Month: March 2012

Day Thirty-Eight: Things That Make Me Go EWW!

| Aspergers Girls

Once a month my boys have late start—a time where they go to school an hour late because the teachers have a staff meeting. This bit of schedule variation sets me up for an anxiety-ridden morning. Everything—the alarm clock, breakfast time, traffic—is a little bit off. And the morning is always a little less predictable.

For instance, my youngest is currently undergoing an eye therapy program, and because we had extra time before school began, he played his favorite eye therapy game with one of his older brothers at 8:00 am. Eye therapy first thing in the morning, instead of the traditional afternoon time, brought about changes. Changes that included Robert, my youngest, standing on the basement-level floor at the bottom of our staircase, knocking wooden blocks off an ironing board by smacking an orange soft ball with a big stick. A ball held by a string hung over the stair banister at the top-level, a string that I balanced, while playing referee and keeping score.

Late start meant that there was time for my youngest, age ten, when finished knocking over the blocks and shouting gleefully, to make himself some scrambled eggs (without asking); so that when I returned from a cold shower, (because all three boys had enough extra time to all shower in a row, which left Mom no hot water), I found the kitchen, I had painstakingly cleaned, covered in eggs, shredded cheese, and what-have-you.

This while my Spastic-Colon (my dog; not my intestines) decided to do that move that all dogs do when there is a clump stuck to their rear. I watched, my hands covered in wet egg, as Spastic-C balanced on her butt, used her front legs like ski poles, hiked up the back legs, and slid across the kitchen linoleum, leaving a line of crap. My oldest, by then groaning and moaning from the disgustingness of the situation, was made (by me) to balance Spastic-C between his legs and hike up her tail, to ensure I had the best vantage point and stability for scissoring off the poop lump.

It’s about 9:00 am and I’m so ready to crawl back in bed. Only my husband’s big 5-O is arriving shortly, and I haven’t the faintest idea what to buy him. That, and LV is shouting: “Oh my gosh! You’re going to be married to a fifty-year-old! Gross.” (Yes…I know…it’s right around the corner for me, too.)

I thought about making a sweet list, using an acrostic of the alphabet, where I match one item/person/event that I’m thankful for to each letter. For instance, A is for apples, B is for boys, C is for custard. But then I thought (because let’s face it, thinking is what I do best) that I wasn’t in the mood to be some chipper, happy-go-lucky, nothing-gets-me-down, poop head! I’m not a Pollyanna; never will be; never could be. Though that used to be Spastic-C’s name when we adopted her, which in retrospect explains a whole lot.

By the way, my real name means from Mars.

Right now my eyes hurt, my shoulders hurt, and I’m freaking out knowing I’m only about 10% done with this blog. Since I’ve already written about 60 pages. Logically, I hypothesize I will be typing some 600 pages by the time this blog hits the magic 365 Days.  Don’t you even think about erasing me from your blog email list!

There is no doubt I have enough thoughts inside of me to share 600-pages of content.  That’s not the troubling factor. What I fret over is the absurdity that could potentially leak out in roughly 300 days.

There is only so much editing Crazy Frog can do (my lingo button); and there is a limited amount of brute strength I possess to keep LV and Sir Brain from running the show. Then there is Elephant, who likes to clomp over the pages, and Prophet in my Pocket’s extremely profound, lost-in-my-mind prose. Then I have Phantom, who hasn’t even showed herself fully. I can only imagine what she’s got hidden under her cape.

Oh Crap! (I hope that’s not offensive in countries outside of the USA; because where I live, crap is actually quite mild comparatively speaking. I’m stopping myself from using the thesaurus in combination with crap. But feel free.)

I typed Oh Crap because I forgot I had to still take my youngest to school. Don’t worry. He ran barefoot to the van and got his socks and shoes on during the ride, just in time, before he had to sprint to the classroom. Although, he couldn’t wear his new tie-shoes because there was no time for shoe tying. That’s why he said to me as he was bolting out the van’s side door, “Don’t worry Mom. I’ll call you if my shoes fall apart!”

I’m such a good mom.

