From day one I have had a “love-hate” affair with the “stuff” that identifies me as “sick”. Love...love…love when it helps me breathe, park closer, see who is at the door without getting up, stay longer-drink more at gallery openings. Hate...hate...hate that I need them and that they identify me as weaker than.
There is another one...CRAP... A ramp at the front door…NOT for me but for grocery wagon. Trying to get in and out of the front doorstep
had gotten to be such a production. Trying to muscle that wagon full of groceries over that step was a hysterical joke!! Now I can go up, over and in and I do not even have to get a running start! Maybe it is not all bad, sometimes maybe even a little bit good...but just a little bit.
"All That We Let In" Indigo Girls
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