Grounded


I’m dangerously depressed.

It’s a pretty day outside, November miracle weather. I should be dancing around town in my power-chair, but I cant. Last time I was out and about something happened with the joystick on my chair, making it immobile. I have a manual transport chair that I am using, but…

Close your eyes. Now damn it! Oh, I forgot you needed them to read. Okay, don’t close your eyes but try to imagine flying around your town. Not in an airplane, you are half human, half machine. You enjoy using your arms as wings, and dancing while you fly. Always dancing. You dance everywhere you go because it feels so good to fly that you can’t help but dance.

Suddenly something snaps in your wing arms and you can’t fly or dance around town, or even get the basic errands you were planning on doing done. You are nothing more than a hurting, broken, flightless cyborg.

That’s me. Dependent on my mechanical body parts, which can break down at any moment. They said it could be as early as tomorrow, but probably next week when the technicians will be able to take a look at it. So I’m sad.

Thinking 12 years might be too long. That’s the plan, sky-diving to my death 12 years from now. I’ll really fly that day, so I guess I do have something to look forward to.

Ok, ill suck it up and put on a happy face and be a good little cyborg now. Thanks for the vent space.

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