traits

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

			

	


				
					


	

			
Thirty-Five: Lost in the Masquerade
		

				

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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

			

	


				
					


	

			
Thirty-Three: The Celery String is Alive! Personification Pondering.
		

				

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For those of you wondering: Yes, I do have a life outside of processing what’s going on inside my head. It’s just that, at the moment, what’s going on inside my head is extremely fascinating. Just so you know, I did just return from my city’s quaint downtown, with a cheese puff and apple fritter in hand, from the best bakery this side of the western states. And, I might add, I had a hot brewed cup of coffee with just a tad of nutmeg. This, after partaking in a relaxing venue atop the acupuncturist’s cushioned table. The coffee is about to kick in, so I will try to make this fast, as to not dial into manic-mode. I’m one of those types that given a drop of coffee, becomes frantically intense and even more interesting, in that peculiar, glad-I’m-not her, kind of way. I’ve been known to rearrange an entire room, sometimes clean for eight hours straight, given the adequate amount of particular slow-roasted beverage. Coffee is certainly and enigma of our time. I wonder what substance or activity will eventually replace the black gold as our source of rapture and excuse for social gatherings.


I cried all the way home from the bakery, while balancing my coffee, and listening to Jars of Clay. I’ve listened to the same song some 100 times in the last couple of weeks. Finally thought it was time to share the song. I added the video at the end of this post. Though I have reservations, as the group is Christian. Reservations only because I fret you might not listen for that reason alone. Which is sad. Because I’d like you to hear the song, for no other reason but to connect to my experience and feel supported, by whatever support that brings you peace. (For my thoughts on spirituality/religion press HERE.) Because when I listen to the song I picture us all together in a large non-denominational, unconditional-love stadium, think the 1970’s, with our arms up swaying back and forth to the music, and supporting one another through this experience someone once named life.


Sometimes I picture us holding white candles, until I think of the fumes, the potential fire hazard, and the possibility of wax dripping all over my arm. In my vision, we are weeping, in the same way I wept all the way home this morning while wailing aloud to the song—there has to be a word for that huge release of energy that comes from a good cry, the type of cry that explodes with love and knowing that we are not alone. The type of cry that means: I made it to the other side, and I’m still standing! And here we are standing together.


Anyhow, that’s how I was crying. There has to be a word.  Maybe: vociferating restitution (wailing with gain-based recovery) combined with hue and cry, (loud public outcry). Restferating Hue! That works. I had a huge restferating hue!


Part of the restferating hue was in response to a video clip I watched yesterday. The other part was the freedom I felt in no longer being connected to the heavy energy from the university. And, yet another, very important piece, is being able to connect with people like you. Well, not like you, but YOU.


Today I would like to plan a gargantuan of a party to celebrate the freedom I am feeling. I think of hosting a party quite often, for you all, in my town in Washington, in the best weather-month ever—August.  I’ve said before that I love to plan a party. Not to be at the party, per say, but plan the party.




I imagine the whole of the gathering would be quite the happening. Everything would have to be very well thought out, though. I’m thinking sunglasses and hats, lounge chairs with pillows, soft lightening, definitely name tags, and for certain the use of inside-voices. NO perfumes. NO loud clothing or squeaky shoes. No toenails showing, hair just so, as to not be visually distracting. Sorry, no children—they are far too unpredictable (in a good way).


All attendees need be double-showered, maybe wearing name tags on their backside as well.  And background checks would be beneficial. Crazy frog is laughing! (Press LINGO BUTTON, if you’re new to my rambling.)


I do imagine meeting you. Our conventions would be a hoot. I don’t think I can do the entire dialogue, LV’s got going on in her head, justice, as I’d have to wean out a lot of material that LV is giggling about. But let’s just say there is a lot of sensory-issues and people-watching, and tons of brutal honesty.


“How was your flight?”


“Crappy!”


“What’s your greatest fear?”


“Standing here talking to you!”


“If you could be doing anything right now. What would you be doing?”


“Running the other direction.”


Like I said, LV is having a laughing fit!


The BBC video that LV was all happy and get-up-and-go about, introduced the most precious little girl who spoke about personification. Personification: giving human traits (qualities, feelings, action, or characteristics) to non-living objects (things, colors, qualities, or ideas). For example: The rain-covered window is crying. The verb, crying, is a human action. A window is a non-living object.