I don’t know about you, but sometimes when I’m in an exhausted, wish-I-had-stayed-in-bed mood, I don’t like to read about how grateful people are and how life always has a bright side.

In all honesty, what cheers me up is hearing about other people’s crap and their struggles, and how they’re still doing okay despite it all, and that we’re all just free-styling in some giant pool of life, because know one really knows how to swim the right way.

Here’s a list that would make me happy, if you wrote it. I invite you to make one and post your list in comments. Just right (write) the first thing that pops into your mind. That’s what I did. But you probably figured that out.

Things That Make Me Go EWW! (or bother me)

A: Ants when they crawl out in masses out of cracks in the house

B: Beef on a plate

C: Curds on milk

D: Dentist chairs

E: Egg shells dripping with raw egg

F: Fat around my waist and on my upper arms

G: Goats’ stench at petting zoos

H: Hamburger cooking smell

I: Insides of the toilet bowl rim

J: Jellybeans that are throw up flavor

K: Kids picking their nose

L: Lights that are fluorescent

M: Money; it’s a love-hate relationship

N: Nuts in frozen carrot cake that scratch my throat

O: Octopus on a plate

P: Pigeon poop

Q: Questions that aren’t really questions but disguised insinuations or insults

R: Red coming out of a nose

S: Sunshine factor in the state of Washington

T: Teeth that are chipped

U: Underneath firewood where there are bugs and spiders

V: Vampire HBO series endings, because I want more

W: Wind

X: X-rays of any type, especially teeth x-rays

Y: Yellow in the toilet bowl

Z: Zoos, especially petting zoos

I thought that list would take a long time. It didn’t. So therapeutic! I think my next list will be people that make me go EWW! No. Just kidding.

Here’s a great alphabet list from another blogger that made me laugh! Prawn and Quartered Blog

Thirty-Seven: 10 Myths About Females With Asperger’s Syndrome

| Aspergers Girls

Hello All.

I hope you are well during these challenging times.

I am writing to provide a few updates (2020) for anyone who happens upon this homepage.

My third blog is a bit hard to find, since I changed the domain name. Here is the direct link to Everyday Autistic. My artist’s blog is Belly of a Star.

Here is the Autistic Trait’s List.

Here is my company website Spectrum Suite LLC, which includes 100s of resources and our services page.

Here is a link to one of my Linkedin Articles that will bring you to my profile and some articles there!

My new works include much advocacy for Universal Design in the Workplace, which equates to true inclusivity, where all employees are given opportunity to the same support measures and community engagement, such as the same best-practices interviews, job coaches, support team; not just one marginalized minority, e.g., autistic individuals.

I am working on a book on empowerment on the autism spectrum.

I am my waving from afar, and wishing you so very well! I cannot believe it’s been 8 YEARS!

I now call myself a ‘neuro-minoriy’ (coined by Judy Singer) and consider myself a neurodivergent-blend (coined by me!). I am neurodivergent-blend because of my autistic profile, gifted-intellect diagnosis, dyslexia, dyspraxia, OCD, etc. etc. etc.

Feel free to connect on twitter or Facebook.

I’m on the bottom right, in the photo below, speaking at the Stanford Neurodiversity Summit. You can find out what we’ve been up to on the website. Here is a 10 hr.+ video of Day 2 at the Summit!

My book is now available around the world in paperback! Check out Barnes and Noble or Amazon.

Everyday Aspergers is an unusual and powerful exploration of one woman’s marvelously lived life. Reminiscent of the best of Anne Lamott, Everyday Aspergers jumps back and forth in time through a series of interlocking vignettes that give insight and context to her lived experience as an autistic woman. The humor and light touch is disarming, because underneath light observations and quirky moments are buried deep truths about the human experience and about her own work as an autistic woman discerning how to live her best life. From learning how to make eye contact to finding ways to communicate her needs to being a dyslexic cheerleader and a fraught mother of also-autistic son, Samantha Craft gives us a marvelous spectrum of experiences. Highly recommended for everyone to read — especially those who love people who are just a little different.”~ Ned Hayes, bestselling author of The Eagle Tree

10 Myths About Females With Aspergers

1. Aspergers is Easy to Spot

Females with Aspergers are often superb actresses. They’ve either trained themselves how to behave in hopes of fitting in with others and/or they avoid social situations. Many grown women with Aspergers are able to blend into a group without notice.

