Well, Darling Ones,

The day I was anxiously anticipating has come & gone.

Yesterday was my Social Security disability hearing. Three years after my stroke, two(ish) years after applying, two rejections, and roughly 15 minutes of a hearing, the judge granted my claim for Social Security disability.

Ya girl is getting on the dole!

I’m relieved and overwhelmed. My friends and fam are over the moon for me. My mom even cried when Sister #4 told her. I love the way my friend Em responded, “Can I go back to just worrying about the dumb stuff you do instead of your basic survival?”

Permission was granted.

Today I am out of sorts. My head is extra wooshy, making me more discombobulated than usual. My theory is that my body has gotten so used to the stress and anxiety of imminent financial ruin that it doesn’t know what to do now that it has escaped danger.

Of course, being the half pessimist, I won’t fully believe the saga is truly over until there’s money in the bank. According to my lawyer that might as early as June. But there’s no guarantee. He apologized profusely for the delay and I felt bad for him. It’s not his fault the government moves slowly. Clearly he has dealt with a lot of angry clients in the past. I was just happy the judge gave us his decision on the phone, that was unexpected.

I was a little bummed the judge didn’t wanted to hear my soliloquy on the importance of punctuation in both HTML code and English writing. My ode to the period would have made grown men weep with its beauty.

My lawyer warned me the day before the hearing that nobody ever got in trouble for saying too little. HRMPH! I kept my answers short and to the point and did not go into what a tragedy it is lose the ability physically read books. While I love and give thanks to audiobooks, it’s not the same. You, the book in your hands, the words on paper, that cannot be duplicated.

Losing your longest-held, most-comforting ritual in your 50s sucks rocks. I deserve financial compensation. Beverly Cleary give me strength!

So now we cross our finger that I have enough money for the next few months and then we move on to figuring out what comes next when you’re not constantly worrying about money. This should be fun!

Not so dolefully yours,
Jodi

The post Getting on the Dole appeared first on I Will Dare.

Hiya Darling Ones,

How goes it?

Here in the North Star State we’re in for a blizzard that could drop anywhere from 4-22 inches of snow on us according to the weather terrorists. Of all the things I’m good at, hunkering down is probably what I’m beat at. An introverted spinster who’s lived alone for 25+ years? I am the Serena Williams of hunkering down.

My hunkering plans include catching up on my many ignored crochet projects. I’m a month and a half behind on Temp Blanket 2026 and the less said about the State Fair one the better.

I’m very much the distracted boyfriend meme and Art Practice is my new obsession.

Do you know you can put colorful blobs and squiggles on stuff and be released from all that ails you for a brief and glorious moment? YOU CAN! It’s astounding.

Right now I’m copycatting things I see on Instagram (see above), doing the watercolor sketchbook, and working through a YouTube drawing class.

For the most part, I’ve been arting at least once a day. This week hasn’t been the best with the time change & an especially difficult eye treatment, but I still squeezed in some.

Taking up art feels like the best thing I’ve done for my poor damaged brain and janky body since I’ve existed.

Pre-stroke writing and reading were my favorite form of escape. I could go someplace else, immerse myself in someone else’s life. Post-stroke it isn’t the same. While I’m most grateful for audiobooks and the library that lends them to me, it’s not the same as reading a paper book with your eyes. The experience, for me, isn’t as immersive. I’m still aware of my body and its surroundings. This holds true for writing too. Even as I type there’s a part of my brain constantly noticing the tension and heaviness in my right side.

When I’m painting or drawing that noticing is much less frequent and I’m able to be more forgiving with myself. The heaviness and tremor are still there, my scoop will forever be floppy. But my brain is also noticing how the color looks on paper, how the watercolor moves across the surface. It’s thinking about what I should do next, what color, what blob, what squiggle. I can go entire minutes without thinking about my scoop or noticing my distorted vision. It is the best. THE BEST!

I’ve had a fraught history with my body. Last summer Sister #2 made a comment about how she could tell I don’t feel safe in my body. I don’t know if I responded, but I’ve thought about that phrase a lot, “safe in my body.”

Was that something people feel on the regular? What does it really mean? Have I ever felt safe in my own body? I would tentatively say, no. My body has never been a safe space. It has been a constant source of attention, often cruel and unwanted. I’d venture to guess that part of the reason I’ve chosen to live alone for most of my adult life is to protect me from that attention, even from well-meaning people who love me.

