Dangerous Compassions

accommodations, disability, capitalism, service animals, emotional support animals, waiting for the bus

I made beautiful sandwiches for dinner.  They had baba ganoush, cucumber, avocado, tomato, provolone cheese, and mayo, all on pita bread.  Lovely special sandwiches.  Ming liked his too.

I was lying in bed and got this idea: a cross between Hungarian mushroom soup and lobster bisque.  It made me laugh.  Basically like Hungarian mushroom soup made with lobster broth maybe.  I dunno, sounds really funny to me.  Maybe because they’re a similar color.

The other day we were at San Miguel Community Garden.  I saw some huge cabbage plants.  For some reason, they looked funny to me.  I was laughing.  Cabbages are weird.  Kind of excessive.

Yesterday we went to Albertson’s.  We paid our bill three different ways.  I felt a twinge of sorry for the lady behind us.  But sometimes, you gotta be time consuming.

In front of Whole Foods, Ming paused to let me out of the minivan.  The person behind us beeped impatiently.

I’m noticing these signs about service dogs, saying service dogs are welcome but emotional support dogs aren’t service dogs.  I find the signs threatening and creepy.  A sign like this was at Gilcrease Farms yesterday morning.

I was just reading the ADA rules about service animals.  They have to be trained to do a specific helpful thing.  They can be a service animal if they’re trained to remind a depressed person to take a medication, but not if they’re just going to keep the person well by being there.

Seems sick to me that medication is valid, but comfort isn’t!  Medication is a measurable product and part of capitalism.  Comfort can’t be measured, bought, or sold.  So I guess it’s not real.  Or not important.

It reminds me how, when I was in the hospital, they kicked out Ming but offered me a sedative, for night anxiety.  I didn’t want a pill, to knock me out or mask my pain–I wanted the actual helpful thing.  My spouse.  I wanted to be actually well.

God forbid a person should be actually well.  In a hospital!

I was researching accommodations for psychiatric disabilities for riding the bus, here in Las Vegas–there are none.  People can get accommodations for physical disabilities, and if they’re too mentally challenged.  But for anything emotional, you’re shit out of luck.

Doesn’t matter that the federal government considers me disabled–I have to go before a transit system evaluator to prove I can’t ride the regular bus, to get an accommodation.

Riding a regular bus, if it got crowded and I was getting bumped, I would panic.  They don’t care.  Buses are stressful and confusing.  Too many people in a small space, the need to rush, to understand routes and make connections.  Also, they can be late and break down.  Also there can be weird drunk/high people riding the bus who you want to get away from, but you can’t get away because you’re stuck.

Add to that summer heat, highs of 115 degrees for a month straight?  Really, in the summer, everyone in Las Vegas needs an accommodation!  Maybe they think if they started caring about one person’s feelings, they’d have to care about everyone’s.

It’s capitalism.  Feelings don’t matter.  Your actual wellbeing doesn’t matter.  All that matters is money.

Well, I sound extra-anarchist tonight.  Maybe I should go back to bed.

Here’s a link to the ADA service animal document.  Pretty fascinating.

I found a website where you pay $125 and a therapist writes a letter certifying your animal as an emotional support animal for airlines and landlords.  I think it’s sad.  Capitalism strikes again.  You have to pay someone to write this letter, who paid a lot of money to go to school to get the credential to write the letter.  It’s only real if there’s a financial transaction involved.

I really don’t like proving things because the proof is usually really fake.  Like grades.

I don’t even like dogs, or pets in general, but disabled people don’t need to get screwed more.  Gnight.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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