…dropping some of the other issues I write about, and really focusing on disabilities blogging. I don’t feel like I spend enough energy on those issues, or have as strong of connections with that community as I’d like.

So consider this a bit of amends.

I’ve spoken about this before, but I want to return to the idea of the subaltern as provisional. Ze exists on the permission, and ultimately the caprice of power. While the powerful would love nothing more than to be credited with being generous and to receive love for these remarkable acts of toleration, the subaltern is often ungrateful. Why wouldn’t they?

To exist by permission is to constantly know that status is revocable, temporary, and dangerous. The provisional identity always looks to the possibility of loss and disaster.

I was asked once i got to the ill-lit, poorly marked, and hard to find Disabilities Office at Yale, what previous arrangements had be made for me. And if I had documentation for that.

Once again, Sly enters the Kafkaesque world of the medical establishment, relying on doctors to prove to Yale that I’m actually sick. This of course, includes the inept who proscribed the wrong medications, the deceitful that violated my trust, and the plainly unperceptive who I manipulated into getting the medication I actually needed. Between a hospital a thousand miles away that hasn’t seen me in years, and a Doc here that’s seen me once…

Somehow that’s going to be the record by which I will pass into officially recognized disability and out of the “informal” provisions that have been made in the past.

So why is it, as I scramble for medical records that mean nothing to me, that it feels like I’m asking permission all over again? That I’m still a provisional person at Yale?