucking genius when it comes to physics, but I don’t know how much he can help either. I’m 1,600 miles away I just can’t be like, “Do this,” and even when I do move to Oregon I’ll still be about 200 miles away.

Last night I told her, “Go to Youtube, that’s a good resource for almost anything that you want to know.”

I was on the phone with her when she said, “Boy, carpet is so much harder then wood.” Part of me felt good that she can finally grasp that understanding, and part of me was like “Well no shit.”

Should I Be Mad?

This story may take turns, chances are – like most of my posts – they have improper grammar due to the fact that I’m really bad at editing myself. I’m writing this without any preparation – yet again like the mass majority of my posts. If I’m talking about one thing but then the drunken train conductor derails the train into another topic, don’t be surprised.

As you might know I was born with a physical disability that is rare and hereditary in nature. My disability is known as, or called, Hereditary Spastic Paraplegia or otherwise referred to as HSP.

My mom gave the disability to me, her mom gave it to her, I gave it to my son. My uncle, her brother, also had it. I don’t know much about how my uncle was effected, but what little I did see him he was better than I was but worse of then my mom; he was able to walk like I could when I was around the age of 23, couldn’t walk without support but seemed to have the energy to do so. My mom used to play basketball in high school, she did not show any signs of our disability until she was 18 years old.

Me on the other hand showed it as soon as I started walking, maybe even before then. I took my first step at the age of 11 months, but I fell down right away and gave up. It was kind of like I said, “Fuck that shit, I’m not doing that again.” But I did, I started walking on a regular basis sometime around the age of 3.

My disability has the nature of getting worse over time, that being said I used to be able to walk and now I can’t walk without assistance. Those of us born with the disability are theorized to plateau at some unknown point in life. I can still drive a car with the use of my feet. Even when I could walk you could look at me and say, “That kid walks funny.” It was not easy to hide the fact that I was physically disabled, in fact it was almost impossible unless I sat in a chair my entire life.

If you did not catch on by now, everyone who has my disability is effected differently, while the University of Michigan is doing studies and found the particular gene in the DNA strain; everyone is effected differently and it is almost impossible to distinguish how person A is effected differently than person B without physically having communication with said people.

My son is currently 13 years old, his mom broke up with me when he was around the age of 3. After breaking up with me she got married to someone in the military and from that my son spent the last 9 years moving from Washington State, up to Alaska, down to Texas, over to Florida, and when he was 12 they moved back to Washington State due to his step-father getting a job offer in Seattle.

Last time I saw my kid was July of 2016 when my aunt took me with her to Washington State as a way of her visiting her sister; my mom. Both of her sisters do not have our disability.

From what I can tell, my son, who has my disability according to the University of Michigan, does not show signs of our disability. He does, but you would not know it at first glance. You’d have to wait until he was tired of walking, or just tired in general. I remember being at Mt. Rainier watching my kid walk towards the bathroom, I was not really able to see anything other than a very minor angular change of his foot when he steps forward with said leg.

So this is where the story breaks off into another direction.

A few weeks ago I was on Facebook and saw one my sisters posts, in said post she used the word retarded as a way of explaining her and her friend hanging out and being stupid. From there came comments that were trying to correct her on using such word in said fashion. I go onto leave a comment that said something along the lines of, I can’t find the post anymore…she deleted it. I said something to the effect of…

I think of it as someone calling me a cripple.

Over the years I’ve learned how to poke fun at myself.

Unless it’s me using the word against myself, or a close friend using the word towards me in a humorous fashion; it’s offensive. I would not call you a cripple due to the fact that you might be offended by that, and even then…that is not the correct way to describe an individual with a physical disability.

Later that night I was in the kitchen heating a pizza in the oven when my sister called and said, “Can you please delete that last comment that you made.” With a slightly confused look on my face that quickly turned into anger  I asked, “Why?”

“Because I don’t want anyone to know that I’m disabled.”

We got into a short fight afterwards and shorty after she said, “It’s not you decision to…” I hung up on her. Shortly after that I sent her a text message that said, “Don’t be afraid or who you are.” Which went straight into her asking, “Why did you hang up on me?” To which I said, “Because I was offended…”

My sister…we didn’t know that she had HSP until a blood test to try to find a cure was conducted, which is where the University of Michigan comes into play. My sister grew up showing no signs of said disability. She ran track, she was on the diving team, she did gymnastics in high school; she was a very active person. No one knew that she had it until we got word from the University of Michigan that told us otherwise. She didn’t show signs until she was….29, 30, 31; I don’t know.

