I always have such audacious plans on Fridays. I have my list of things I didn’t accomplish that week, and I allot a certain number of hours to doing those things on the weekend. I’ll have plenty of time, after all, so I can make some real progress.
Then Saturday morning rolls around, and all I want to do is… everything I couldn’t do during the week, ’cause I was so nose-to-the-grindstone (I love that image, by the way). Away from the non-autistic world, out from under my soggy woolen blanket of adapting to the rigors of a world so very unlike me… I suddenly remember all my hobbies and obsessions and all-consuming interests… and Woo Hoo! I get to do them all! Well, some of them, anyway.
And I slip into yet another free-form weekend, when all the plans I had from the week quickly drift away.
So much for lists. So much for plans. So much for schedules.
Yet, here’s the wild thing — for all my intentions to be “productive” by weekday standards, I’m so much more able to do things on my own time, in my own way. I write a lot. I read a bit. I write some more. I do some work outside. And then I write some more. I actually make some real progress on the things that matter most to me. And I don’t have to do a danged thing to motivate myself to do any of it. I don’t have to use the weekday tricks and mind games to convince myself to pick up where I left off last week. I don’t have to bargain with my petulant, resistant self. I don’t have to bribe or threaten my Royal Aspieness, to compel her to do things she has no interest in doing.
I can actually dig in, dive in, and become completely absorbed in what I’m doing. Because I can finally do all the things that I have an all-consuming interest in doing.
And it is so, so wonderful, can I tell you…
It’s like I enter my own time capsule, and I can travel wherever and whenever and however I want to. I can visit different worlds. Heck, I can create different worlds – which are exactly to my own generous specifications. I’m not on anyone else’s schedule – thank you Gawd – and I don’t have to meet a lot of other people’s expectations. I can just BE. I can just BE ME. And in the process, I can actually accomplish so, so much. More than I ever imagine during the week.
It’s not that I’m some kind of productivity automaton. It’s just that I genuinely, truly love to do things – to get stuff done. It’s one of my dearest vices. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t take drugs. Getting stuff done is my vice of choice. And oh, how I love the sense of satisfaction of finishing something really great, of seeing something I’ve imagined and created in a way that’s unique to me. I love how it transports me out of the present and into the future, and it literally changes my world — and sometimes the worlds of others.
I look up… and suddenly, it’s six hours later… and I am finally fully relaxed. I am in my element. Such joy. Such pleasure, to leave all the non-autistic requirements behind.
And now… off to get something else done! Woo hoo!