clark kent reincarnate

sometimes i get the urge to tell my friends how much i love them. it’s like there’s this sea that overflows when i look at the picture that is my life. it’s overwhelming to think that as a little girl all i wanted was a friend.

in two-ish weeks, i’m hosting my first sleepover since i was six. when i tried to have a sleepover as a kid, i made invitations and handed them out to my class, and i remember the excitement i had when i came home. i sat on my mom’s bed and i waited for people to buzz in. but, no one showed. i was so disappointed.

i’ve had a continued series of disappointments regarding my social life (and really, who hasn’t) and a life i so desperately want to live. but to think that i thought i wouldn’t ever host a sleepover again, i’d never had friends to stay with, i’d never be cool enough to be invited.

his disability cannot be ignored when you talk about him. like i actually do want to hear more headcanons of him having foggy read to him because even though he can (“technically”) do it in canon and he has modern technology he still loves his friends.

it’s the same principle of i can take off my own shoes, but when my friends do it (with permission), it makes me love them so much more. my friends assisting me can be a labor of love in ways they can’t fathom. it’s not always about simply doing it because it’s easier, but it’s the careful remembrance of what i struggle with doing as a disabled person. it’s asking for help guilt-free.

and while matt murdock gets bitches, yes, this labor of love between disabled people is even bigger. being a matt murdock yume genuinely opened my eyes to a disabled4disabled relationship. because no matter how hard i desperately try to explain my disability, my desires, my feelings to non-disabled people they won’t be able to understand. i value my disabled friends so much because they understand me on one level or another

i’ve been thinking a lot about my own mortality lately. i don’t plan to die any time soon, but i feel the opportunity to write down explicit instructions of how to remember/honor me after death (not a checklist) is one i cant turn down

when i die, please come to my room and just sit on my bed for a little bit. in the state it’s left in. feel the messy blankets, the objects, my laptop. see the view of my room. see all my messiness and the things i loved

when you clear my belongings, please give most of it away. please give my clothes to people with stars in their eyes, give my fall out boy cd(s) to someone who gasps the minute they see them. please give my clothes to the beautiful transgenders of chicago — it was all for them.

my friends and family get priority. please take as much or as little of me as you want.

when you close my casket, please tuck these items beforehand: my folie a deux cd, my beautiful baby rosie (picture and locket), 5 pictures of the friends and family who adored me so, my riot fest fall out boy shirt.

at my funeral, please serve pastries and…like… whatever food that’s actually good. even in grief, you deserve good food.

cater from oak mill bakery and blow most of the budget on them. cater from ferrara bakery. get pasta from the pasta bowl. carpool to superdawg and flood them with queers.

when you deliver your eulogies, tell the bit you found the funniest. and if you don’t butcher it, you’re not doing it right— because you know i’ve rarely been one for planning.

if you somehow taxidermy me (what the fuck), please recreate my room. please recreate the place i felt the safest / please recreate the place i lay my head to rest. i do not want to die in fear. i have lived my life in fear, and i rebuke that in death.

please never be afraid that maybe i didn’t like you or i thought of you negatively. linger a little longer, and guess how much love i held in this little heart o’ mine. i will never die angry for pointless conflicts, i will die loving everyone just as i lived loving everyone.

don’t forget the things i loved. i loved chicago more than any of you will ever know. the brown line at 4pm in september is one of the calmest places i could feel alive in. take the super-duper long way home on the cta and think about what you see. coo at the street cats. go to the street markets. take a risk on fashion you didn’t try on. go to new food joints and try thrir burgers. gaze into the faces of punks and smile at them at the DIY show.

when fall out boy comes to chicago, tell me if they do “coffee’s for closers” or “what a catch”. when paramore comes to chicago, tell hayley williams i love her.

tell my wife i always loved him. tell isa she saved my fucking life. tell yourselves you saved my fucking life. without chicago, without you, the show couldn’t go on. and when the show closes, mourn it, miss it. it’s been a pleasure entertaining folks for as long as i’ve been alive.