It has been said that those who “develop” a disability much later in life have a much harder time coping with their new found lack of movement.

“I was offended…you’re more or less telling me in a round about way that you are ashamed that you are like your brother and that you just want to act like the whole thing does not exist.”

“No, it’s not like that at all; you just don’t have the right to tell my friends things about me that they don’t know.”

While I can agree with that, that does not mean that I was not offended. After thinking about it for the past few days I came to the conclusion that I’m jealous oh her.

Unlike her I was never able to hide the fact that I had a physical disability. I had a…difficult time as a kid. Other kids don’t fucking know, and they use your misfortune as a way to gain popularity among other kids who think the same thing. It took me a long time to figure out who I was, it took me a move to another state to understand that kids just make fun of you based on what they don’t know.

It took me awhile to understand that if you don’t give them the reaction that they are looking for (which is their fucked up way of gaining popularity) and you address, and explain, the elephant in the room people tend to be more inviting.

It took me a long time to understand this, and I’m currently in the state of mind where: Well fuck it, I am who I am; if you don’t like it, I’m not going to try to be someone I’m not.

Part of  me being targeted by bullies in school was because I gave them the reaction that they were looking for. I wanted to be popular, but at that time in my life I kept trying to be someone that I was not just because I thought people might like me if I was different. That has also taught me something about girls!

If you’re a dork and you like the color pink, or whatever it is; own that shit, be proud of it. Girls love confidence, if you like to  eat eggs with ketchup, fucking own that shit; don’t try to turn into someone you think she wants you to be, fucking be yourself and be proud of it! Don’t be an asshole, every relationship has it’s struggles which require compromise.

I’m just saying…if you like rap music, expand your musical tastes because she is a fan of heavy metal, don’t stop liking it because she doesn’t like it. However if she, I don’t know…stops having sex with you because you like rap; you might want to reevaluate the person that she is.

I have to understand that my sister is on a different life path, her perspective is not the same as mine. She grew up with me, in the same house, going to the same school; she saw what I went though. Or did she? She saw it, but I don’t think she fully understood it.

From my perspective hearing her tell me that was the same as, “I saw what you went though as a kid, and I don’t want that to happen to me, so I just going to Donald Trump this bitch and act like it doesn’t exist.”

Which makes me wonder, “If we were not related would she have been one of those who made fun of me in school?”

So, I understand that her perspective is different than mine, but I’m jealous that she got to do something that I was never able to do.

There are a lot of people that can do things that I can’t, I’m not jealous of them; they did not grow up with me, they do not have the same disability that I do, and they were not able to hide that disability for about a third of their life.

She has a hard time coming, and the longer she is afraid to tell people that she is disabled the harder it is going to be on her.

I understand not letting people know that you are disabled. There have been people I talked to online who have no idea that I’m disabled, I understand not letting people know. But the moment where you’re afraid to let yourself know is where my anger comes from.

Am I right for being mad at my sister for this particular issue?

How do I address it if she wants my advice? We are clearly looking at the same picture through two different pieces of glass. I can’t just look at her and say, “Shit happens, get used to it,” she wont see that the same way I do.

That’s like a mime trying to show you how to be a public speaker with the same audience.

The Symbol

485484_730291328338_681817584_nI’m sitting here in my man cave, office, other room, whatever you want to call it. My fiance and I have a two bedroom house,we sleep in the same room, sometimes she will go sleep on the couch because apparently I snore too loud when I’m sleeping. Regardless the other room that I like to refer to as my man cave has a Xbox 360, Xbox One, and a computer; there is a framed Pink Floyd poster in front of me on the wall and as we speak there is a three quarter empty whisky bottle sitting to the right of me. That I plan on finishing when I get home.

I just wrote a post over the past three days, I’m kinda proud of it, I actually went through and edited it, multiple times. I think it is a good story of a past experience that I had in my life.

Anyways, I don’t have anything to do, in about an hour I have to go meet Shannon when she gets off of work so we can go grocery shopping. So I might not even get done with this post before I have to put my wheelchair in the back of my car and drive a few miles away from my current location.

