On Wheels

So I’m pretty badly disabled. That’s something anyone who reads my blog, which I suspect isn’t many people, should know by now. The stupid thing is, I’m also an incredible optimist. I’m probably optimistic to the point of naive self-denial.

One thing I am particularly optimistic about is my romantic prospects. I feel that I should be able to find a girl I like, and I am positive that this girl shouldn’t necessarily be disabled. In fact, I try to keep telling myself that this is a genuine possibility. Of course I know, deep down inside, that it’s not quite that simple for me. Most able-bodied girls are going to think twice before dating a physically unattractive, sexually inept fucker like me. But I still want to believe there’s a chance.

This is why I get pretty annoyed when friends, especially the ones whose opinions I quite value, feel it’s necessary to casually mention how I’ll probably have a very hard time finding a girl that isn’t in a wheelchair like me. They’ll say it like it’s an obvious thing, which it is. But I don’t want it to be obvious. And I especially don’t want to be reminded of how obvious it is by people who aren’t disabled. It disrupts my willful self-denial, puts a dent in my attempts of self-preservation.

Thing is, I know already. I don’t need to be told. I don’t want to be told. Being told by outsiders just confirms things I don’t want to have confirmed. Things I’d rather ignore as much as possible.

Anyway, this probably all sounds a little weepy and self-pitying. I’m probably a little too drunk. My humblest apologies. And if any of you know a hot girl who’s into gimps, hit me up, will ya?