It's a weird thing, you know

Morning darklings,

I’ve been on Disability for a while now and will stay on it for always. Unless a dictator takes it away. But that’s another worry for another day, and certainly not one I have the energy to write about right now.

Today is about weirdness. The weird fact that I’m limited in what I’m allowed to do creatively because I’m on Disability. The weird fact that I cannot move too far forward without being penalized. And I don’t mean financially. Of course if I make enough to live on, I shouldn’t get Disability.

But I can’t get an LLC for my small publishing press, for instance. It calls attention to the fact that I’m “working”, which sure, yes, but also, no. I look prolific because I manage my time and energy well, I stockpile projects and books from the times I’m well enough to write and make them.

If I try to protect myself as a legal small business, though, they may claim I’m able to work a full-time job suddenly. It doesn’t matter that I take weeks off or cancel on people so I can watch TV and paint and sleep because I edited one story that week. It doesn’t matter that I made less than $800 for the entire Claw Machine project—from Kickstarter to the book sales at the launch event. It doesn’t matter that I can’t spare the energy to learn how to make Google ads. (But I suppose that wouldn’t matter either, because Disability doesn’t afford me enough to buy them in the first place.) I’m not complaining, just stating it like it is.

All that matters is that I want to make money for the time I am able to use. That brings raised eyebrows and visions of me in an office chair for hours on end or standing behind a counter day-in-and-day-out. It brings thoughts of me on phone calls or typing all day, driving somewhere on a daily basis.

There is no room in the law for both things to be true—I can’t work, but I can do things that may earn a little money in ways that cannot be predicted or relied upon. I can’t work on a schedule set by anyone—including myself—but I can set deadlines that leave me weeks or months of room for my body to fall apart.

So even when I want to further my creative career, I can’t. The word career isn’t for people on Disability, I guess, because I’m not allowed to make much money, despite not receiving enough to rent a room in Portland (let alone buy ramen or own a car or afford to take the bus anywhere after that).

Beyond the pain and discomfort, being Disabled is weird simply because society says so.

It’s a liminal place I exist in. Butted up against the able-bodied world so close I could lick the salt from the skin of it if I wanted to. But the paper thin boundaries still come with chasms below that are nearly unsurmountable. It’s nonsensical.

That’s reality, though. Nonsense. The sky is below. The ground is above. Water is sand, and grass is gravel.

Meanwhile, I will still chink away at stories and projects and art. Something may spark a fire and be what makes me lose my health insurance one day. Or not. Only time will tell.

Next week… another episode of Little joys.

But before that, don’t forget to watch me on Thursday, September 25, 2025 / 1:30 PM–2:00 PM PST! (Or just catch the replay!)

a lil board

Until next time, harness the Little darknesses and embrace the Little things.