2. Professionals Understand Aspergers

No two people are alike. Professionals have limited experience, if any experience, with females with Aspergers. Professionals have limited resources, limited prior instruction and education, and little support regarding the subject of Aspergers. Comorbid conditions with Aspergers are complex. Females seeking professional help are often overlooked, and sometimes belittled or misdiagnosed.

3. An Effective Diagnosis Tool Exists for Females with Aspergers

There is no blood or DNA test for Aspergers. No one knows what causes Aspergers or if Aspergers is actually a condition, and not just a way of looking at the world differently. The diagnostic tools, such as surveys, are based on male-dominant Aspergers’ traits that do not take into account how the female’s brain and the female’s role in society differs from the male experience. Diagnosis is largely based on relatives’ observations and individual case history, and is determined by professionals who often do not understand the female traits of the syndrome.

4. People with Aspergers Lack Empathy

Females with Aspergers usually have a great deal of empathy for animals, nature, and people.  A female’s (with Aspergers) specific facial features, body language, tone of voice, laughter, and word choice might result in an observer misjudging a female’s (with Aspergers) thoughts, feelings, and intentions. Women and girls with Aspergers are often deep philosophical thinkers, poets, and writers—all traits that require a sense of empathy. Females with Aspergers usually try very hard to relate another’s experience to their own experience, in hopes of gaining understanding.

5. People with Aspergers are Like a Television Character

Many individuals have learned not to compare an ethnic minority group to a character on television, because such comparison is a form of stereotyping and racism. However, people are comparing male fictional characters on television to females with Aspergers. This happens usually without intention to harm, but out of a desire to understand. People with Aspergers aren’t living in a sitcom. There is a need for a greater degree of understanding beyond observing an entertainer.

6. Aspergers is No Big Deal

People with Aspergers often face daily challenges. There is no magic pill to make an Aspergers brain think differently. People with Aspergers see the world in another way than the majority. Females with Aspergers are not different in a way that needs to be improved. They are different in a way that requires support, empathy, and understanding from the mainstream. Aspergers is a big deal. The diagnosis can bring varying degrees of grief, acceptance, depression, confusion, closure, and epiphany. Here are just a few of the conditions a female with Aspergers might experience: sensory difficulties, OCD, phobias, anxiety, fixations, intense fear, rapid-thinking, isolation, depression, low self-esteem, self-doubt, chronic fatigue, IBS, shame, confusion, trauma, abuse, bullying, and/or loss of relationships.

7. Aspergers Doesn’t Exist

Aspergers does exist. There is a subgroup of females all exhibiting and experiencing almost the exact same traits. If there is no Aspergers then something dynamic is happening to hundreds upon hundreds of women; this something, whatever one chooses to label the collection of traits, requires immediate evaluation, understanding, support, educational resources, and coping mechanisms.

8. There are More Males than Females with Aspergers

In regards to comparing females and males with Aspergers, just like our history textbooks, more males are in the spotlight than females. Males are typically the doctors, professionals, and researches of Aspergers—males that do not have Aspergers and who obviously aren’t females. Thousands of females with Aspergers remain undiagnosed. Hundreds of women are searching social networks and the Internet daily for answers, connection, and understanding about themselves and/or their daughters.

9. Females with Aspergers Don’t Make Good Friends

Females with Aspergers are all different. Just like everyone else, they have their quirks and idiosyncrasies.  Many females with Aspergers are known for their loyalty, honesty, hard work ethics, compassion, kindness, intelligence, empathy, creativity, and varied interests and knowledge base. Females with Aspergers, like anyone, have the capacity to make fantastic friends, coworkers, and spouses, if, and when, they are treated with respect, love, understanding, and compassion.

10. Aspergers isn’t Something that Affects My Life

More and more children are being diagnosed with Aspergers. Adult males and females are realizing they have the traits of Aspergers Syndrome. The rise in Aspergers is a financial strain on the educational system and medical system. There isn’t adequate information, support, and resources available to assist people with Aspergers and their families. There is probably someone in your local community who has Aspergers Syndrome. You can make a difference. Just share your knowledge and understanding. Pass on this list of myths or other resources.

