Doing a better job of working with doctors

germ
I don’t always know what’s going on with me – so I need to change the way I handle my working relationship with my doctor(s)

Since looking at the visual of my curved spine, I’ve noticed just how “lop-sided” I can be. I seem to lean to the left which is how my spine is abnormally curved. And my left side is a lot more tight than my right side. I suppose it makes sense. If I’ve been skewed to the left for however many years, then it stands to reason that my muscles on that side would be at least a little shortened over time.

Exactly how long things have been this way, I’m not sure. I was told that I had scoliosis, about 20 years ago, but the provider who talked to me didn’t give me much information. She just said, “scoliosis” and moved on. Literally. Just one word, said in a whispered, almost disappointed tone of voice. A woman of little words… And I didn’t follow up.

I didn’t understand what it meant. I wasn’t sure how bad it was, and she didn’t elaborate. That’s a little disappointing.

I can’t fault her, though. We didn’t have a close working relationship — or even a regular one. I saw her maybe twice over the course of a few months. And that’s not nearly enough time to develop rapport. It stands as a prime example of the kinds of situations I’ve been in with clinicians, time and time again. I only see them every now and then, and I never develop enough of a rapport to feel comfortable with the requisite back-and-forth I need to exchange decent levels of information… either from me to them, or the other way around.

The prospect of continuing this trend doesn’t appeal to me. The more I think about it, the less comfortable I am with just letting things “ride” in terms of my health. I have more responsibilities now than I had, 10 years ago. And I’ve gotten less “spongy” than in the past.

Stuff doesn’t pop back into place, like it used to.

So, I’m thinking about different ways of engaging with my doctor(s). I don’t want to get all into the “Dude, I’m autistic”, because that means different things to different people, and I don’t want their presuppositions overriding my own individual situation. I want to approach my situation based on individual issues — the ones that are problematic to me, versus the ones that they think are a problem for me.

I think maybe it makes sense to approach my PCP/GP and let her know that:

  1. My sense of pain is variable, and I don’t always know when something that’s “up” with me is a real issue. Some serious stuff, I don’t notice. And other things which aren’t that major can bother me to no end. Like… not noticing my ribs were giving me problems for a few days, then all of a sudden, they got worse, and I didn’t know what to do about it… got an x-ray, got bloodwork, and nothing came up at all. Plus, my symptoms started to subside within 24 hours of getting checked out. I could have easily left myself alone, even if things had been serious, and gotten into more trouble. Or not.
  2. My sense of symptoms in general is tricky. I have “let myself go” in the past to the point of nearly having my eardrum burst, or having a really bad infection, or even driving myself to the doctor when I was fevered and had borderline pneumonia, because I didn’t really “get” just how rough things were for me.
  3. I may have a sense about what’s going on and what I need to do about it, but I’m unclear about what instructoins I’ve received and what they actually mean. I don’t always know what to expect as a result of things I do, like whether an ointment is supposed to sting or burn… or whether it’s normal for someone to experience “roid rage” when taking Prednisone… or how long I can expect it to take for something to clear up. Sometimes when I go to the doctor, things she says to me don’t even sink in until later, and I realize then that I have more questions.
  4. I need to take written descriptions and diagrams of what hurts, when I visit the doctor. I need to write things down ahead of time and share them with her. Upload them to the portal, too. The doctor at the urgent care place who ordered the x-rays for me really appreciated the notes I gave her, along with the diagram of where things hurt. I think it helped her have a better sense of what was going on with m

I’m not sure I’d need to actually go see the doctor each time — they have a portal I can use to ask questions — but sometimes it’s easier to communicate in person. I’m also not sure about the protocol for using the portal… so I’ll have to ask about that.

Basically, it all boils down to doing a better job of communicating with my doctor(s). I know I “fall down” in many respects (that’s just part of the magic of being me), so it’s incumbent on me to do something about it.

It’s not rocket science. I’ve got plenty of tools and capabilities I can use to augment my situation. And it’s actually kind of fun to design solutions for myself. I can design things better, in any case, than other people can. Because I have first-hand up-close-and-personal experience with all the sh*t that goes wrong along the way. I have a pretty good sense of where my weaknesses are, and I’m getting a better sense of where my strengths are, as I go along.

