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Some days I am reasonably okay with my life, even the annoying, frustrating parts. Be warned, today is not one of those days. I have been told for a good chunk of my life to focus on my writing and my physical deficits shouldn’t matter because I write well. The problem is that my deficits do matter to me. It would be one thing if I had no interest in any of the activities that my limitations prevent me from doing, I wish I could shut off my interest like a switch. I would love to be able to write in cursive but I can’t. I can only print a sentence or two before my hand writing becomes illegible to most people. I would love to be able to use a pen and paper to write down story ideas right when they happen but because of my atrocious handwriting even if I tried by the time I got home I wouldn’t remember what the scribbles meant. I believe I’m cursed with a love for stationary which I am doomed never to be able to use. That’s just the list of things I can’t do because my hands don’t work well and it’s an abbreviated list at that, the list of things I can’t do because I lack the basic skill of walking is probably much longer and vastly more infuriating to me. Deep breath I think I will be okay now, thanks for listening.
