Endoscopy Maintenance

...Prepping is nothing more than extending to the rest of your life the same foresight that compels you to keep a spare tire and a first aid kit in your car. (sic)--Reason staff

My last vestige of alliance with independent living modal structure, not that I’ve proactively reached for it within the last year, comes mainly from three Twitter accounts. One is Deborah Ruh, who pounds the pavement with traditional empowerment events and accomplishments. I have no grievance with it, and even if I did, community integration has been stuck in a wormhole since 1984. Disability centers engage in the same static with vocational rehabilitation, and the incorporation of Maximus as the elephant in the room is a rather obvious admission of failure on the part of public welfare systems when it comes to disability. This is not necessarily integral to the Commonwealth to which I am domicile. I have the public presser arm of Maximus on my Twitter feed, and Jack would undoubtedly ban me if I engaged them with my variation of a Tasmanian Devil body slam, but I am acute enough to know that Maximus news is the front cover for the arduous processes of rationed genocide. Baring my fangs at them, in essence, amounts to Mueller prosecuting Manafort in order to justify his probe into Russia’s revamped existential threat. The second is Quad Life, which is on radio silence, not an unknown let down in my neck of the woods, and the third is Jason Dorwart, who told me to check out a theater group, but has yet to inform me how I sample his publication on drama and inclusion. I will qualify here that my open suggestion that “maybe” he and I could meet for coffee if I headed to Virginia was purely for business arrangements within traditional progressive academia. I was of course curious, and scanned his CV, but I am not necessarily looking for a paraplegic within age appropriate range. Thus far, Jason and I lag, whatever our potential, because I am wallowing in my own fecal mucous, rather than ambulance chasing art therapy. I also accepted Maria Dewan’s friend request on Facebook, but she ended the connection after I tagged her in this post, 
believing that The Aide Who Loved Me would have been torn away by now.

I do not know Maria well, barely at all, but I am none the less rankled by her inability to handle my expression of frustration with a sticky situation. I was merely utilizing an assessment for purposes of comparison, not condemning her through the observation, but the skittish tortoise retreated to its shell with its normative darting retraction in the face of assertion, and speaks to my dismay with activism's glass ceiling. Krauthammer and Hockenberry, regardless of their markers on the ideological spectrum, were ambulatory men who survived broken backs, and succeeded within the established media paradigm, something those strcken with developmental defects rarely do. I started to go to bed early, stressed with such quaking colon stresses as I've been, but the harried hare power napped within this rather offensive tilt technology appealing to her inner Luddite, gasping to a finish, still pushing