It’s all a process. And it’s the best kind of science.

It’s not my favorite necessity to sort out, but while I’m at it, I might as well have some fun with it.

So, apparently I have scoliosis?

x-ray of torso with spine bent to the side - scoliosis
Front view of my spine — it curves out to right side, with the inside curve on my left

I’ve been told, a few times over the course of my life, that I have a little bit of scoliosis. It never meant much to me, till I saw a recent x-ray of my back. See above.

It’s not so terrible – I’ve seen worse cases when searching the web. Still, it’s a little unnerving to actually see it. Having a visual is a lot more meaningful than being told about it by people who didn’t have much to say about it.

Either that, or they tried to talk to me about it, and I wasn’t following — because we were in a medical situation and I was overwhelmed by the circumstances, or I just didn’t connect the proverbial dots and know how to follow up to discuss it.

That’s the problem with me and doctors / other healthcare providers. The conversations tend to progress quickly and cryptically, and I don’t follow exactly what they’re saying because, well, medical terminology… and me not knowing when or how or why I should ask questions. And by the time I figure it out, the window has closed, the opportunity has passed. So, I go on with my life, making the best of things, without actually having all the information I need.

Because buried in there… somewhere… is additional data I didn’t get a chance to follow up on.

Well, be that as it may, it doesn’t stop me from following up afterwards. And so I do. It looks like my scoliosis is not so, so terrible, and I might be able to address the issue with some stretching. That’s not going to make my bones straighten up, but it can improve my circulation and muscle tone. Also important — keeping my upper body strength, so I don’t get pulled to one side all the time.

Come to think of it — hey! eureka! — I have issues with the left side of my body being tighter. If the curve bends my spine farther to the right, it looks like it’s pulling my left side down, which is consistent with my experience — I’ve had real problems with my left shoulder and neck being so, so tight. And I can’t seem to get them to loosen up. Well, yuh… if my spine is literally pulling them down, it’s gonna be a little hard to get them to loosen up.

Unless, of course, I take extra measures. Maybe I can help myself, to at least some degree. That’s what I need to find out… That’s what I need to try.

And so I shall.

Autism, and how routine is helping my low mood.

Routine saves me in a very big way, when I am feeling low. It also keeps me from “flaming out” when I’m riding a wave of energy. It keeps me steady, and I’d be lost without my routines.

askpergers

Lately I have been finding it hard to get things done. I have had low energy and a low mood, but it’s been hard to pinpoint just what the cause of this might be. I have tried my best to get on with things, but a lot of days I just end up falling asleep in the afternoon, and not even being able to decide which film to watch. Even the things I enjoy doing like watching films and reading have suffered. I was finding myself unsure of what to do most days, even though I had a lot of stuff I could do, or wanted to do I could not decide what I should be doing, and that made everything feel much more overwhelming than it really was. This meant that whole days were going by where I did almost nothing, and the things I needed/wanted to do just…

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Tennessee Williams’ Catastrophe of Success

Tennessee Williams
Tennessee Williams

Tennessee Williams’ Catastrophe of Success

(Evening Standard/Getty Images)

Four days before the 1947 Broadway opening of A Streetcar Named Desire, the New York Times published an essay by Tennessee Williams on the depression he’d experienced after the success of The Glass Menagerie summarily ended life as he’d known it.

Fame had turned Williams into a “public Somebody” overnight, a crisis that ultimately landed him in the hospital, “mainly because of the excuses it gave me to withdraw from the world behind a gauze mask.”

The sort of life that I had had previous to this popular success was one that required endurance, a life of clawing and scratching along a sheer surface and holding on tight with raw fingers to every inch of rock higher than the one caught hold of before, but it was a good life because it was the sort of life for which the human organism is created.

I was not aware of how much vital energy had gone into this struggle until the struggle was removed. I was out on a level plateau with my arms still thrashing and my lungs still grabbing at air that no longer resisted. This was security at last.

I sat down and looked about me and was suddenly very depressed.

