My 9yo son has severe autism and intellectual disability. He is nonverbal and needs assistance with every aspect of daily living. He is very big for his age, 5'1" and 120lbs. He has aggressive outbursts and self injurious behavior, and is destructive in terms of property. He has near constant therapies and interventions within the home, but it's becoming unmanageable. He's so young, I don't want to jump the gun. How do you know when it's time?
Source: https://www.abc.net.au/news/2021-12-30/national-cabinet-close-contact-definition-household-covid/100731190
What does this mean for workplaces that are clearly not households, or events like concerts, conferences, courses, even weddings and funerals.
This seems absolutely absurd to me.
Note that I'm not a medical professional nor do I pretend to be one on the internet, so I'm just asking what on earth the thinking is here.
I see so much weird ageism in the LGBTI2A community. It’s not new. It’s there.
When you’re 15, you’re just about dying to meet any lesbian you can. Each and every lesbian is a fucking treasure, especially the older ones, because they are wise and can help calm your insecure quelling. They make you feel so welcome at all-ages events, where a fat-walleted gay man always has a crowd of people your age around him as he buys you all hot dogs and passes out fatherly hugs.
You turn 18/19, and if you’re Canadian, you hit the bar so hard it turns you into a vomit pressure hose. You’re young and adorable, bursting with energy, and ready to mingle until you can no longer stand and find several numbers jammed in your pocket the next day. Sometimes you avoid the vomit hose and get lucky. Sometimes you’re already locked down too early in a relationship. But most of the time, you want to be there and they want you there. The older people in the corner of the bar don’t talk to you, and you wonder why. Someone decries them as total creeps, just look at them, they’re only here to perv on us.
You turn 25, and suddenly the drunken ramblings of university students aren’t as cute anymore. You start wearing way less bodycon at the bar, and you’ve stopped dyeing your hair purple because you’re a court clerk or an engineer now, thus much less interesting to even people your own age. You still wanna rage, though, and you can still find enough people who are able to hit the bar with you. You try to smile at the older people in the corner, and sometimes you get a little wave back until your friends close the ranks of cuteness and smooth skin around you on the dance floor. This, you’re good at. You can hold your liquor AND show the bar babies a thing or two.
You reach the just over 30 stage, and nobody wants you, your flat shoes, and your friends who hired a babysitter for their gaybies to be at the bar anymore. Your hair is boring, your brows are overplucked-in-the-90s, and you’re getting unfunkier by the minute. You have to go sit in the corner and get called a creep for being in a bar where you celebrated your 19th by getting legless and high on being A Bar Gay when those calling you a creep were still dreaming of bantam hockey.
You hit 35 and stop going to the bar, especially because you’re married now, and the bar is hostile. If you show up with your wife, you have a bad night having to tell the bartender, “If that straight bachelorette party steals one more of our drinks or
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