This discovery is getting a bit too emotional. Just a minute.


I’m back. Crazy Frog is doing deep breathing exercises, and looks so darn adorable with his green bubble chest inflating so. He’s quite muscular. Let’s all take a deep breath and relax the shoulders, shall we? Better.


I have this thing (there’s no better word I can think of) I do, that I’ve always done, that the little girl in the video does, in a similar fashion.


For the longest time, before knowing other people do this thing, too, I thought I was over-sensitive, connected to another dimension, and/or just plain wacky. Well, even with the discovery, those thoughts haven’t changed.


I’m sure there is some cool British word for wacky. I shall allow Crazy Frog (Lingo) to cut loose from the deep emotional stuff for just a minute.


Crazy Frog is such a Jeeves. (Jeeves = resourceful helper; cool word, right?) He loves Yahoo! Here are some British words for wacky, according to Yahoo! Yes, I know, real alive Brits would be the best direct source, but no Britons happen to be in my house at the moment.


Other words for wacky, British style:


loony


gone off my rocker


nutjob


headbanger


stark raving mad


bonkers


a few sandwiches short of a picnic (cucumber sandwiches?)


completely mental


mad as a hatter


barmy


dippy


total spaz


and my favorite: away with the fairies.




With fairies, I’m thinking a lush green, mossy forest with magical waterfalls and pixie dust sweeping through the air—the smell of honeysuckles and hyacinth flowers.


Wouldn’t you know that hyacinth is my favorite smell, but I can’t pronounce the name. I sound like this when I say the flower name aloud: HIj-sint-HY-sin-t- Hy-nt-sin-ahhhh-ahhhhh. Poop!


I know this wacky list was from Yahoo! So I’m not so certain the list is entirely accurate, but assuming most of the words are, Crazy Frog is thinking, “You Brits have a lot of words for a crazy person.”


Crazy Frog is now trying on different hats, and considering changing his name from Crazy Frog to Sir Barmy. Crazy Frog loves the eccentric, daft, flighty elements of the word. The Daft-Hatter Frog is blowing kisses to himself in the mirror and tipping his hat.


Back up. Scratch that, like there’s no tomorrow. (Sorry if no tomorrow makes you think of the Mayan calendar.)


He just saw that barmy can mean dumbass. He is throwing off tall black hat, and placing daft-hat on nearest politician. I’m liking Crazy Frog.


I’m placing the barmy hat on one of my recent professors whose actions were dumbass in manner. Oops. That kind of slipped out from nowhere. Blame it on the Frog who’s away with the fairies.


So, as I was saying, I do this thing where I personify objects. The little girl in the video clip personified her shoes. She gives objects feelings. If one shoe is on her foot then she feels the other shoe is lonely. And I do the same thing. With shoes, and practically every inanimate object in my world!


For example, this may get a little gross, but if two globs of minty-green toothpaste are clinging on for dear life in my bathroom sink, and one glob is washed down, and the other glob is still there, I feel sorry for the lonely glob! And sorry for the other glob that I washed down the grimy drain, too. Fearing what awaits him. Notice the him. Nothing is an it. There is no it! Which has me thinking, if you haven’t read the children’s classic: A Wrinkle in Time, you ought to. And The Giver, while I’m going there.  Strings, strings, strings. Isn’t it cool, if you’re a regular reader of my ramblings, that you actually get my use of strings?




I even sometimes feel sorry for fruits and vegetables, like when I’m shoving cucumber peelings down the garbage disposal to their impending doom. When I used to fry (massacre) potatoes in a cast iron pan, when I was about the age of ten, the potatoes would make a squealing noise, like they were crying in agonizing, your killing us, pain. It was actually just the horrible sound of oil sizzling, but I felt for those particular potatoes. Sometimes I removed the ones that cried the loudest. But then I didn’t know what to do with them. Because who wants to be put in the garbage?


All this personifying is a big part of the reason eating and cooking, even preparing school lunches, is sometimes hard for me. It’s probably why I don’t ever care to empty a jar completely, or don’t finish the last pages of a book. Who wants to be brought to an end?


