Last night I went to the opening of Bad Girls at CCAS. A perfect evening weather wise and Gorman House, with it's old buildings and garden courtyards enchanting as ever while the exhibition itself was spectacular. So it was with some resentment that I was barely holding myself up. Dosed up on oxycodone it still wasn't enough. I know these events are useful for networking but really that was just out of the question, let alone plain socialising with the people I love to see. I knew within moments of getting there I'd judged my situation poorly.Maybe it didn't help that I'd worn my red suede platforms but flat shoes make me so short I have to crane my neck and I'm just too weak to sustain that so it's not the red shoes at fault here. If anything they helped. After enough of these art exhibition openings one thing I've worked out is that you need stamina. There is no sitting down. Sitting does not really facilitate mingling or networking which is key to how this industry works. My sad, ongoing conclusion is that, once again, there is little room for disability in the modern world. It's just a paradigm thing really. We think ourselves disability friendly because we put ramps up around buildings and hand rails in the bathrooms. It's kind of laughable when you think about it.
Maybe I would have been better off in Victorian times where every well off respectable family boasted an invalid of their own. A servent to carry them down to the drawing room, given the well appointed window seat, their correspondence bought in and then left alone to write their poetry until a warm nourishing lunch was served. Just as a fact of life - well people, sick people, people. Now we have modern medicine and antibiotics no one has the right to be sick, unable to work. And if you are sick, and want to get along in the world at least make it look like you can. What a tragic little deal with the devil that is starting to feel like.
(Making the local social pages. Me in the middle with my red canvas backpack).