I’m on the site going though blogs and seeing what other people are writing about and I came past this post for The Daily Post, it was all about symbolism. That made me think of something that I can write about. The idea has been brewing in my head for awhile anyways.

Symbols, symbolism, there is a symbol that I rock everyday, sometimes in more ways than one.

20150711_190303It’s even on my arm, proudly displayed.

I grew up being the victim of bullies. Unlike many other kids who got bullied I was the disabled kid. I can talk about this forever, but I learned one thing when I moved to Washington State at the age of 14.

The people that were making fun of me were doing it in the search for popularity. While it was not right, I can understand it. If you are able to make fun of yourself while remaining true to yourself you can take away their power. If you do not care that someone is making fun of you, you will therefore stop someone else from being a friend with someone else because you are hurt and both of them think it’s funny for some reason. That will then stop them from making fun of you because they don’t gain anything from it.

It’s not even that they find it funny, the experience gives them something to bond over, and if you keep giving them the reaction that they want, before you know it those two people will effectively morph into thirty before you know what has happened.

And I know, it happened to me.

At an older age I became interested in tattoos. And I was at the point of thinking, “You know what man, I’m handicapped and if you don’t like it you can just go fuck yourself.”

I’ve learned that if something does not make you happy it’s a waste of your time to try to make that thing something that can make you happy. Sometimes the best thing you can do is ignore or get rid of things that don’t make you happy.

That is one of, if not the main reason why I got the handicapped symbol tattooed on my arm. It is a little therapeutic for me too, it reminds me that I am who I am, where I was, where I am, and how it is pointless to try to fit somewhere you don’t belong.

I’m not trying to say to stop trying to get your dream job, or stop playing a sport, or anything else that you feel passionate about; I’m just saying you’re going to be really sad if you are in a wheelchair and try to play for the NFL.

I think that is what the handicapped symbol means to me.

I even have a blue shirt with the handicapped symbol on it that says, “In it for the free parking,” underneath it.

Over the years I became really good at this making fun of myself thing, and to me I’m not making fun of myself, I’m just being proud of who I am.

I also think that poking fun of yourself can be inviting to others, they might be more willing to talk to you and become a friend because confidence is an attractive thing.

Why I Liked It: Perspective

maxresdefault“You might get into a fight, you might get into an argument, and you might even think you are right; but they think they are right too. Until you understand the situation from the other perspective you just don’t know what you think you do.”

I was laying in bed one night and came along a post/article titled Wheeled and I thought it was really important. Not often do you hear people understanding a persons situation form another perspective that they didn’t see before.

I myself am disabled and spend the majority of my day in a wheelchair. But I can walk short distances with the help of someone or something. Others don’t have it as good as me, but being in the situation that I was born into and developed over time I would like to think of myself as someone who can sympathize with their situation.

Granted this guy was not disabled on a permanent basis but the temporary lack of mobility gave him the ability to see struggles that most people honestly do not think about.

It makes me think of Nebraska, why? The state of Nebraska sucks at the whole idea of handicapped accessibility. Of course I’m comparing it to Washington State, which not everyone can do; so once again if you cant compare it to something, you just do not know.

Nebraska has handicapped accessibility, they are required to per the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990. But whatever the reason is, Washington seems to have a jump on it.

I got two stories, one in each state, one of which is embarrassing; but given the topic I feel that is is worth sharing.

Me and my girlfriend, at that time, lived in a Tacoma address that was not in Tacoma. For all of you who are used to one town surrounded by nothing but a highway that goes on for 20 miles until you get to the next town surrounded by nothing; the general Seattle area is different, they jam all their cities next to each other like that of an ant farm in a tank that is double the size of the room you’re sitting in right now.

The apartment we lived in at the time had a stray cat who was running around the parking lot looking for food. One day he ran into my house and we decided to keep him as a pet, after verifying that he didn’t belong to any other resident.

Because of this we were going to neuter our new pet that we called Pinkman. The only place that we could afford at the time was a place in downtown Tacoma right off of Pacific Avenue.

We dropped off the cat and I asked one of the employees if they had a bathroom, they go onto tell me that the bathroom is closed to the public. “But there is one inside of McDonald’s,” she continued to say as she pointed at a brick building with a yellow trim around the roof, the building was about a half mile away from my current location, still on Pacific Avenue but on the other side of the street.

