Droolers disgust me.
I don't know why.
Oh, that amounts to a lie. I do have some ideas.
First, we humans have deep innate fears of freaks and geeks and gimps; in olden days perhaps those got shunted off to circus side shows gnawing on chicken bones while caged for spectators. So my innate fear of a life lived in mockery scares the shit out of me.
Then, we also know in our bones that even if not born a geek, the random number table and physics applied to frail human bones and brains can turn the strong into gibbering idiots, twisted like scrap metal from an "accident" and or with mental faculties faulted, synapses and circuits burned, hands twisted, face contorted into an unfunny grin, trying to point with hands turned claw like and with speech now reduced to squawks, grunts, and moans to try to communicate our wants, needs, and desires, spittle spilling out of our mouths without our noticing., leaving us husks of our former selves.
Would I still inside my mind have full thought but just too many blocks between thinking and expressing, left grunting and squealing at the nurse before meal time because of hunger in our belly, even left like one fed through a tube in his belly to fill the stomach but never to enjoy the rich tapestry of taste while eating? In a like manner, fear comes of knowing of kindness and compassion in the hugs and pats of loving caregivers but never the love of sleeping next to a partner on a cold winter night, of knowing another in a biblical sense, of la mort petit, of what we too easily and hurriedly call love when we really mean instants lived fully in the moments of physical selves but also grasping the ineffable and infinite.
Even the well-spoken Ronnie, a bit of a misshapen lump in his souped up electric wheel chair who has to look at you askance from his 1 good eye, drools a mite bit on his crisply pressed shirt.
So a high functioning quadriplegic like myself could fit into this adult living facility and hopefully help other residents and prove a positive example even though burn to return to a life of lonely Independence.
So every policy debate in Washington, DC, and state governments around the land come not as choices on entitlements or Medicaid but must measure against the care given those broken beyond repair.
Come and live one stinking, scary day in my wheelchair, Senator Ted Cruz, R Fantasy Land, and Representative Paul Ryan, R Austerity, then tell me what your Jesus would have you do.
Sorry, Lord, droolers disgust me for fear of becoming thus.
