To Be Free

I woke up this morning and I was no longer disabled. At first, I simply felt; I was still me, legs that hadn't seen the light of day since who knows when, curvy and short. I still had my short curly dark hair; but as I swung my legs over the side of the bed (within distance of the dog crate and it's ever watchful occupant, my corgi, Zoe) I let my feet hit the nondescript carpet, testing.

I walked across the room, unplugged my wheelchair before wandering into the kitchen. Flipping on the light I mindlessly began fixing breakfast and sorting out my medication (an allergy pill and antidepressant) before sitting down to eat. After breakfast, I went into the normal routine of letting the dog out then feeding her and saying hello to my laptop before starting my work for the day.

It was only after working for a few minutes I realized something. I was no longer disabled which meant I could get a job, I could make money, I no longer needed government income or an apartment complex tailored to disabled and elderly people. Most importantly, what was I going to tell my landlord?