The live in partner is not a bad idea for a woman of my age, but the matches are exhausting me, illustrating how fucking useless the activist cacophony of celebration around the ADA is. I telephoned one or two listings from the resource site, responded to perhaps 5 email addresses on my own before I scrolled down far enough to see the automated response instructions, deleted some 50 odd emails on my own, and the staying meme for those of my generation is that we're already dead. I certainly feel that way, and yet, if I call the 9th ward police division to file a criminal complaint against my building manager Trudy Richardson and her social worker Debra Horne, am I hastening my demise or will special victims take me seriously?
I've sustained overwhelming, systemic abuse on attendant care, and no one seems to give a flying fuck that I lack the endurance to keep taking it. I am in a very bad mood, everything hurts, and I am trying to calculate if I can get myself up if I slip in the shower stall a second time.
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