That feeling when you don't even qualify as a "burden on society"

So finally, after 16 months, two letters to every politician I could think of, four medical reports, and a pile of paperwork, CPP has informed me that there is no evidence that my disability has changed in any significant way since I first applied in 2014 and 2016, and I wasn't disabled then, so I'm not disabled now.

Yes, I swore. And I cried.

I don't even qualify as a "burden on society" because society has deemed me able to look after myself.

If you've been reading along (there are new ebooks out that make catching up easier, they're on Amazon), you will know that I am *not* able to look after myself. I forget things (even important things, even with lots of reminders). I dissociate into a fog ... which may look like researching some random topic for hours, spending ages trying to find the right audiobook to keep my brain from chewing the mental furniture, or having no clue whether I'm the only person in the house or if someone came home and I've forgotten they're here. I frequently want a cup of tea but find actually boiling the kettle and pouring water over a tea bag to be too much hassle. I crave cookies but haven't the energy to bake.

I wouldn't trust me with a job of any kind.

Yet the government seems to believe that if I just "tried a bit harder" it would all be okay.

They're wrong.

Yes, there'll be an appeal, but oi, how long is that gonna take? The whole thing was just a horrible fist to the guts, especially with the world falling apart and everyone needing to count all their pennies.

I guess this is a good year to do that potager garden, grow some lettuce and carrots and potatoes and cabbages and flowers and herbs and trees.

Now if only the snow would melt. I need muddy feet in the worst way.