I always imagined I'd post something about him one day, and probably not just because he has been one of my best audiences for a long time(among almost too many other things to mention, considering that we've never been around the corner from each other or anything and have only shared physical space twice in many years of association and affection.
We could almost think we made each other up,at this point, except it would be hard to imagine that a voice from my head would love me that much. Since he does,and I have had *some* physical evidence, I have to conclude that he exists.
Like so many other things, though, this didn't take the shape I expected, though I thought of him when I bought a beautiful anthology calledSearch Work because of the struggles so many, including K, have in the 21st century job search.I've been worried about that, even if I don't believe Real Jobs are golden tickets anymore.(The link is to a livestream of the book's launch, which explains it better than I can, except I'll say that the designer made the book literally a beautiful physical object that made me wish I had the patience to design an anthology. I'm not sure I do.)
Now K. is having a health crisis, and is even wondering how much he is sharing with the disability community--I hope it doesn't make a bad activist for me to refuse that particular "recruitment", but I care about his happiness even more than solidarity or representation or not feeling alone on an ironically rocky life path.(I'm not really asking for anything right now, just trying to keep this blog where my actual mind and heart are, as usual, barring the occasional bandwagon or bit of emotion-bait,)
But it has always felt weird being me and saying "Get well soon." If not for the media, I might not ever see that as a possibility. People tell me about someone who cut her toenails too close and died the next week. You know?
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