Nope

I have all the things to say. About autoethnograpy and acceptance and research and art and whatnot.

But I just fell down the stairs and there are 0 comfortable writing positions for my back with any device. There aren’t even any good sleeping positions.

Plus me needing help makes Shanda be all but unable to help me. I did eventually get assistance with bandages, but it required me literally yelling “I do not consent” as part of managing my own first aid. And then me being alone again once I demanded too much care. I can never ration it correctly, to ensure I have enough when I need it. I do better when I manage my own treatment than when I ask for help.

But in any case, no writing tonight. No matter how much I might need it. Fraking physical existence, always betraying me.

ZiB

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Sent from a phone.