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Yes, I’m a bit grumpy. We’re fighting so hard for such basic rights as in the right to have our daily functions met, that everything else risks sidelines. Exhaustion sets in and then a cycle of gloom fogs over me. I lose judgement of my own work and worth.

I’m raging to put my energies into fighting the horrific attacks disabled people are under, yet, how, how, how can I do more? I’ve been around for so long. The scribbles in my journals from Thatcher’s harsh reign remind me of what we’ve faced before. Progress creaked on. We are on the brink of losing it. What else can we do?

Don’t worry. I fly up again after a bit. Everything is slowly moving forward with my work, you know, the blood and guts thoughts into words, that I have to do. It’s not a torment, but it can be overwhelming.

The more I do, the more I write, the more I will fight. Humanity must shake off its imposed facades and let us all into the fold, for fuck sake.

OK, enough bleating. Back to it.

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