(no subject)
I think a lot about work. Work in the capitalistic "job" sense of the term.
It's not something I've ever really done.
I worked for my dad and my stepmother at various points for brief stints, but that was more because of their desire to give me a feel for employment (being super-hard workers, borderline workaholic, themselves), and to help out their small businesses. I didn't have to interview. I didn't have to prove myself. It was basic, menial stuff--which I enjoyed, but perhaps because of its temporary nature. I'd almost definitely have gotten sick of it.
I receive SSI. (Supplemental Security Income, for those outside the States or otherwise unfamiliar. It's part of the Social Security program for those who are unable to work, and have little or no financial resources. I had to "spend down" the money my family had saved for me over the years in order to even qualify for an application--and by the time I was approved, I was so broke that I ended up refinancing my car just to get a loan to live on in the interim. But I was approved on the first try--no appeals. I didn't always get SSI.
I grew up with a family who recognized my intelligence by way of noticing my high scores on tests and report cards. I got straight A's until I got to middle school. Seventh grade, I remember getting an 85 on my report card in "technology" class (the word du jour for "wood shop"). I felt like my world ended a little bit and resolved to do better--and I did. Eighth grade? I was placed in an advanced science class, taking ninth grade geology instead of whatever the normal eighth graders were doing. I hated it, and hated being held to that standard.
This was around the same age that I stopped being babied as much as I had been, joined the drama club, and got more independent because my (unnecessary) aide couldn't stay with me after school. I can still recall the feeling of my first time walking alone in the hallway of my junior high school. It felt so taboo and liberating--and it was something so simple! (Overprotected, yeah; that was me.)
Anyway. I digress. Because they noticed I was smart, my family always told me I could be anything I wanted to be and that I was capable of doing whatever.
I told them I wanted to be a ballet dancer. Nothing ever came of that.
I told them I wanted to take gymnastics classes. They changed the topic, not wanting to tell me I couldn't, but knowing that I couldn't. At least not in any way they had ever heard of or seen before. My family is pretty traditional in the sense of culture and adulthood.
What am I getting at here? I started talking about work. Work. Yes. SSI.
Do I deserve that disability income? What am I capable of?
Do I feel that paid employment is necessary in life? (No.) Do I feel discouraged pretty much no matter what career path I consider? (Yes.) Do I want to settle for a job that I know I can do, that won't tax me too much physically or mentally, but that requires a traditional appearance and a degree that I probably don't want to slog though? (Fuck. No.)
Am I even a fucking reliable employee? My body lets me down a lot. Sure, I can go out dancing all night and feel great and vibrant, and not sit down for a moment. But I do have to find a wall to lean against at some point--either for support while I'm still dancing, or in order to take breaks and stretch if my back starts to hurt. And then I'm pretty much dead for at least the next day or two, if not longer. It's unpredictable whether I'm going to wake up and feel on top of the world, or if I'll feel like I'm wading through a world of pudding all day. (Yes, sometimes movement does feel this difficult for me.)
Am I lazy? Well. Yes, kinda. And I'm a hedonist. I live for pleasure, and I want to have enough fucking energy to enjoy my life, and I want to do things I'm passionate about--or at least inject passion into mundane things. Like dancing while I wash dishes. :P
I go back and read through old journal entries I've written and I notice a theme in a lot of them during the times when I'm trying to live my life "normally" -- "I'm so tired."
There's also the fact of ableism in the work world. When I first moved to Maine, I tried to find a job. I put in applications at a bunch of places--retail and food service, mostly, because most other places wanted years of experience and/or a degree, neither of which I had. One place called me back and prior to going in for the interview I mentioned my disability and asked what accommodations they could give me. The kiss of death for a job-seeker, I've since learned. "Uh, sorry. I don't think those accommodations are possible." Thank you. (ADA, what exactly did you hope to accomplish again? I'm still let down by you on a regular basis.)
My impairment is not that significant, and I luckily don't have to deal with recurring medical issues other than leg brace maintenance. I grew up thinking that I was basically normal, but I needed leg braces to walk. I'm still learning things about my body thanks to that mentality, and I still can't quite pinpoint what my limits are because they change a lot. I also don't know what normal feels like. I know that I am slow, I am lethargic, and I tire much more easily.
Argh. Blah. Fuck. I don't know. I've been wanting to write about this for a long time, and I still feel that I didn't do it coherently enough. I guess ultimately: I feel hugely ashamed by the fact that I get disability income, but I think I'm always going to need supports. And I don't really know what I'm capable of.
And fuck capitalism.
(Also posted at http://daughtercell.dreamwidth.org/357080.html. There are
comments there.)