Ten Traits of Females with Aspergers link

Taken by Sam Craft

			

	


				
					


	

			
Day Thirty-Six: Sea Turtle Style
		

				

						 | Aspergers Girls					

				

		


 


I’m once again on the verge of tears. Which, for me, isn’t that unusual. Though, in totality, I’ve likely cried 100 times more in these last two months than in the last few years. I’m upset and have gnawing-tummy pain.


The feeling stems from having had just left another message for the Dean of the College of Education at the university I am (I was?) attending. I’ve yet to be withdrawn from the class, even though I have decided to stop my course work. This leaves me in an unsettling position, without closure, and without finality. I’m an INFJ on the Myers Briggs test and an Idealist. What these personality traits boil down to is that I need !fricken! closure.


I’m so nervous inside. I’ve been waiting for the Dean’s phone call for over ten days. I was very social-rule-conscious about not calling her too much, after I received a slap in my self-esteem from one professor who told me my two (count them: two) emails stretched over the time of one week—seven days apart—we’re too frequent and urgent. ?? As loony as I think the professor’s judgment was, no matter, I’m hyper-sensitive about contacting anyone at the university.


I’m thinking it’s getting to the point that I ought to share what’s going on with you, only there’s a little part of me, probably Sir Brain, (as he is the push-over, and the token naïveté of my geek posse), who wants to not burn any bridges, not lay blame, and not rouse attention to the situation. LV is secretly hoping that we might attend a summer session at the university. Little Me, I’d like to magically transform into a sea turtle and swim off the coast of Maui.


No such luck.


I struggle with what I can share, what action constitutes grounds for taking care of myself and sharing MY story, and what is best kept in private. The dilemma in what to write in this blog all comes down to my tendency to over-share, and then eventually regret what came out. The hard part is not knowing if this Dean is going to be another authority-figure whose actions I interpret as inconsiderate, non-empathetic, and downright mean. I’m worried she won’t call, yet again, or that when she does call, I’ll be heartbroken. If you see two posts today, in your email inbox, consider me heartbroken.


I’m hoping for one post. I’m hoping the Dean’s call will be productive and positive. But in order to get my tuition back, I have to file a complaint. Or I could walk away silently (without expressing my concerns), withdraw, and be out the money.


Speaking my truth means putting other people in a bad light—which I dislike with a passion. I’ve always had a hard time disliking people, even people who might be considered as having done me wrong. I have trouble with understanding hate and retaliation. I understand extreme disappointment, agonizing humiliation, anger for circumstances, embarrassment, grief, and a host of other not-so-comfy emotions, but I don’t understand vengeance. If I had a little dab of vengeance in me, I figure I’d probably not have much trouble hanging out the truth of the situation.


Once, when I had to be a witness to a man standing trial, I couldn’t muster up any anger. Instead I felt sorry for him: the potential loss of his business, his embarrassment. And he was a man being accused by six women for misconduct, me being one of the victims. Still, I couldn’t feel anything but deep sadness for everyone involved.


I don’t consider this inability to have vengeful feelings a negative aspect of myself; I wish though, at times like these, I carried more of a warrior quality, and less of a wounded healer spirit.


Sometimes people say to let go, relax, give your worries to a higher power, take life day-by-day; sometimes I say those words to myself. The challenge is in having this brain. As I’ve shared, LV just doesn’t work like that. I choose not to medicate myself. I choose not to drink myself to oblivion. I choose not to partake in illegal substances. My body is too sensitive for most mainstream fixes. I can’t even have chocolate without zits or a full glass of wine without gastric pains.


I’ve tried (and still partake) in many alternative treatment plans—from acupuncture to supplements. Still, LV is always about. What works best for my mind (and body and spirit) is a good hot shower, keeping up with the house cleaning, exercise, yoga, sauna treatments, spiritual readings, solitude, uplifting music, healthy eating, getting out of the house and writing—those actions keep me running efficiently, without as much thought-clutter.


