There's nothing wrong with me, or why I love access

Today is Blog For Access day. So, I am blogging for access.

It is no secret that my life and world are filled with and fulfilled by disability - in my community, in my profession, in my home, in my heart, and in my head.

Yes, there is cynicism and and snarkiness - like when  a colleague suggests that transcribing their audio critiques for the whole class so that one deaf student can participate in the workshop is a time-consuming hassle and I simply stare back, raise an eyebrow and chortle, "oh really?".

Yes, there is some naivete and overeagerness - like when a new acquaintance confesses that they are afraid of losing their sight and I make horrifying, gregarious proclamations about how amazing it will be when they can't see anything at all and how, oh, how amazing Audible.com and Voiceover are.

The fact is, disability is not definite, nor a definition. Just as every person has an individual consciousness, every person with or without a disability has an individual experience. Living with a disability is natural and normal for many people. Conversely, many people are not comfortable with their new (or old) disabilities. Part of being a person is learning and growing and along the way, integrating aspects of ourselves into our identities.

If someone were to ask me what the hardest part is about living with a disability, I would say it is other people. But that's a cop out, too. For every bank teller who asks me instead of my partner whether or not he can sign his own name, there is a waitress who puts the coffee down with a simple "Coffee's on the left". If access is tolerance, than it works both ways. We can and should expect access and awareness of access. We also can and should educate and inform about what access means to each and every one of us individually.

The biggest lesson of my adult life has been to slow down, to take a deep breath, and to listen. Let us all do this a little more - and just watch the access grow.

I'm moving to Berkeley

I'm excited and nervous; my stomach hurts and I can't stop smiling. Life swirls into lollypops and raindrops and hurricanes and Ford Farlanes.

My love affair with San Francisco started in May of 2005; I arrived here, in the foggy outerlands of the Sunset, and promptly laid down my burden of clothes and books and attitude. Since then I have lived in the Richmond, the Panhandle, the Sunset (again), the Mission (both outer and inner), and Ingleside. I have seen every face of this funny little 7x7 city and laughed/cried/ran for my life on nearly every street.

So, I am moving to Berkeley. I am mourning my childhood and embarking upon my adulthood. I still have all my clothes and attitude; a single Kindle now holds all my books. I guess I am growing up. I don't like it one bit.

Visiting Tunisia

I dreamt last night that I was to visit Tunisia, begrudgingly. My brothers and I were being shuffled towards the departure gate and a final level of Tunisian security scrutiny. I remembered, as it became my turn, that I had forgotten my passport. I would miss this flight, but catch the same one the next day. I could go home to our house on Walton Street and retrieve my passport, but the caveat was that I had to leave all of my belongings and money with the Tunisian security detail.

I was home at Walton Street when a crash brought me outside: a car had driven up onto the lawn and a woman emerged, screaming at me that my brothers had been committing credit fraud using her family's identification and financials, ruining them. She told me that she was going to kill them. I told her that she had no proof and that she could not threaten bodily harm to other people. At that point, the woman's husband came up to the scene and tried to restrain/calm down his wife. He told me that she was upset and that they would try to go through the police to get the fraudulent activity to stop. I told him that she had threatened me. I asked him if he was a lawyer. "No," he said. I paused a second and then said, "Well I am." and then threatened them with getting his wife into a lot of trouble for threatening me. Then, as they were turning away, I pushed the woman, hard. She whirled on me, accusing me of hitting her. I looked at her square in the face, expression blank, and said, "What are you talking about?"

Geek Love is freaking me out...

I'm about 85% finished (I have grown to like the percentage-progress as opposed to page progress, thanks to my now-complete dependence on Kindle). I have been alternately laughing, shrieking, cringing, and throwing the e-reader down in a fit of hysteria.

Eating Animals was devastating and lovely, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian was also devastating and lovely, but in an entirely different (and probably more profound) way. I'm reading Swamplandia for a bookclub but am not in love with it. I'm reading Liar for my late-night-put-me-to-sleep-YA, and I'm re-reading Anne of Green Gables for when I absolutely cannot sleep at night. I need something new, something wonderful. Something that will bring me to my knees with the weight and gravity of all that is love and loss and hunger and hope.

Leave your suggestions in the comments!