Getting Heard

I sat in a conference room with a disabled woman and two men, listening to them complain about a bus stop to a state assistant representative at the Capitol for Disabled Day.  They ate up most of the time without me saying a word.  Of course, I grew frustrated and I had enough, saying, “Increase Medicare and use the surplus to raise care attendant’s wages.” They didn’t understand me.  I had it all written in a letter that my attendant handed to the assistant representative.  The disabled woman, who was Miss Wisconsin wheelchair, said, “We’re letting Steve talk at the second representative’s meeting.” We sat in a representative’s office.  After the greetings had ended, my care attendant read the letter.  The letter covered the Medicare insurance provider’s saga which I’m still working on, raising attendant’s wages, and allowing the physically professional disabled to earn an income if they choose.  The assistant representative nodded at me while he wrote notes.  It was a typical Steve moment.  It blew the three disabled people and the representative’s assistant away.  Nothing that would surprise Tina, Playwrights Ink, or the English Family.  It was just me and my words. If Wisconsin doesn’t increase Medicare, then there will be institutions for the disabled in the next ten years, costing the State millions of dollars.  People don’t want to hear that, but it is true.  People with disabilities will always have to be cared for whether the Republicans like it or not.  Not doing so would be inhumane.  As I embark on the new chapter of my life, living in my own apartment and having a girlfriend, I won’t ever forget my roommates, who have nothing.  I’m very lucky.  I can’t wait for my new life to begin and to have sex.  That’s what I’m doing on the second day after I move.  Sex and her by my side.  That’s what I want and be held by her in my bed after a shower with her.  My fantasies will be real soon.  

Bittersweet

I sat at the bar watching four basketball games on a big screen TV when a bald overweight man approached me, asking, “Is anyone here with you?”   “No,” I said, getting worried I had a do-gooder on my hands.  “I go everywhere alone.  I’ve got a career.  I write books,” I answered, knowing he didn’t understand me.  “You look like my son who had cerebral palsy.  He died on Monday,” he said, getting his wife from a slot machine.  “I’m sorry.  What happened?”  I asked.  “His organs shut down.  He was thirty.  We came from Florida to bury him on Friday.  How old are you?”  The man held my left hand.  “Fifty-five,” There were tears in their eyes.  “You look thirty,” he said, staring at me.  I laughed.  “You laugh like him.”  He hugged me.  “Google me,”  I said, spelling out my name and seeing their eyes light up reading my website.  “Steven, this is wonderful.  We’ll buy the books,” he said, embracing me again.  “What did he do?”  I asked. “Nothing,” the man answered, crying. 

In a few weeks, I’m starting a new chapter of my life.  This is why I decided to live independently.  Not being with a woman haunts me.  Yes, I want sex, but it is her I really want.  I do a lot of good.  Sometimes I’m an ass like everyone else.  That’s how I will be remembered.  Hopefully, I have found her.  She is in for a ride.  Life isn’t guaranteed.  Soon my fantasies will be fulfilled by her.  And dates.  I won’t be sexless like my roommates.  She is what I dream about. 

The hurdles keep a comin’

It has been quite a week.  My Medicare insurance provider won’t pay for the wheelchair’s repairs.   My medical supplier which I have worked with for over ten years won’t service me anymore.   I have to find a new Medicare provider and a new medical supplier.  If the electric wheelchair breaks, I’m stranded.  No new medical supplier will fixed the electric wheelchair since my former medical supplier ordered the wheelchair a year ago through Medicare.  That’s a Medicare rule.  How many physically disabled people are left stuck at home by this?  I’m sick and tired of having to fight every several months to keep my independence.  Either provide what I need to live or let me make an income.  If I’m “a burden” to the taxpayers, then let me be one.  Then my sister will “disown” me if I publish a manuscript about my dad’s depression from my sister’s point of view.  The manuscript is being edited by my agent and to be sent to New York soon.  I’m writing another manuscript about my niece and me, but my sister told me to stop writing about them.  That’s three years of writing.  My nieces don’t know who I am.  I don’t see or talk to my sister much.  When I do, she is negative and mean.  I will always love her, but I have a new life coming.  New York is a part of it and her.  I know my family disapproves of the apartment, believing I will mess it up like Integrity but they don’t understand what really happened.  Yes, I made an awful mistake, but I paid for it dearly.  To get where I want to go, I need an apartment.  Last night I sat at the bar, talking to friends and I sold five books.  Yes, I write about my family and friends because I love them.  I rarely see my family, writing about them eases my loneliness.  Someday when I’m gone, they will see I was an author.  I didn’t mean to hurt anyone in this world.  I just want to live my life. 

Tina, please keep editing the draft.  I have to live my life.  My dreams are important.  We must push onward.  Thank you.