It is the morning of the last day. The folks at Butler have made me feel welcome and the trainings have gone well. I really do care about those things. But right now I really care about going home.
Home has always mattered to me but now, I'm imagining the simple joy of sitting on my couch. Becoming disabled is an individual, never universal experence. My disability takes this and gives that. My disability is unique to my experience. I cringe a little when I hear people talk about 'the needs of disabled people' because I'm not sure that we are all covered by a broad statement.
Anyways, I've wandered away from my point. I get to sit on my couch. For a couple weeks now, on this trip, I have sat in my wheelchair, sat in the car, or laid down on the bed. I haven't sat on a couch since the moment I left home. Couches are universally too low for me. Accessible hotel rooms want you to have space to move around in the chair, and means to poop in the toilet. Many also make sure the sink is 'roll upable to' and that the shower is either roll in or barred like Folsom Prison. I thank them for all this.
I cannot and do not expect them to be able to match the individual needs of every disabled person. So I end up looking at Joe longingly as he plops down on the couch and watches television. I perch in my wheelchair, where I've been sitting all day, wishing just for a moment to curl up on my couch at home. I'm gonna do that tonight. I can bring my wonderful memories from the trip and sort them out as I curled on the corner of my couch on blocks.
Canada has a designer show 'Steven and Chris' and I wrote them to ask for decorating advice for what you do when you have a couch up on blocks in your front room. Their website guarentees an response to every email. I didn't get a response, I think they thought I was making it up.
But now I don't care if you can see the huge, tall, concrete bricks that hold my couch up, just notice in about 12 hours - I'll be on it.