Because what weekend doesn’t end crazily? I’m certainly hoping things get to be a bit more to my liking as this week goes on.
My cousin and I sit in the four-bedroom house, chatting. One of our old, favorite country albums plays in the background.
“Wanna go swimming?” he asks suddenly.
“Yeah,” I reply.
The delicious scent of fried chicken and baked macaroni and cheese follows us as we make our way onto the back deck and maneuver around a collections of chairs irregularly placed. I slip out of my shirt and shoes, walk down the stairs, dive in, and!… lurch out of bed toward the restroom, as I suddenly realize the problem.
I was mostly relieved that my clock only read 2:15, instead of the 4:15 that would mean I must go ahead and shower. But I made the classic mistake of browsing the notifications that had poured into my phone while it rested in my pocket, Do Not Disturb setting activated so that only the vibrating alarm would rouse me.
I don’t know if any sleep was had after that, but in any event it was far too soon by the time I did in fact have to make my way toward that warm-to-hot water. I turned on the brain cells as best I could, hoping mostly to come up with some kind of topic in order to keep my writing challenge goal alive of pumping out an entry every day of this month.
You know, I’ve never really done that. Oh sure, I posted in my Live Journal continuously for a little over 2 years, but not all of those were actually written entries. Many were those silly Internet memes, polls, or low-quality telephone voice posts. So it remains to be seen if I can measure up to this high bar. I do enjoy your feedback, as that may well be the thing to keep me going.
Anyway, back to my day. I chose to dress nicely, not because I had to but because it sometimes boosts my confidence and mood as the week begins. On stepping outside, I was glad to have made such a choice. It seems fall is coming in with a vengeance, or perhaps my already low cold tolerance levels have fallen further. They said it was approximately 63 degrees, but I stood quaking in my Sunday shoes as cars streamed by and I awaited a slightly late Durham Area Transit Authority (DATA) Route 11 bus.
On boarding, I flashed my Disability Discount ID card, deposited my pass into the slot and waited for it to magically pop back up, and took my sideways-facing seat. I was nervous, because that vehicle had a disturbing rattle as we headed down the road. It sounded this way when I took it on Thursday as well. I suppose there isn’t anything really wrong with it, but still.
At the Durham Station transit center stop, I made small talk with the woman I’ve seen fairly regularly for almost 3 months. She has a complicated story, the likes of which I’ve not entirely figured out. But it seems she’s from Las Vegas, has two children, and is either in her 20’s or 40’s. I get somewhat different answers on different days! She’s really kind however, and always has an encouraging word even though she doesn’t seem to feel all that happy with circumstances much of the time.
The Triangle Transit Route 700 that takes me on my second leg to work was also significantly late, arriving at nearly 6:15 instead of 6:00. Maybe today was just a particularly bad traffic day or something. This meant I got to work at 6:45 AM, and had only 15 minutes to clock in, suck down my required coke, and tune in to some NPR.
By clicking on the work tab, you can get a sense of what I do, or at least used to do, at this location. Today though is spent as much of the rest of these last two months have been, just kind of passing time. They did say some sort of project should be ready for us by tomorrow or Wednesday, thank goodness.
At about 2:30 my supervisor brought over a collection of belt buckles that we were to sort into piles of 100. This held us for most of the rest of the day, until we finally ran out of boxes into which we could place the piles.
You know, I’m trying to have a better attitude about all of this. An intelligent woman on Twitter pointed out that this was essential in order to eventually rise above my current situation. But I’ve spent almost exactly 10 years, as one could argue that I began my job search on July 31 of 2003, trying to find something that would really be desirable.
I know the numbers: 70% of persons with disabilities unemployed, and those of us who are fortunate to be working are mostly in sheltered workshops such as the one in which I currently work. I am, more than anything, glad to be alive in an era when I can realistically hope to change that not only for myself, but also to give keys, information and insight to others so they can change it as well.