transportation and Me (With occasional appearances of Jeremy)

So I live with my parents and younger brother, Jeremy, and between all three of them, I divide up my transportation needs.

This is because

1. Jeremy and I work at the same place in different departments

2. He is generously compensated.

3. Mostly, because my workplace will not give me a set schedule so that I know when I am working in order to schedule the bus service, which needs two weeks notice to book rides.

I don't want to schedule them and then have to cancel because if it happens too much, one's privileges become suspended. I could approximate when I will work, but I don't want to be waiting around for a couple of hours because I needed to get the ride when I could. I don't take cabs because I live far from my work, so getting a cab there would almost negate my working. I don't know if my work is doing anything wrong. My instinct tells me that work cannot do that because they want to be fair. It's a grocery store. A lot of people would want to have a set schedule. Except one thing. When I had surgery, or had physical therapy, or couldn't do something I was always told life wasn't fair. But here's the thing. I don't want something someone else would want because no one would actually, in my opinion, and I am talking about my co workers, no one would want the cerebral palsy part of my life. They want to be able to walk to work or drive or take the big bus because they can walk from stop to stop and navigate the stairs. I doubt my employer would understand the mental distress over not being able to have reliable, independent, transportation to work. I know it's not their responsibility. I get that. But I think that sometimes, my view counts, my view is important. My perspective on life is needed.

I remember

Fifteen years ago yesterday, I had seven and a half hours of Orthopedic surgery. I remember it, not like it was yesterday, but I remember more than I would like to. I walked into the operating room with my mother, and hours later, I woke in the recovery room, not knowing if the surgery was really over, and too afraid to ask, and then I do. My parents aren't there, and I stare at the ceiling. A strange feeling, walking in and hours later, unable to walk, move, confused. Sometimes I can feel the fear I felt, knowing yes, I planned on this, and I wanted this, and it was necessary, but I didn't really want it. At first I was enticed by the fact that I would have a straight knee, instead of my right knee facing left. I didn't know that the operation would entail my feet, my tibia, my hip. At 13, my identity was forming, and my body was restructured, and so my sense of self was as well. This experience changed my identity, and to this day, there are reminders. This experience also represents life. A line can divide life into before and after, and you never know how a surgery will turn out, and it's nobody's fault if it doesn't turn out how you hoped, but I felt like it was someone's fault. I don't really know why I am writing this. Not because I want to tell everyone how hard my life is or how tough I am.
When I share that surgical story with friends, or people that ask, I realize maybe life is one big rehabilitative experience, restructuring ourselves. Everybody can look back in a phase and say "Oh that's when I was really into dinosaurs." We learn, we experience, we grow, move forward, then in my case I have intense periods of thought that involve the internet, YouTube, and blog reading. This is life.