You know what though? When I’m arting I feel safe in my body. Is this how people walk around all the time with their meat sack not causing angst and fear? I hope so, because it’s kind of rad even when I experience it in teeny, tiny amounts.

Mind blown,
Jodi

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Hola Darling Ones,

Tomorrow, March 6th, marks the third anniversary of my stroke. Time flies when you’re learning how to be disabled, struggling with money, and grieving.

Three years since I called 911 and none of those men believed me when I said I had a stroke. Three years since I heard the cop making fun of me, “She thinks she had a stroke. She googled.” All cops really are bastards. I will never not be a hot ball of fury about how those first responders treated me.

Three years since I walked or drove or generally felt normal inside my own body.

It’s kinda nice the world outside of me has been pretty tame allowing me a singular focus on getting stronger. No wars. No ongoing military occupation of my state where thugs abduct or murder neighbors. No fascist overthrow of the US by the dumbest and cruelest humans led by an evil delusional gameshow host.

On this strokeaversary I’m so proud of how far I’ve come. Reading those early days after the stroke is rough. I was so beaten down and scared.

But even a damaged brain can’t keep a good spinster down.

Aside from my finances (my dole hearing is April 10) and the fascism, I’m doing pretty well. I think perhaps, maybe, I have finally accepted that this is the way things are gonna be and status quo is not a bad thing. Or maybe this is like grief and I will always be accepting it in some way.

Now that I’ve stopped beating myself up for failing at recovery, I’ve got a lot time on my hands, and so I’m starting an art/creative practice like its my job.

While I still crochet and write, it’s not the same as before. When I’m engaged in those activities there’s a whispering voice saying “this weird. why is this weird? what is wrong with you?”

To get that voice to shut up already I’ve taken up water colors. I want to try some drawing and collaging too. I’ve always been drawn to visual art and envious of those who create it, but haven’t taken an art class since seventh grade. Instead, I drifted toward photography and graphic art in school. That all came together when I discovered blogging and so I let crochet be my unplugged creative way to calm the brain weasels.

Now I need more. My brain weasels are bigger, damaged, and rowdy. I wanted something relatively cheap I could do with my hands. Something I haven’t done before.

My magical thinking has decided this new practice will be good for my Floppy Scoop and work some kind of wizardry my brain. It won’t fix the wooshiness that is my constant state of being, but maybe it will make it a little less gusty?

I’m only five days into the practice. It took me awhile to find cheap/free supplies and get over the fear that I’d art wrong and the world would end because of it. Right now I’m following a 30/60-day sketchbook challenge from Andrea Nelson on Instagram.

This old spinster is learning some new tricks. It’s fun to start a new practice and challenge myself to try something new that I’m not good at. Be gentle when I start subjecting you to all my creations. I’m just a baby at this.

Happy to be still kicking,
Jodi

The post Stroke Me Day 1095: Three Years In appeared first on I Will Dare.

Hiya Darling Ones,

There has been some very minor, minute, minuscule movement on the big issues in my life. If you have forgotten what those are, they’re The Dole and Non-Janky Wheelchair.

On The Dole front I got a sheaf of papers from Social Security asking me if I hired a representative (I did) and asking me how I’d like to conduct my hearing (via video call). Now, according to the lovely paralegal I work with, I wait a “few months” for Social Security to schedule my hearing. I will get a letter in the mail with that information 75 days before my hearing.

Progress?

On the Non-Janky Wheelchair front I had my appointment at the Seating Clinic. Surely you remember that. . . it was the appointment I scheduled in July for October 30th.

That was a bit of a doozy because I got have the argument with my mom in front of the nice physical therapist. My family, as represented by my mom in that room, is adamant I get an electric wheelchair. They do not think I’m capable of propelling myself in a manual wheelchair and they don’t want to push my ass around.

I, the person who will have to use the wheelchair, am adamant I get a wheelchair that will fit my 6’5″ frame and also fit inside a car. The whole point of the wheelchair is so that I can go places that are not the doctor’s office.

