Lol, how remiss of me: I don’t seem to have posted a birthday reflection last year/even several years before that! Well, I have two perfectly good reasons for sh*tty memory: (1) mother really DID lemme GET DROPPED ON MY HEAD AS A BABY (true story! >< XD) and (2) 2007 brain injury. But at least I’m able to dictate a birthday reflection today!
Being 3.5
decades old until 6:22pm tonight means … cripes, I’ll officially be on the
wrong side of thirty very soon. XD Unfortunately, the cruel and unfaithful God
leaving me too bloody physically disabled to hold down any proper, steady job
means that I just subsist on the disability pension and since it’s also left me
with an intellectual impairment (although I’m not really quite sure how it
works, just that I have one) means that neither am I deemed fit for study. Although
you know the phrase ‘not the dumbest cookie in the cookie jar’? I like to tell
people that I’m not the dumbest cookie in the cookie jar – just the second
dumbest! XD When I told that to the lady in charge of the para table tennis
place I’ve started playing at this year, she just laughed and retorted, “Girl,
you’re in a different tin of biscuits all together!” Cripes I hope she doesn’t
mean I belong to an even dumber packet of cookies! Then again, I’m not even
sure about the hierarchy of cookies; I’m rather partial to choc chip cookies
though; where would they line up in the intelligence scale of cookies? XD
It's been
quite fun being thirty-five; at church last Sunday, when dear Granny Wan sat
down beside me for morning tea after service, I excitedly burbled to her that
it was my BIRTHDAY toms; she peered at me and asked how old will I be? When I’ve
been asked that in the past I’ve just grinned cheekily and replied forever
twenty-one! Only with Granny Wan we obviously converse in Canto and since I’ve
honestly never tried saying ‘forever twenty-one’ in Canto before (although I reckon
I could have a fair crack at it) I didn’t and so I just tell her my real age. “Are
you really THAT old?!” She asks me, honestly surprised. I indignantly reply, “Hey,
I’m not THAT much older than Alan and Alwyn (her grandsons), you know!” Lol,
just goes to show I’m really ageing … recently, someone claimed to have found a
white hair on me! My dearest dad started getting white hair in his early
forties, but because he was a builder he had the perfect excuse. “Oh, I had to
climb up to the ceiling and paint it white,” he’d explain. “But some white
paint dripped from the ceiling and dripped onto my head!” Me? I suppose I’ll just
have to grow old gracefully … XD
Physio is
still the bane of my existence; unfortunately, I’ve been moronic enough to
totally stack it twice already. The first time, mother was around but the
second time she and my dearest dad had gone for walkies and I was hardly gonna
ring them and screech help I’ve fallen over and can’t get myself back upright! Turns
out some good DOES come from all those countless sessions of blasted physio I ensure
week in, week out; I merely went from down on my butt to two-point kneeling,
from two-point kneeling I stuck out my ‘good’ leg into one point kneeling and
then while bracing my ‘good’ hand against the sofa shoved myself back upright –
and stayed upright, woo hoo!
Still looking
for work – can anybody please offer me properly-paid, seated work? Like I’ve
said before, I’ll do ANYTHING – provided I can do it whilst seated and it gets
me properly paid; I’ll even wash toilets! Unkind mother cruelly jeers at me
that nobody’s gonna wanna employ someone as disabled as me to wash toilets; I suppose
I’m just trying to convey to you how desperate I am to get off the bloody
disability pension and start contributing back to the society mother jeers at
me that I currently leech off. *sigh* I’ve only got one functional hand to type
with but the last time I checked, I type at 31 WPM with 100% accuracy.
This year, I’ve
started playing table tennis in Windsor! Obviously, I’m not talking about the
Windsor over in the UK; did you know, there’s actually a Windsor in Brisbane! After
I enquired about me trying it out, mother asked CODA to find a carer and take
me there. The only requirement’s that you’ve gotta have some sorta mental
impairment; as far as I’m aware, I’m the only one with a physical disability
who uses a wheelchair. Most are non-verbal although I know one’s got Down’s Syndrome
but she’s high-functioning. It’s good fun and some of those players are competitive
– like, I lob/bat the ball gently over the net to my opponent and SMASH! My opponent
smacks the ball straight back at me! “Eep!” I squeak, raising my bat in defence
quickly; luckily, my delayed reflexes are still fast enough to successfully
return the ball. The carer who drove me to table tennis (because obviously, I’ve
lost my driver’s licence post brain-injury) burst into laughter and chortles, “She
nearly got you, Em!” I glare at her and retort back to her, ‘“Nearly’ being the
operative word. Now, just for that cheek, you can go fetch the ball for us,
ball girl.” XD
Anyways,
excited to be turning another year older soon!
Next post
here … maybe one about how I got that alumnus award at school last year?
Until then~
