Closeting. I’m too old for this shit.
My personal Twitter feed is set up to be wiped clean every two weeks, an important feature that requires an external service. On Facebook, the best I can do is delete and archive. If something seems worth saving, and I am motivated enough to save it, it’s saved. Like this tweet-essay.
Something to write more about later.
Interesting weekend experience of volunteering with people who ask and presumably know about disabilities among volunteers — but just like university teaching, the only accommodations offered are for customers.
The interesting part was finding out another volunteer was also trying to do things to get off his feet for similar reasons. (One leg is shorter than the other for other reasons.) But we got busted for “slacking off” when leaning against walls or sitting down.
The upshot for me was barely being able to limp home up and down really steep hills. (Biking helped after the second day.) Might be a male not-wanting-to-say-we’re injured or getting-old thing, but I had a slight a-ha about closeting. We could see each other. Nobody else could.
Except for someone close or interested enough to ask personal questions and to get close enough to be personal. It’s too much damn trouble and humiliation to explain and ask for a little help or tolerance when hiding and lumping it is how you’ve learned to cope best.
That’s not a good psychological place to be in, long-term, and I can see how it’s not going to serve well post-40s.Originally tweeted by Dan (@dan_knauss) on August 9, 2022.