I used to be a Glee fan in high school, though not to the same extent as most Glee fans were or are. I can’t even remember what the first two seasons were about, except that I cringed much less frequently than I do at the show now. My memories are very hazy, but when I think of Becky Jackson, the cheerleader with Down’s Syndrome, I remember liking her character. I remember thinking she was funny, intelligent, but a little bit neglected by the writers. The Becky I see in episodes now is such a drastic change from the character I remember. I try to pretend that it’s because Becky gained some confidence in her few years in high school and that’s why she’s so self-assured, but something about her character now really rubs me the wrong way.
Author: flapteryx
I Miss Summer (Winter Is Coming)
“Oh shit,” I yell, “I need to make a blog post!” I grab a computer, sit down and open up a document.
I can’t think of one intelligent thing to say.
Yes, this is a post that is going up now. I have an idea of what I want to say now. Before, when I thought about it, I didn’t know what to put here. Me, disabled? There’s no way. I get out of bed on time every morning, I make breakfast, I go to school, I do things around the house, I work, take care of the animals… There’s no way I’d ever classify my constant state of movement as ever being disabled.
No more ignoring fat bodies [warning: rape]
It seems to me that no one ever thinks about this, or they never want to talk about it. I want to talk about it. I think it needs to be written down, passed around, and heard over and over again until we replace our present beliefs with the truth.
Extreme Bodies, Extreme Defiance [Warning for discussions of vomiting]
Every morning I make the same breakfast sandwich: two eggs and cheddar cheese between two slices of toasted bread. As a kid I never ate breakfast, but as an adult I look forward to it. Breakfast not only tastes good, it also gives me energy I need to start my day.
Today isn’t like the other days. On any other day, I would wash down my breakfast with a glass of milk. Today I feel brave, defiant; today, I feel like taking a risk.
Before making my breakfast sandwich, I open the fridge and peer inside. I could have milk, with its comforting pH of almost 7. It’s not much different from water, which in its purest form is a perfect 7. Courage, or maybe stupidity for all I know, floods me as I reach past the milk and pull out a bottle of orange juice.
‘Yes,’ I think to myself, ‘This will work.’
Unruly Bodies 