Probably

I shouldn't talk about disability on here since privacy is entirely quaint and I am forever hustling up new freelance gigs, and you never know what's going to tip the scale the wrong way for a recruiter. Plus I genuinely hate talking about it out loud--I'm not ashamed of my disability, I'm fucking bored of it. I already think about it all the time, but only I have to; I'm living in a body that is plotting ways to fuck my shit up at all times, with one notable extremely successful event. But it's not interesting to think about. The last thing I want to do is talk about it.

I've had to have two conversations about it this week though, so it feels a bit more public right now than usual. And of course I realize that it's a privilege to get to choose how and when to disclose my disability and to whom. I would have given almost anything for that option during my 20s when my health status was on vivid display. So the ability to keep it undisclosed feels very powerful to me.

But that's only part of it. It's also that if multiple sclerosis is the first thing that comes to mind when people think of me, I've failed spectacularly. MS is maybe the 11th most interesting thing about me. I have dramatic fucking sentences to say about it to be sure; normies' eyes pop out when I drop that I have 14 literal holes in my brain. But that should not be what anyone thinks of when they think of me.

I understand trauma culture though. I know why some people lead with trauma, and I know that plenty of people have to. I know that pathologizing life experiences feels validating in a world that offers precious little in the way of validation. But my trauma? My trauma is why I hate trauma culture. My trauma makes me want to go utterly mental when I hear people talk about "birthday trauma" around being born too close to to Christmas. My trauma can't really step into a world where people say "my nervous system is disregulated" when they are tired.

I am truly truly trying to not get worked up over this. Other people's experiences are valid and they can describe it any way they like. Obviously! But hoo-boy. Sometimes I struggle.

In which I argue with the wind

Technically, I don't argue with the wind so much as I lay out my case against the wind. A different flavor of quixotic.

Like everyone in San Francisco, I was awoken by a tornado warning this morning just before dawn. There was no tornado--to the best of my knowledge, there has never been a tornado in SF's history. But it was windy as fuck and some folks got a little freaked out and maybe a little trigger happy with the safety alerts.

The thing is though, I get it. I have long believed that wind is the weirdest thing on Earth. My husband is science-y so I started his morning by making him explain to me what causes wind. It was not a good faith question--I just wanted to rant about wind. But he gamely said some stuff about atmospheric pressure differentials.

Which ultimately means that something about the temperature can move my hair, and that just doesn't sit right with me. The idea that the temperature can move things is a little freaky. But more than that--the wind is invisible. Invisible! And it can pick up a house. It's wildly powerful, and dangerous, no, seriously, think about it: INVISIBLE.

That's genuine horror movie stuff, but everyone is all "oh yeah, the invisible death force blew up another small midwestern town, whatever." But I always found it unnerving, in the way that I find a lot of nature unnerving TBH. And listen I didn't call this blog impotent rage for nothing, and I absolutely know the meaning of quixotic, but I'm not wrong about this. The wind is fucking terrifying.