Personification is likely why I don’t eat meat; although, oddly enough, I have never felt sorry for chocolate. Except, of course, for the left over chocolate that must join the rest of his commune in my stomach, as soon as possible.


This marvelous discovery, this whole personification thing, explains why the other day, I was actually wondering how the strings of celery must be feeling as they were traveling through my digestive track. Sounds loony, right? I pictured the strings like they were at some waterslide park that ended in a tomb of bubbling stomach acid. Who does that?




Well! Supposedly sometimes some other people with Aspergers do that! So there! LV is sticking out her tongue, which is covered in blue from the jaw-breaker she is sucking on. (I even personify my thought processes!)


It’s okay in my heart that I feel sorry for crumpled paper that didn’t get tossed into the bin, and is now stranded on the floor, because there are other earthlings that feel sorry for the paper too.


What huge compassion I have. If you understand the compassion I have for inanimate objects and food, then image the immense compassion I carry for animals and people! It’s phenomenal.


My blog is personified, too. Bet you didn’t know that. It’s a living breathing entity. And when you are there reading my words you validate its life form. That’s why comments and stats are so important to me. If I know someone’s been here the blog is alive. Writing in a journal isn’t the same. The journal remains lonely and untouched. Get it?


Wow! I’m making huge revelations and connections. Now, the only issue is I have to turn off the study light and leave my poor computer idling in sleep mode, alone in the dark. Maybe you can keep him, Mr. Computer, company while I go frolic with the fairies. And why you are at it, when you make a comment, know you’re keeping Mr. Blog from isolation. Cheerio! (That’s goodbye not a cereal.)


Clarification:  I didn’t use personification in the exact way one is supposed to use the word. Personification references a rhetorical technique, one of many types of figure of speech or metaphor; whereas pathetic fallacy describes a disposition of the mind. ‘Pathetic’ isn’t derogatory; the word pathetic is in reference to being empathetic towards something. To further research look into pathetic fallacy.


Addition: My Blogging British Friend AilienHippy (BBF) added some more wacky words for me: “Barmy, Bonkers, Plonker, Noodle, Wally, Narna and Nutjob.” She does say, “…away with the fairies. And…He’s off his trolley.”  Laughing Housewife added her thoughts, too “…nutter, a bottle short of a six pack.” Schmidleysscribbling (hard one to spell with dyslexia, but a great lady) added: Bodman


Below is the video: Shelter by Jars of Clay. I picture us never walking alone. Upholding one another, and letting our inner light shine! I told you Little Me is a hope-filled melancholic. She can’t help herself.



			

	


				
					


	

			
Day Twenty-Six: Patch Freak Makes Life Change!
		

				

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I’m going to attempt to use humor to explain a major life altering decision.


I’m back.


Bet you didn’t know I was gone.


I totally (California born and raised) slipped out of focus and got sidetracked for an hour’s time about the origin of the word humor. Why? Because I used the word humor in a sentence, Silly. And that led Brain away, like a string of yarn does for a kitten. This morning Brain’s string began at etymology: the origin or development of a word, affix, phrase, etc., and the string ended with black bile. Yucko-mania!


If Brain hadn’t allowed for a detour into Reasoning Forest, and instead he/she had left me in the moment, I fear I would be profusely apologizing for the spattering of snot and tears all over the computer screen. Yes, remarkably indeed, Brain returned me to an emotional state of equilibrium, with one quick, and rather boring, sidetrack.


And I have good news. When Brain examined the root origin of humor, which included words like phlegm, LV (little voice in my head) found us a new patch for our sash! Our lovely patch Melancholic is one of the four temperaments, the others being: Sanguine, Choleric, and Phlegmatic.


 


It is black in color, the Melancholic patch, and now firmly sewn on to LV’s slash, amongst her numerous other merit badges of distinction. She tore off the high-maintenance patch to make room for the new one. The patch of Melancholic represents the following traits: sensitive, intuitive, self-conscious, easily embarrassed, easily hurt, introspective, sentimental, moody, likes to be alone, empathetic, artistic, fussy and perfectionistic, deep, prone to depression, avarice, and gluttony!