Only problem is, with university loose ends hanging over my head, I’ve had the motivation of a slug.


My husband is even worried. Which is stating a lot. He is that Spock-like type from Star Trek who deals with emotions about as often as I deal with revenge. For him to come out and tell me that he’s concerned about me, is saying something fairly vital.


So, as I’ve today, I’ve given myself a few ground rules. I know by putting the words in written form, smack in front of my face (and yours), I’ll hold myself accountable.


To Do:


    

  1. Start writing no sooner than 9:00 am.
    2. 

  2. To do absolutely before I write: shower, morning chores, green-tea (shower and tea cuts down on physical pain)
    3. 

  3. Check blog once in morning and once in evening, only.
    4. 

  4. Partake in at least one of these each day: sauna, yoga, walk, or swimming.
    5. 

  5. Take pool aerobics at least once a week. (Be a sea turtle!)
    6. 

  6. Read spiritual books once a day.
    7. 

  7. Call someone other than husband a few times a week.
    8. 

  8. Partake in what I enjoyed before my diagnosis: coffee shop, second-hand stores, nature walks, educational classes, matinée, etc.
    9. 

  9. Re-explore all the writings I scribed as a spiritual counselor.
    10. 

  10. Be present and avoid sugar.
    11. 



Right at the time I wrote number seven, one of my very best buddies called me from California, and she is booking a flight for a visit with me in April! I love how the universe works. Going to follow my rule number three right now. Look forward to touching base soon. Time to crawl out of my shell and face the world again—sea turtle style.


Sea Otter Taken on a Recent Boat Trip

			

	


				
					


	

			
Thirty-Five: Lost in the Masquerade
		

				

						 | Aspergers Girls					

				

		
Okay. Day thirty-five and I’ve finally doused my fire of vanity! Yes, I’ve donned my reading glasses, and zoomed in on the font on my computer screen. Maybe I won’t have a raging headache today. What I goof-head I am. I can actually read the words I’m typing now, without squinting.


This morning, I have a lot of deep, philosophical jargon pinging around in Sir Brain. LV is in her pleated secretarial skirt, pacing about, taking notes, while wearing her studious glasses and practical shoes; (you might want to press my lingo button).


I was holding out for Crazy Frog this morning, but I think he is still away with the fairies, which leaves Little Me pretty much holding down the fort. Which is a bit scary, as this new form of thought has been emerging that I cannot quite pinpoint, but that seems liken to a black-caped, masculine-feminine entity, that hides in the dark behind trees, wears a mask, and carries various weapons of Sir-Brain destruction.


She’s more of a female but with a tomboy attitude. She despises feminine aspects in all forms, but yet finds herself a female. A difficult position to be in, I imagine. Anyhow she’s lurking somewhere within, and doesn’t have a lot of beneficial, high-energy words to offer me or other individuals. I imagine she is hurting somewhere deep, deep inside of her being, but that most people would try to bomb her before giving her the time of day. I can’t blame her for hiding. As I fear her myself, and wish to destroy her. Even as she whispers, “I am your teacher.”


I don’t have a name for her, but I think she’s the aspect of me that is responsible for explosive negative thoughts, that send me stumbling down the hole of self-destruction—the one who tells me I’m stupid for writing a blog, for exposing myself to the dangers of anything and anyone outside myself, and for thinking I have anything of substance to offer anyone. She is the barrier in the road, the stop guard with the automatic weapon that warns me to get out of my vehicle and stop moving, or she’ll shoot. I don’t know what she has to gain from acting the way she does. But there must be some motive.


She was with me most of the day yesterday. To the point I didn’t feel I had my footing in reality anymore. She was satisfied with the amount of time I’d been hiding in the house, refusing the act of even going to the grocery store or of taking a walk with my dog.


She isn’t depression. Depression doesn’t feel like an entity. Depression feels like a mass of fog that settles down upon me and leaves me temporarily disoriented and blinded, momentarily stunted in my ability to move.