It's not something I've ever really done.
I worked for my dad and my stepmother at various points for brief stints, but that was more because of their desire to give me a feel for employment (being super-hard workers, borderline workaholic, themselves), and to help out their small businesses. I didn't have to interview. I didn't have to prove myself. It was basic, menial stuff--which I enjoyed, but perhaps because of its temporary nature. I'd almost definitely have gotten sick of it.
I receive SSI. (Supplemental Security Income, for those outside the States or otherwise unfamiliar. It's part of the Social Security program for those who are unable to work, and have little or no financial resources. I had to "spend down" the money my family had saved for me over the years in order to even qualify for an application--and by the time I was approved, I was so broke that I ended up refinancing my car just to get a loan to live on in the interim. But I was approved on the first try--no appeals. I didn't always get SSI.
I grew up with a family who recognized my intelligence by way of noticing my high scores on tests and report cards. I got straight A's until I got to middle school. Seventh grade, I remember getting an 85 on my report card in "technology" class (the word du jour for "wood shop"). I felt like my world ended a little bit and resolved to do better--and I did. Eighth grade? I was placed in an advanced science class, taking ninth grade geology instead of whatever the normal eighth graders were doing. I hated it, and hated being held to that standard.
This was around the same age that I stopped being babied as much as I had been, joined the drama club, and got more independent because my (unnecessary) aide couldn't stay with me after school. I can still recall the feeling of my first time walking alone in the hallway of my junior high school. It felt so taboo and liberating--and it was something so simple! (Overprotected, yeah; that was me.)
Anyway. I digress. Because they noticed I was smart, my family always told me I could be anything I wanted to be and that I was capable of doing whatever.
I told them I wanted to be a ballet dancer. Nothing ever came of that.
I told them I wanted to take gymnastics classes. They changed the topic, not wanting to tell me I couldn't, but knowing that I couldn't. At least not in any way they had ever heard of or seen before. My family is pretty traditional in the sense of culture and adulthood.
What am I getting at here? I started talking about work. Work. Yes. SSI.
Do I deserve that disability income? What am I capable of?
Do I feel that paid employment is necessary in life? (No.) Do I feel discouraged pretty much no matter what career path I consider? (Yes.) Do I want to settle for a job that I know I can do, that won't tax me too much physically or mentally, but that requires a traditional appearance and a degree that I probably don't want to slog though? (Fuck. No.)
Am I even a fucking reliable employee? My body lets me down a lot. Sure, I can go out dancing all night and feel great and vibrant, and not sit down for a moment. But I do have to find a wall to lean against at some point--either for support while I'm still dancing, or in order to take breaks and stretch if my back starts to hurt. And then I'm pretty much dead for at least the next day or two, if not longer. It's unpredictable whether I'm going to wake up and feel on top of the world, or if I'll feel like I'm wading through a world of pudding all day. (Yes, sometimes movement does feel this difficult for me.)
Am I lazy? Well. Yes, kinda. And I'm a hedonist. I live for pleasure, and I want to have enough fucking energy to enjoy my life, and I want to do things I'm passionate about--or at least inject passion into mundane things. Like dancing while I wash dishes. :P
I go back and read through old journal entries I've written and I notice a theme in a lot of them during the times when I'm trying to live my life "normally" -- "I'm so tired."
There's also the fact of ableism in the work world. When I first moved to Maine, I tried to find a job. I put in applications at a bunch of places--retail and food service, mostly, because most other places wanted years of experience and/or a degree, neither of which I had. One place called me back and prior to going in for the interview I mentioned my disability and asked what accommodations they could give me. The kiss of death for a job-seeker, I've since learned. "Uh, sorry. I don't think those accommodations are possible." Thank you. (ADA, what exactly did you hope to accomplish again? I'm still let down by you on a regular basis.)
My impairment is not that significant, and I luckily don't have to deal with recurring medical issues other than leg brace maintenance. I grew up thinking that I was basically normal, but I needed leg braces to walk. I'm still learning things about my body thanks to that mentality, and I still can't quite pinpoint what my limits are because they change a lot. I also don't know what normal feels like. I know that I am slow, I am lethargic, and I tire much more easily.
Argh. Blah. Fuck. I don't know. I've been wanting to write about this for a long time, and I still feel that I didn't do it coherently enough. I guess ultimately: I feel hugely ashamed by the fact that I get disability income, but I think I'm always going to need supports. And I don't really know what I'm capable of.
And fuck capitalism.
(Also posted at http://daughtercell.dreamwidth.org/357080.html. There are
comments there.)