Sidetrack: (Brain left again, but only for a brief stretch. He/She had to know the origin of origin. Call him/her crazy. I do. At first I was afraid that there was no origin of origin. Fear gripped, an anguish surfacing from the depths of Grendel’s mire: What if there is no origin of origin? Don’t panic. Luckily there is. The original meaning of origin is to rise, become visible, or from beginning source. I can live with that. I just wish the online etymology dictionary had the real origin of the universe. Which by definition would be the beginning source of the universe. Sadly, the definition only reads:  the cosmos, whole, and turned into one. No real origin there.)


The Melancholic patch is an improvement over some of the qualities listed on the other temperament patches, such as: hedonism (which is an ugly word to begin with), impetuous, prone to hypocrisy, and prone to sloth. Prone to sloth, makes me giggle. To learn more you can click here




I think from now on, when I’m in an Aspie funk, unable to make a decision, on overload, and/or plain overwhelmed with my brain, I will say: “I am prone to sloth, presently exhibiting attributes of the phlegmatic temperament.” Just warning you ahead of time.


Concerning the brief mentioning of my life altering decision, I was a daredevil speed racer in my mind for three hours straight last night, between the convenient hours of 11:00 pm and 2:00 am. Riding a cranked-up dirt bike up and around turn tunnels and across perilous ramps. LV had a lot of processing to do. And when I woke up, I endured two more hours. I did not know it was humanly possible to pour gallons of tears out of my tear ducts; but then again LV is sporting that hip new Melancholic patch.


The good news is the tears have cleared and hope has set in. There’s a seedling sprouting at this very moment at the belly of my spirit and stretching to the open sky.


What happened? You query, so sympathetically, (or not). Well…I took a whirl at taking care of Brain, LV, and Me, and got the Heck Out of Dodge! (Brain notes: Get the hell out of Dodge is in reference to Dodge City, Kansas, a favored location for westerns in the mid 20th century. Most notably, the saying was made infamous by the TV series Gunsmoke). And that’s the only reason my husband tolerates me–because I’m full of…interesting facts!


Sorry, about that. Suspense building. Drum roll. Shying away. Just going to splash it out in one big wave:


I got the Heck out of the University that I was attending for my Masters Degree in Counseling.


Kaput! We Gone!


There are a few distinct patches I’d like to stick on that subject, but I won’t.


For now, I’ll let Brain be, and LV rest, and Me, Little Sweet Me, I think I’ll treat her to an overdue retreat. Pardon me now, as I venture into my Phlegmatic Zone, and contemplate how to proceed through the glory of a new opened door.


Oh, Crap. Brain wants to explore truckers’ lingo! And LV is shouting, “Yes!”   The Gods truly must be crazy. I like the words: Gator Guts, Seat Cover, and Suds and Muds…you know you’re curious. Click  Truckers’ Slang Words or check out the video below:




Below You Can Read: All About the Origin of Humor, By Sir Brain  


 


Humor is Latin in origin and first meant liquid. The word represented moisture, especially the moisture of fluid of animal bodies, such as lymph.


Around 460 B.C. Hippocrates noticed that blood removed from the body separated into four parts: clear red, yellowish liquid that rises to the surface, dark liquid that settles at the bottom, and a whitish liquid. He and his students developed a theory based on Hipporcrates’ observations. Later the theory was expounded upon. Theorists believed mental health was a matter of a good balance of the four liquids (humors). The word humor eventually became connected with someone’s temporary state of mind. Humor’s meaning of amusement did not occur until the 1600’s.


The theory of bodily humors holds that each person produces four humors but that a preponderance of one relative to the others brings on sickness.  Fluid was thought to be part of the makeup of the body, and temperament, (meaning mixture), was determined by the proportions of four fluids (humors): blood, phlegm, bile, and black bile.


A predominance of blood, associated with the liver, equates to an optimistic and sanguine (confident) temperament. Sanguine is rooted in the original definition of ruddy or blood red face.


A predominance of yellow bile, associated with the spleen, equates to being choleric (short-tempered). Too much yellow bile and one viewed the world through a bilious eye. Choleric is rooted in the Greek khole, meaning bile.


A predominance of black bile, associated with the gall bladder, equate to a melancholic (pensively sad) temperament. From the Greek melas (black) and khole bile. Melancholia means too much black bile.


A predominance of Phlegm, associated with the lungs and brain, equates to being phlegmatic (slow and unexcitable).