No, she, this entity, that I shall name Phantom Eknow (eee-no)—for Entity unKnown—is definitely more than a feeling or fog. She is there somewhere, always waiting and watching, even in my happiest moments. She’s been there since I was a little girl. I remember laughing in my youth, and enjoying my day, while all the while wondering when the pain would resurface, the misery, the fear.




It is an odd sensation, talking about her with anyone. Especially as she is surfacing just as I am writing these words. I almost feel shameful, but not entirely shameful, because I’m holding out thinking someone will understand, and maybe be able to see their dark-caped entity, too.  That makes this seem worthwhile, this confession and sharing of sorts, the knowing that I am reaching out from this small place in which I live and breathing words into another human being in hopes of contact, connection, and shared understanding.


Part of the human isolation happening in the world right now is because of the fear of sharing our whole selves. So much is fear-based, that the very thought of being anyone but who someone else wants an individual to be is paralyzing the masses. So many are looking for a leader, a guide, a way, the answer, without taking the time to go within.


The fact that I almost feel shamed in sharing a darker element of myself is proof enough for me that a real oppression of authenticity exists. There seems to be two polar extremes in our world; all I have to do is tune into a reality show; which I don’t do, to view the extremes. There are always the crazed people doing terribly disturbing acts or the fake people dressed in garbs imitating idols.  It appears, many are immolating their inner being and light out of a fear of not being seen. When in actuality, the representation they are showing other beings is not a clear representation of who they are to begin with.


I wonder how many of us have PHANTOMS that we hide? Phantoms that are all caps, all capital letters, lurching inside, that we go on pretending aren’t there. I wonder if we brought them into the light and listened, what we would learn. Here is my Phantom. Here she is. Here I offer, to you, Phantom: the substance of what some people label my imperfections.


Why is it so many are trapped in this game of showing all their high cards, in hopes of recognition, while burying all their low cards in the dirt? What is it that makes a person trust another when they show their high cards, but makes them want to run away when exposed to the low cards? To me, the trust is found in showing what is hidden, not sharing what has been shared a thousand-times over. If I dig up everything and expose what was once hidden in the darkness, then what is left to fear in me? What is left for others to fear? If I am first and foremost authentic and genuine, and have nothing left hidden, then where can fear hide?


There is nothing to fear in being me, but this fear would like me to think so. The fear would like me to fret the plausible pains of exposing my true self, so that the fear can perpetuate its very own existence.


So many people talk about change. So many point fingers and blame. Yet, so many forget to look within—to take out the Phantom, to take out the power, to sit with the fear-based entity and listen to his or her story.


No wonder, that to me, and many others, the world often appears one giant masquerade ball—with the bug-filled wigs, restrictive corsets, and elaborate masks. For that is what the world is, at times, the majority seemingly set out in a dance of deception, where their true fear remains buried, and the pretend, disguised entity continues to twirl round and round.


I imagine a ball without the masks, where I am spinning with my phantom, twirling and twirling, and with each turn decreasing Phantom in size, until she becomes so small and obsolete that she returns happily into the unknown from whence she came. I imagine an endless room full of people spinning with their Phantom, until we are all left without a partner, and have no choice but to join hands together, and at last truly dance.


* I have to laugh, my original post (dyslexia) said Lost in the Mascaraed—which means lost in the eye makeup. Crazy Frog returns!


This Masquerade – George Benson


Are we really happy here

With this lonely game we play

Looking for words to say?

Searching

But not finding understanding anyway

We’re lost in a mas–masquerade


Both afraid to say

We’re just too far away

From being close together from the start

We tried to talk it over

But the words got in the way

We’re lost inside this lonely game we play


Thoughts of leaving disappear

Ev’ry time I see your eyes

No matter how hard I try

To understand the reasons

That we carry on this way

We’re lost in this masquerade


Both afraid to say

We’re just too far away

From being close together from the start

We tried to talk it over

But the words got in the way

We’re lost inside this lonely game we play


Thoughts of leaving disappear

Ev’ry time I see your eyes

No matter how hard I try

To understand the reasons

That we carry on this way

We’re lost in this masquerade


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T8eXCdjdSHE&feature=related

			

	


				
					


	

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

				

						 | Aspergers Girls					

				

		
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.)