My fam had visions of either strapping the many-thousands of dollars wheelchair to the back of my mom’s RAV-4 on a sort of bike rack, or getting a trailer hitch. To them subjecting an electric wheelchair to the elements of the Minnesota roads was reasonable. Also, they never imagined I might want to go some where without them.

The Tea Ladies and I are just waiting for me to get a decent wheelchair so we can all meet up for lunch. They’re even willing to come and get me!

Part of my argument is that while I might not be very good at the wheelchair right now I’ll get better with practice. I used the Janky Wheelchair once before Sister #2 broke it. I haven’t had a chance to get good at it. Sheesh!

It’s more than a little annoying we even had this argument. It’s my wheelchair. For me! I’m an adult who can make decisions. They acted like I was being cheap or ashamed about asking for an electric wheelchair. Their opposition to what I wanted made me feel as though my logic was unreasonable or I was using magical thinking about the manual wheelchair.

I wasn’t! I recognize it will not be easy at first, but noting ever is. I’ll have to work at it, just like everything else since the stroke.

Thankfully, the therapist was #TeamJodi. She explained how part of her job was writing a narrative to the insurance company convincing them why I needed a Non-Janky Wheelchair. She said electric wheelchairs are large and expensive and probably not something I could use at home unless I had a spacious house. She doubted insurance would pony up for an electric wheelchair just for use in the community.

So, I was right and my family was wrong. Also, I learned my back is 29-inches long and I have good posture.

NOW. . . I wait a few weeks for a call from the wheelchair showroom people and then I can go check out the wheels. Then 3-4 months after that I could have a Non-Janky Wheelchair. I can’t hardly wait!

I’ve had enough of this stuff,
Jodi

The post April, Come She Will appeared first on I Will Dare.

Hi Darling Ones,

I’ve had a lot on mind. Well, I always do. But lately I’ve been thinking about the two finger-snaps in Dire Straits’ “Romeo & Juliet” and if the are significant in some way, if they are meant to symbolize something.

You’d be surprised by how much I think about this. It is more than a lot.

However, since the federal government shutdown I’ve been thinking about other things. Namely the boundless cruelty of the USA and the people who govern it. Also, the fathomless greed of the wealthy and all those people who could put an end to hunger and poverty and houselessness if they chose to throw their money at that problem.

More selfishly I’ve been thinking my writing and my situation.

It’s clear I love writing here. I’ve been doing it for 25 years, and I continue even though the physical acts of typing and reading are difficult and exhausting after the stroke. You can sorta see what my vision is like in the image at the top of this post. Spoiler: it’s not good.

One of my vague goals for iwilldare.com is to share what it’s like to be a single, 6’5″, white, GenX woman at this moment in time. And by this moment, I mean all the moments in time when I post. Now that I’ve become a single, 6’5″ white, disabled GenX woman during some massively horrifying historic events I feel as though my writing is more navel-gazey than ever.

It feels kinda gross to be so self-focused during the horrors thrust upon us by the government. This is a time where showing up and being a member of the community is important. Instead, all I do is sit in a chair and worry about if I’ll ever get on the dole.

With SNAP and WIC benefits running out because of the government shutdown I thought abut donating to the local food shelf. Food insecurity is one of those issues that really get me in the old ticker. I know what that’s like. I grew up with food insecurity and have gone hugry many times (yes, a hungry food insecure fat girl, it happens).

Sadly, I checked to see how much money I could spare. I can spare exactly $0.00. I’ve got exactly $3,713.41 to last me until, I’m not sure when. They haven’t even scheduled my Social Security hearing yet, and I don’t know how long it takes to get a verdict or money.

Bah!

Now, you can see how my thoughts have been going the past few weeks. It’s becoming a well-worn spiral — horrors, my writing, horrors, my own situation. How do people other people do this? How do you cope with personal tragedies or problems in the midst of bigger, more pressing problems?

Pondering Romeo & Juliet was way more fun and it helped me sleep at night.

Just another one of your deals,
Jodi

P.S.
In 2020 when I donated to my local food shelf I got an email from the Executive Director thanking me because I was the first person to ever use the online donation form. He told me he googled me and because I was a Replacements’ fan he offered me a gig. I built a beautiful website for them that they never used because the new Marketing Director, hired after I started my work, either did not like me or wanted to put her mark on everything. I didn’t get to stick around long enough to find out. I’m sad to report they still have an ugly ass website.

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