Any imbalance of these humors made a person unwell and perhaps eccentric. Through the passing of time humor took on the meaning of oddness.


Fasting is thought to bring humors into balance. Humorism postulates that each person is born with a basic temperament.


You can find more information about the origin of humor here: In MY BRAIN!


 

			

	


				
					


	

			
116 Reasons I Know I Have Aspergers
		

				

						 | Aspergers Girls					

				

		


116 Reasons I Know I have Asperger’s Syndrome


1.  Writing this list.


2.  Enjoying writing this list.


3.  Love, love, love animals and bugs.


4.  Do I have to leave the house?


5.  Nature is heavenly as long as I can stay clean.


6. Collector


7. Toys are objects to be organized, stacked, categorized, or cleaned.


8. Friday the 13th in 3-D three times because I think the number 3 is awesome!


9. Red fluffy socks with high-heels


10. Sweater on inside out, again.


11. Memorized how to spell and sing supercalifragilisticexpialidocious in an attempt to qualify for speech class.


12. I was Jacqueline Smith; never Farah.


13. Every stuffed animal named, categorized by birth, and kept until after college.


14. Snoopy in a chair looking out the back of the window of my first car.


15.  Seven days straight perfecting my penmanship before I began teaching.


16. Clever Clyde was a famous humanistic caterpillar in the stories I wrote.


17. Buddy One was my imaginary ghost friend.


18. Entering poetry (scam) contests.


19. Hamsters aren’t stuffed animals.


20.  Goldfish do die when left under the hot sun in a small bowl of water.


21. Childhood friends were students, the members of my club, customers, or placed in another subordinate position.


22. Backgammon pro by age nine. Cribbage pro by age fifteen.


23. Perfected Pac Man and Space Invaders while watching every episode of Three’s Company.


24. Called dumb blonde, in regards to getting jokes; I’m a brunette.


25. You do not sit with your legs spread while wearing a cheerleading skirt.


26. If I’m her best friend, why does she need more friends than me?


27. I have a confession to make, I was thinking about lying, but I didn’t.


28. Naïve, sweet, gullible, unique, hyper, interesting, odd…


29. I have 120 flaws; should I list them?


30. Don’t answer the phone!!!


31. Note to self: Read the birthday card before grabbing the money and jumping up and down.


32. Hello? Your toenails do need to be cleaned occasionally.


33. “Snob! You always look away.”


34. Victim, with her head down.


35. Statistically speaking your chances of dying from that are slim; I researched it for five days.


36. Website built, 100 pages total, in 5 weeks. Go baby.


37. Months and months on freebie websites equals toothbrushes, baskets, lotions, and much more.


38. I had the coolest property on Farmville.


39. Why do fantastic ideas the night before, not seem so fantastic in the morning?


40. Don’t answer the door!


41. I don’t want to go…It’s too much work for me to put on a bra.


42. Monopolize a conversation? Who me?


43. Depression, Anxiety, blah…blah….blah


44. Verbal processing


45. Can you say manuscript?


46. What exactly is a guilty pleasure? And why would people do something that makes them feel guilty?


47. I don’t understand, it’s old wives’ tales? Not old wise tale?


48.  Just Relax. Not comprehending. What does it feel like to relax?


49. Non-fiction galore.


50. Twitching and jumping because it’s museum time!


51. Oh no! You did not just change the plan.


52. Carpet, dirt, germs, clutter, blemishes, lips, breath….Yuck!


53. Don’t hug me right now.


54. Okay, you can hug me, but not too tight, that hurts.


55. Are my shoes on the right feet?


56. I wish I hadn’t sent them that garage sale crystal for their wedding present; what was I thinking?


57. Do you think she’ll like these earrings I never wore or a gift certificate?


58. What do you mean this letter might offend my professor?


59. Here’s a bruise, and another one. Look at this one.


60. Let’s drive around the block again and look for a spot. I can’t parallel park.


61. Group sports? Swinging a bat? Dressing for PE? Run in fear!


62. All the fun is in the planning. The party itself is terrifying.


63. Why do people bully and tease?


64. Give me a role or a part, and I’ll perfect it.


65. Should I dress like my best friend, my spiritual counselor, or the lady on my favorite soap opera?


66. I love having friends my mom’s age.


67. Monthly Bunco with the Episcopalian Retirement Group? Why not?


68. After-social-event debrief time: When I said this, do you think it was offensive? Why did she look at me that way? Should I have kept my mouth closed? Was that appropriate. I’m quitting Bunco; it’s too stressful.