Unless I choose to be arrested by pulling down my pants and taking a shit on the sidewalk while I leaned against the building I had to travel close to 700 feet down the same road, crossing the street at some point.

Here I go, crossing the street at the crosswalk before I even go down the street. I had to go to the bathroom, I was just hoping that I could make it to my destination beforehand. I go to cross the street, I jay wheeled to the other side of the street because I could not find any crosswalks anywhere close to me. The nearest crosswalk I was able to see was further down the street that I couldn’t even get to due to the lack of cub cuts that allow a wheelchair to drop or raise 4 inches by the use of a ramp that is cut into the sidewalk.

I get on the other side of the street and use a driveway for a business to get myself back up onto the sidewalk opposite of where I was just at. Now I thought I was on the home stretch, all I had to do was go straight down this sidewalk until I reached my final destination.

I’m going down, thinking I was on the home stretch when I came to a street that didn’t have a curb cut either, so I had to backtrack to another driveway just to get back onto the street. I’m riding this general direction again, but now I’m on the left side of the street passing parked cars while watching others head at me. I’m going this way the whole time thinking two things: “what do all these people think, watching some dude in a wheelchair rolling down the very edge of a busy street in downtown Tacoma,” and, “fuck this man, I’m doing what I need to do to get where I need to go, I don’t care if a cop stops me; I might shit my pants, but I’m in the right.”

Right before I see McDonald’s no more than 20 feet away from me I notice another curb cut that wont allow me to get where I need to go, if I was thinking I would have used their driveway too. But I ended up crossing the street, making it back to the side that I was originally on. I saw Worksource, but I already passed it, so now I had to backtrack back to this other building that I was sure had a bathroom in it.

By the time I got there I had dirty boxers and had to say goodbye to a pair of underwear when I threw them into the trash of the Worksource bathroom. There was no way I was going to attempt to wear those home, I wasn’t even happy wearing what I had to in order to get home.

While in the bathroom my girlfriend calls me and says she just got the cat checked in so we can go home now as I say, “good, you need to come to Worksource and get me and we need to go home so I can take a shower.” We had plans to go to Fred Meyer afterwards but that was no longer the most important thing I had to do at that moment.

Most people wouldn’t even understand, they don’t know how important curb cuts are. I can’t just step up or down, people understand that, but for the most part they do not understand the gravity of the situation that disabled people face on a daily basis.

At one point in her life my fiance has been to France, the only reason I bring this up is because after she told me how hard it would be for me to get around in that area it only makes me wonder what other countries do for those whom have physical disabilities and thus have a hard time getting from point A to point B.

If you want to read another story about a problem I had in Washington State. I wrote a post/article titled Handicapped People Do Not Wear Clothes in the beginning of 2014.

The two stories I just shared will make it seem like Nebraska is better at handicapped accessibility issues then that of Washington. Coming from a outside perspective I can see how you would think that, the story I have about Nebraska is not as long or as detailed.

I just moved back to Nebraska not too long ago before I noticed this. I lived next to a supermarket/clothing store. In the front of the store they had the closest two parking spaces of every row designated as a disabled parking, making a total of about 12 disabled parking spaces. They were not too far away from the front entrance either, this entrance even had a giant curb cut that ran the length of two buses. Sounds good right?

On the left side of the store you had two parking spaces that were also designated disabled parking, they even had a no parking space in the middle of them. This no parking space would make someone like me, who is disabled assume that this was for extra parking room and/or a space for people to get to the sidewalk using a wheelchair or some other assistive device.

Up on the sidewalk was a fire exit, a door that people could exit in the event of a fire. So far everything is good, right?

There wasn’t a curb cut going from the parking lot onto the sidewalk. Was I the only one that noticed this? It made me ask a question.

In the event of a fire someone who might be in a wheelchair might come out of the door. How are the supposed to get to the parking lot and thus escaping the heat of said fire?

I can always go around the perimeter of the store and go down the curb cut that is in the front of the store, but I shouldn’t have to. Same thing applies to going the other way. Granted this door is not an entrance, you will still have to go around the store to get inside of said store, but guess what are not on sidewalks… moving vehicles.

Do you guys expect anyone in a wheelchair to enter into an area of low volume traffic to go the same direction as said traffic just to enter or exit the store?

So in closing all I got to say is…think about someones struggles, physical or not, before you jump on your high horse and judge them too harshly.

