Day Thirty-Four: A Lonely, Heart-Broken Pillow

Day Thirty-Three’s post was a superb example of me strung out on coffee. I’m assuming that the majority of viewers scanned down the entirety of the post, mumbled, “Crap, this is long,” and got the heck out of dodge. Or, they stopped right around the time I was rambling on and on about how I’d posted a video clip.

Now I’m tempted to copy and paste the bottom portion of Day Thirty-Three (awesome number 33 is, by the way), because the content, in my not-so-humble opinion, is very interesting, like the part when I express how I feel sorry for isolated globs of toothpaste. You might want to see the last part of the post, at the very least. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on the gross-factor. Just saying.

I also am remembering my blog rules; and thought I should, (nasty sh word that it is), remind my readers (my friends, my good buddies, my pals) that there really are no rules in blogging. Just incase someone was thinking my powerful prose, I spat out while inebriated (smashed out) on coffee, was inappropriate in length. (Did you know coffee is not made from a bean but from seeds? Who knew?)

I love that there are no rules in blogging. Still I find myself doing what I always tend to do in walking life: analyze others’ style, breadth, subject matter, and quality. But then I reason, with LV (little voice in my head), that the act of Me breaking full force out of this self-inflicted mold, that of the Jell-O-mold of a fear-based conformist, is exactly why I am authoring this blog in the first place! (Now I’m picturing green Jell-O; now cellulite; now thinking I shouldn’t have had that apple fritter and cheese puff yesterday.)

For today, before I ramble on any further, or let Crazy Frog and Brain escort us on a three-hour cruise to cellulite land—as enticing as that sounds—I wanted to share a bit about my college experience. While you venture down melancholic lane, I’ll be heading upstairs to steal some sips of my husband’s coffee and watch the telly. (LV still has that whole British dialect going on from yesterday.) I’m wiping my tears after this one, so consider yourself forewarned.

A Lonely, Heart-Broken Pillow

Through the following seasons, the sharp point of fear worked its way into me like the microscopic barbs of a seed-bearing foxtail.  I was confused and greatly disappointed.  I believed with the coming of adulthood, by at last leaving my mother’s house and striking out into a different land, life would somehow get easier.  I expected the load I’d carried from my childhood to shed itself in layers, to ultimately fly away effortlessly, to disperse across the sky like the seeds of a dandelion… (The rest of the story is in the book Everyday Aspergers.)


13 thoughts on “Day Thirty-Four: A Lonely, Heart-Broken Pillow

  1. Hello, I shutdown for a day. Still gathering up my brain cells! 🙂

    Once again you treat us with a lovely story. The broken hearted pillow, so lovely, with such depth.

    I reflect on my college years, I struggled too. You caught me essence when you wrote:

    “…how around particular classmates I became increasingly goofy and outlandishly witty, and how around others I was much a quiet hermit. I noticed, too, that I adjusted my persona, shifting my attire, my mannerism, my opinions, my likes and dislikes, to match the climate of a given room. ”

    I did this, too. I felt so lost, not knowing how to be.

    1. Thank you so much for connecting Quiet Week; sometimes I feel so vulnerable putting the heart of me out there into the unknown universe (blogging/internet) and I await a friendly voice to remind me she understands. Thanks for being that voice. Yes, that sentence captures the essence of college for me. I am sorry you had to experience the same feelings. I am finding I am having a hard time knowing how to “be” even as I blog. It’s troublesome. But a learning experience, I guess. The photo is one my mom took; I believe it is in Malta (island of the coast of Italy). I love the contrast, as well. Thanks for noticing. Thanks for brightening my day. My brain cells seem somewhere else today, too. So good to get to know you. 🙂 Sam

      1. I hear you, loud and clear. I appreciate your writing very much. Throught my life, I have been mystified by so many things. Reading your posts are like fining a secret diary some other me wrote.

        So many thing we share! And we have sisters out there, too.

        It is very hard to write a personal blog. That is why I admire you for keeping going. Sometimes I wonder why I write. But I cannot not write.

        Ultimately, it is about not being alone with your brain.

        Oh, goodness. I officially ran out of thoughts for the day!

        Take care, blog on! 🙂

  2. I found your blog yesterday and have been pouring over it any chance I get. This post hit home.

    “I would be admonished and criticized by others for acting like the teacher’s pet or monopolizing the discussion. There was no place for me.”

    I remember sitting in 6th grade math so excited about the content. I was eager and ready to learn. I raised my hand one too many times, and the teacher made a snide comment about me participating too much. The kids all laughed, and called me teacher’s pet. That was THE last time I raised my hand in class (and the last day I pursued math as an interest). I simply did not realize I was annoying the teacher, or monopolizing the discussion.

    Also, I read your post Aspie to Aspie (it was about relationships)- and it was RIGHT ON. So so awesome. Keep writing, your words are beautiful and encouraging.

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