Buffets aren't worth it for me. getting through the line in my chair is too hard--somebody bringing back two plates is too hard. (and sometimes, even in my most benign posting, I feel like a refugee from the planet Frustration, like, trying to explain why the natives aren't any fun...not that I'm counteracting it that much spending my Sundays as Harriet the Spy Learns Art History. meh.) But that is why it annoys me when TV shows decide including disabled characters is, like, "They do all the same things, but he just sits in a chair all the time." There might be someone living that, but mostly not, right? I'm annoyed with my brother because I feel like he is not being emotionally honest, and yeah, as a writer, maybe there is a part of me that has...I don't know, Hugging and Learning blue balls cause I thought we were gonna have a Moment of some sort and we didn't, and I do have to watch out for the part of me that's always thinking "In the movie, we'd do this," even given the way disability gets portrayed in movies. But I hate that he comes to my house, braindumps heavy old shit on me and in the time it takes for me to process it, he's over it and trying to move on. but he's the normal one and doesn't need a counselor. Sure. He's the easy one. I mean, we're night and day; I don't expect to truly be his confidant very often, but it's plain to me that he needs one...I'm not even sure about what, really. But he hints around like my dad till you go "what?" and then treats me like I'm delving.

We're all going to be made of replacement parts by 2030!

Brings to mind the Ship of Theseus.