69. My only friends in second grade, two twin boys, Chris and Jimmy.


70. My only friend in kindergarten, Keith. He moved to Hawaii.


71. Sure, I can write for ten hours straight. Can’t you?


72. Doesn’t everyone have a voice reminding them what to do during a conversation: make more eye contact, step closer, nod your head, smile, but not too big, insert giggle, let them talk more.


73.  Give me a passion and give me a week to learn everything there is to know about it.


74. Hypochondriac


75. Stop talking; you’re hurting my ears.


76. You smell funny.


77. Is that your natural hair color and how old are you?


78. Camping sucks.


79. Criteria for boyfriends? Criteria for friends? What?


80. Name an object. I can tell you 100 uses for it.


81. Let me fix the situation.


82. Just because the thought is in my head doesn’t mean it needs to get out. Or does it?


83. Crossing the street, so I don’t have to pass the stranger on the sidewalk.


84. How do you turn around at the halfway point of a walk without looking silly?


85. No events in college. One friend in college – before she stopped answering my calls.


86. ADHD, PTSD….blah, blah, blah


87. Therapists, psychologists, priests, reverends, psychiatrists, hypnotists, and the like are kind of clueless about recognizing Asperger’s in females.


88. I’ll just hang out in this closet until the party is over.


89. I’ll be in the backroom writing until the party is over.


90. I’ll be reading in the bathroom until the party is over.


91. Why do you ask me how I am when you don’t want to hear the answer?


92. IBS


93. Funerals are confusing.


94. Let’s practice small talk; the ritual is intriguing.


95. Queen of evaluation


96. Stopped eating lamb at age four, pork at age eleven.


97. Words are beautiful or painful.


98. Fixations, obsessions…blah, blah, blah


99. Let me organize your pantry.


100. I should have asked before buying a puppy?


101. What can I eat that doesn’t have pesticides, hormones, mutations, cancer-


causing ingredients, sugar, sugar-substitutes, dairy, preservatives, chemicals,


bleach…..I’m watching too many documentaries


102. Time for another organic juice fast. Time for more organic chocolate.


103. Either no one has ever flirted with me in my entire life or I don’t recognize


flirting.


104. Give me a visual, a guideline, a rule, and stop all the jabber.


105. I can tell you exactly where anything is on my kitchen shelves; but don’t ask me where my keys are.


106. Imaginary play is confusing unless there is a script.


107. I like to analyze the sentence structure and grammar in fictional books.


108. It’s hard to recognize faces.


109. Do you want to hear this record for the fiftieth time?


110. I’m the one reading the Buddhist book at my son’s baseball game.


111. Listen to what I wrote. I edited it.


112. Grownups shouldn’t lie about Santa or that the government is looking out for our best interest.


113. I trust you.


114. I over-share.


115. I would be happy to eat the same meal everyday.


116.That fixation to write this list is gone. I don’t know why, it just is. (It really bugs me this isn’t number 113.)


I invite you to take a look inside of my book Everyday Aspergers.


Take a look here.


(I just deleted an entire paragraph explaining why I am uncomfortable with self-promotion. I’ll spare you the details!)


My publisher, Your Stories Matter, took great care to provide this ‘book-to-look’ version of the second edition of Everyday Aspergers.


(I’ve truly failed at promoting my own book. I usually promote Steve Silberman’s book in my travels and teachings. Typical me!)


Over a year ago, I decided to move my memoir from one agency to another. I made this decision to ensure the paperback was available outside of the USA. Here are ten facts you might not know about E.A.


The second edition of Everyday Aspergers : A Journey on the Autism Spectrum can be purchased on Amazon in several countries. It makes a great gift!


The new book cover is by a talented autistic author and writer. The pages, of the new edition, have photos and images from my childhood. I added a new end chapter. The layout, pages, and style are different. It’s the same story in an enhanced casing.


https://www.book2look.com/book/KRksrIxTxr


(I know. This is only MY story. Not yours.)


© Everyday Aspergers, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. https://aspergersgirls.wordpress.com


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