Why I Like It: Growing Up

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Sometimes in life people need to grow up, sometimes that forces us from separating yourself from those that don’t fit anymore.

The original post that I liked is titled A letter for closure to my friend. I liked it for a few reasons: not only did she post something prior to this post that dealt with the same situation, I ended up giving her advice, that she liked more than I was expecting her to. This post is a follow up to that post, this was a very adult thing of her to do and I was able relate to it.

When I read this letter I think of three people, two of them are still friends; one is not. My close friend Eric who I mentioned in a few posts is my best friend and will continue to be for a long time, I hope, I plan on making him the best man at my wedding. My other friend might be my best man too, he has been a friend for a long time, but just happens to be dumber than the other.

The friend that I let go of was not a friend for that long, but I came to the realization that it was just not fun to be around him in a close social setting.

I’ll mention Eric and Dmitry first.

Eric has been a friend for a long time and we have been very close at times and not so close other times. But he remained a friend of mine and I’m glad he is still here. When I had a kid I moved about 10 miles away from him, and he stopped hanging out with me, while I was living in the town over he started dating this girl who got him into cocaine.

I didn’t know this until later, I just thought he was being an asshole; which is true, but he was being an asshole for different reasons. Later in life after they broke up and he started hanging out with me again. But that is not really the point I’m trying to make.

He dated this chick on and off, multiple times. I did the same thing with the mother of my child and overtime came to understand that if it didn’t work the first time it’s very hard to make it work the second time; but it does happen, however if you’re trying the third, forth, or fifth time it’s just a waste of your time; it’s a waste of their time too.

I go over to Eric’s house one day and he told me something that I was not expecting to hear, I was even dumbfounded when he told me. This girl he dated on and off moved from Washington State to Colorado, she got a good job there as a software engineer. He mentioned that he was talking to Christie again, but I just blew it off thinking that it wouldn’t last long.

Sitting on his bed he looked at me and said, “Dan, I’m moving to Colorado.” He even asked for my blessing to do so.

I gave it to him even though I knew he was moving 1,400 miles away for heartbreak. But he is stubborn, he had to learn; if I told him what I was really thinking he wouldn’t listen to me anyways, he’d try to tell me I was wrong. So I let him go, I had to let him learn.

And yes they broke up about two years before he moved back to Washington State, and by that time I was gone in Nebraska, so we don’t get to see each other everyday, or even every year. But we still keep in touch and I will end up being closer to him when I move to Oregon.

Dmitry…Dmitry was another friend who had to learn, the problem with him is if he crashes into a brick wall he will get out of the car and keep running into the same wall asking himself why the wall isn’t moving.

If you care you can read more about this interaction a previous post I made called The Conversationis here, there you go…but just to summarize it for you…

He ended up dating this chick that was nothing but trouble. I even told him how fucking stupid he was being. He didn’t believe me, and once again I had to let him run into the brick wall. We didn’t hang out at all while this was going on, but he called me afterwards to say, “you we’re right, I should have listened to you.”

Now..onto Josh, the friend that I let go of.

You ever seen those anti-marijuana ads that try to scare you into believing that most people who smoke pot will force you to smoke pot? Well he was that guy. He never forced me to smoke pot, he was not even the one that got me into it; but he did have a habit of pushing people to the level of uncomfortablity.

And every time he told a story about a party it ended with, “and the cops came.” I didn’t need that.

I was still “learning” how to smoke pot, I had many times where I smoked way too much, granted I didn’t die and I will never overdose no matter how much I smoke, but green sickness still sucks.

If you have ever smoked too much and laid on the floor in the fetal position, too scared to stand up because you thought cops were staring at you in your window then you know what I’m talking about.

I eventually found my happy medium and when friends said, “hey, you want to go smoke with Josh?” I was the first one to say no. “I want to have fun, I want to enjoy my high and relax with good friends; I don’t want to think a robot from Terminator 2 is going to shoot me because Josh would not shut up unless I smoked more than I wanted to.”

Josh went down a bad road after that, he was that kid just didn’t know when to stop.

My point is, sometimes you can’t enjoy life if you don’t cut out the thing that is holding you back.

Two of the three are still my friends, but for good reason. The other one is not, and I’m glad he isn’t anymore.

That is a very hard lesson to learn, I may not even fully understand it, but I know most of it. It was a very adult thing that she had to do and I applaud her for it.