In possibly related news, my husband is an idiot.

Dear law enforcement officers, this is just a depressed rant, no need to show up on my doorstep. Also, I live in Cleveland. Or maybe Texas. One of those. And I'm seven feet tall with curly red hair. So easy to spot if you are looking for me. Which of course you don't need to be.

Some of the amazing bloggers I read talk about their depression.  And they are elegant, funny, loving, and inspiring.

Me?  I fall into the pit of despair, and I start wondering why there aren’t more news stories about wheelchair users going ballistic (literally) with automatic weapons.  I can’t believe I’m the only one this angry and frustrated.

Then the voice of common sense kicks in.  Not the one that tells me to calm down and realize it isn’t so bad.  I don’t have that voice.  I have the logical voice that points out that I have a hard time getting my lunch out of the refrigerator.  How on earth would someone in a wheelchair get to a densely populated space with a rifle?  And once there, it takes two hands to shoot a riffle, and two hands to move a wheelchair.  So unless there is an angry four armed no legged person in a wheelchair, the odds of that happening are pretty low.  (Though I can see that person being pretty freaking angry if they do exist).  Plus the kickback from the firing would send the chair backwards with every shot.

Turns out there are oh so many reasons we don’t hear about wheelchair user violence.

Plus, there is a good chance other people aren’t feeling as insane as I am right now.

Also?  Most other people probably aren’t having over fifty people over on Saturday night, and even if they are, their husband probably isn’t saying things like “we have plenty of time to get everything done” even though there are a million things I usually take care of that I now can’t,  and the parts that I can do take twenty times longer, and he hasn’t done anything in days.  Oh, wait, he has done things.  They just aren’t helpful things.  Like dumping an entire container of orange juice on the sofa and not noticing for two days, and then deciding that putting the cushion covers in the dryer was a good solution.  Because he is a giant two footed freaking idiot.

UPDATED:

Wow. I was wrong. You can take an assault rifle on a wheelchair.

Okay, no points for subtilty.  But I guess lack of ability to transport an assault rifle has to be crossed off the list of reasons why we don’t hear about more wheelchair users snapping.

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About woodenmonkey

Just your average solar powered, hybrid driving, organic eating, happily married, pro-choice, feminist Christian artist and writer from San Francisco.

Posted on November 2, 2011, in Sometimes life isn't funny and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. I just had a weird mental picture of this being what Terminator 20 being like, with A.S. in a wheelchair rolling around after whatever mid-20s actor is popular enough at the time to play John Connor…

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