I'm finding, in recent years, that I'm drawn to anyone who pays me attention. 

Sometimes I think I should be out, in public, all of the time. So people can see me; so people are forced to know that I, and people like me, exist. 

The Earth Revolves Around the Sun

One last quote from Mr. Pinker's excellent book:

"The first step toward wisdom is the realization that the laws of the universe don't care about you."

It didn't feel like home anymore

I drove by the old house yesterday, and made sure we slowed down. It's been more than two years since I moved; sometimes it feels like much longer. We used to pass by, and I felt like I should pull in the driveway. It still looked like my house; it still seemed like my house.

For perhaps the first time I felt different as we rolled down Rotax: something had changed; it didn't feel like home anymore. Maybe it's the two years, and the changes I've been through. It's hard to imagine I was walking and driving, I was so independent so recently. Maybe that's it: the house hasn't changed; I have.

The new owners have made a lot of changes: the once sadly empty backyard has been filled. There's an oversized shed at the back of the property by the orchard. An imposing children's jungle gym once took up that space. To the left, where there'd been nothing but a lonely, underused fire pit, was an ambitious fenced-in garden, and another structure behind it. It must be a chicken coop, I thought, though I didn't see any birds.

I feel happy for them, but a little sad at the same time. Like a jealous friend attending a wedding. I'm glad they're enjoying the house and the yard; I'm happy they're making improvements. They're making the most of their purchase; embracing the life that they chose. I can't help but feel a little empty.

I try to consider all of the ways in which I am fortunate

I try to consider all of the ways in which I am fortunate. 

I have parents who love me and take care of me. (The details of "take care of me" are indeed quite extensive.) I have a roof over my head and plenty of food in my belly. I have friends and family to talk to, spend time with, and laugh. I have money in the bank and don't, thus far, struggle to pay my bills. The progression of my disease has been unusually, odds-defyingly slow.

I live in a time when so much is available to me, of historically unprecedented understanding. Social Security Disability Insurance exists; Medicare exists. I'm privileged to have worked five years for an employer that provided private disability insurance. I'm able to work part-time from my house on a computer.

Medicare―along with supplemental insurance which I pay for―bought me a battery-powered, technically advanced, joystick-operated wheelchair. In this way I've been able to maintain some semblance of independence. I was able to purchase an accessible van to transport my conveyance. I'm fortunate that these things exist.

I live in the age of computers, of easily and endlessly available knowledge and entertainment. For all of the modern methods of communication, to help me feel a little less alone. I'm lucky for pen and pencil alternatives: the mouse in my hand and point and click on-screen keyboard. 

It's easy to forget about all of it, and usually, I do. But I have to remind myself of the good things, and try to give them some weight in my mind.

Note to Anonymous Eyeballs

 If we haven't spoken in a long time, reach out and say hey.

Who says a serious examination of the world can't include a few zingers?

 Within a few pages of each other appear the following gems:

"...in the 1986 Chernobyl disaster, the result of extraordinary Soviet-era bungling..."

"...because of Mao's bone-headed schemes like backyard iron smelters with copious emissions and zero economic output."

Steven Pinker in Enlightenment Now: The Case for Reason, Science, Humanism, and Progress