I am sitting here, and have been sitting here for 20 minutes, trying to think about what to blog about today. Little ideas have flitted, to briefly to be caught, across my conciousness. But nothing comes to mind.
You see yesterday I got up and went to work, spent the day at work, then I went home, cooked supper with Joe and then watched a bit of television while having supper. After all this excitement, I went to bed to read.
An ordinary day.
That's all it was, an ordinary day.
A day like everyone else's - the only difference was that it was lived by me.
Sometimes, I catch someone glance at me. I see their thoughts on their faces. They wonder how I manage. They ask themselves what it must be like to be disabled. They titilate themselves with the 'horror' of a life lived with a disability. I can't imagine what they imagine.
Mostly because my life is a series of ordinary days. Get up, get about my business, eat, poop, sleep. There is nothing inspiring, nothing extraordinary about a life lived with the thudding repetitiveness that comes with work and worry. So when I get those glances, when I see the 'wondering' and the 'imagining' - the ordinariness of my life makes me almost giggle.
But I think the success of the disability movement, if I may be so bold as to suggest a measure, is the extraordinary ordinariness of everyday life as lived by somewhat less than ordinary people. Sitting in a cafeteria watching a guy with Down Syndrome wipe sleep out of his eyes as he chows down on breakfast - an ordinary scene. An every day sight. Yet, still, a victory of unimagined proportions.
So I have nothing to write today because it was only a typical day.
Not worthy of comment.
Except to say that I am thankful.
To experience typical days in a less than typical way.