Thank you for meeting with me to discuss my disability application. I appreciate you coming to see me, because, as you already know, I can’t leave this house. Or change my dress. Or love. Have I mentioned I can’t love? No love, none at all. Just me, all alone, in the dark. Just sitting here. In the corner. Alone.

I see my application was denied.


You do realize I have not seen daylight in over thirty years, right? I live with a preserved cake for god’s sake. Do you know what kind of mold grows on that? News flash: it is not penicillin. I am pretty sure I am going to die of a spore infestation. That, or a vitamin-D deficiency. Seriously, no one should be this pale. I am like a naked mole rat here.

Please, just dust off a chair and sit down. Would you like tea? Cake? Ha, just kidding, don’t even think about touching the mold cake, that thing is sacred and mine.

Oh, speaking of dust, I am pretty sure I have a dust allergy. A debilitating, truly severe dust allergy. But I can’t dust this place, because I have to leave everything as it was that fateful day, untouched, preserved, still, because I am crazy and should be on disability. Also, between us, you see this place? It has like 30 rooms. I mean, who can clean that?

Stop looking at the clock; you’ve only been here five minutes. Anyway, it is stopped at twenty to nine so not sure why you keep looking at it. If you had read my application, you would know that all my clocks are stopped. Seriously, where do you need to be right now?

Can I offer you more tea? It is chamomile mint. I find it soothing. Soothing for my frayed, allergic, mold-exposed, vitamin-deprived nerves.

You like my dress? It is an Oleg Cassini. I had cachet back in the day. He made it for me, personally. You know what it is like to have tulle rub up against you for thirty years? Do you have any idea the kind of chafing I am talking about? I mean, in the really hard to reach places. Also, don’t even get me started on the shape wear.

Yes, I adopted a child. That does not mean I am not disabled. Have you seen the types of parents Social Services allow to have kids? Have you? There is some seriously sick stuff out there, let me tell you. Anyway, I am teaching her how not to love. Because I am sick and should be on disability. Say it with me now. Dis-a-bil-it-y.

Look, I’ll level with you. Does this seem like a normal life to you? Does this seem like someone who is a functioning member of society? Seriously, it is me, the half-Gypsy kid and this cake, all day, every day.

You think I need to be sicker? Is that it? Being a shut-in doesn’t qualify all of a sudden? You want me to get burned in a fire? Because god help me, I will set one. I will. Then we’ll see who qualifies for disability.