After spending three months witnessing inequities that felt wrong in a luxury hotel, let alone in a functioning democracy, Williams sought salvation from fame’s spiritually-bankrupt life of leisure, hoping to distance himself from a toxic setup he believed hurt everyone it touched:

Read the full piece: Tennessee Williams’ Catastrophe of Success

More quiet. More light.

person standing at the bottom of a cave with light shining downIt’s been a pretty low-key week for me. I made the mistake of going on Twitter last Monday, and I got caught up in a roiling, churning mass of conflict that ended up in me muting a handful of people I used to follow, but who had become pretty aggressive and dismissive in their attitudes towards people like me.

Yeah, no thanks. I really don’t need to be told I don’t deserve full respect and consideration — not to mention the benefit of the doubt — by people who share my neurotype. To say I was disappointed, would be an understatement. I just couldn’t believe that people who base much of their online identity on measurable difficulties with socialization and communication and (ahem) empathy, would just say whatever came to mind without realizing that their self-proclaimed limitations were in full-swing… and act accordingly. And as for folks who know as a matter of fact that autistic people are intensely sensitive… but still press ahead with hurtful, exclusionary statements (which are obviously opinions) as though they were God’s Truth… I just can’t even…

Buh-bye…

The net effect was that I went underground. Not literally, though I wish I could have. I just pulled back. Stayed out of interactions on Twitter. Muted more people. Expanded my social filter settings to screen out the virtual screaming. And went about my life.

Depressed.

Cold.

Disconnected.

Depleted.

Things haven’t been all that great with me, over the past weeks. I’ve been through a number of upheavals at work and at home, and not getting to go to my nephew’s wedding in 3 weeks is really bothering me. There’s no way I can make the trip down to Baltimore in mid-August (August!), deal with the whole loud crowd of my family, the unfamiliarity of the situation, the social requirements, the logistics around travel and making sure my partner is okay while I’m away. She can’t make the trip, herself — mobility issues, not to mention the overwhelm for her, as well. It just all feels so overly demanding.

And then there’s the conflict around my nephew’s own spectrum-y self. He struggles with many of the things that I do, but I can never seem to get through to him. He seems to be afraid of me. And yeah, I have been a scary person in the past — especially when growing up. His mom (my sister) still has a ton of issues towards me. Old resentments, hatred, conflicts about any number of things I said, did, or simply was, while we were growing up. Her eldest two kids (who seem pretty spectrum-y to me) seem to have inherited a lot of those issues towards me. And they’re either standoffish towards me, or they take me to task.

Everybody in my family seems to enjoy taking me to task. They seem to think I do the “boneheaded” things I do on purpose. Not much tolerance or leeway there. But then… Aspies. With their black-and-white thinking. And God help you, if you stray outside their range of acceptable thought/behavior… which I constantly do. They still criticize me for not finishing college, even though they actually contributed to the issues that overloaded me and sent me into an agoraphobic tailspin for years after I had to leave university. As far as they’re concerned, I’m just lazy. Defiant.

Whatever.

All around me, it seems like people are just living their lives, getting on with things, living up to their potential. And the best I can manage is getting up each day, going to work, keeping up with my responsibilities, and being reasonably effective at the limited range of things I do. I looked into going back to school, a few months back, and it looked promising. Do-able. Even affordable (because my work offers tuition reimbursement). But when I thought honestly about it, the idea of being locked into a certain course, being forced to take courses at a pre-established pace, in a pre-established order… and not having any leeway in terms of taking a break or getting some space to regroup (once you start, you can’t stop for 2-1/2 years)… it just wasn’t possible. From one week to the next, I never know how I’m going to feel, and with all the real-world responsibilities on me — working full-time, caring for a dependent spouse, being a member of a town board, taking care of the house, helping with a variety of extra activities, and taking care of myself with my requisite activities that soothe and center me — there’s just no way I’d have the energy or the resources to add part-time school to the mix.

I will say, though, that it hasn’t been completely dismal for me. There have been some bright spots. I’ve been reading more, lately. Writing more, too. Studying and checking out (free) online courses I can take. For the sheer love of learning. At my own pace. I’ve got some new foci for my intense areas of specialization, and that’s good.

At least I have that.

Well, not “at least”… actually, it’s pretty awesome, these “new” interests, which are really rekindling of old interests. Anatomy. Lots of anatomy. Cellular, too. And biochemistry. For someone who never finished university (four years, but no degree), I know a sh*t-ton about this stuff. Autonomic nervous system. Nervous system in general. It might not do me much good, academically, but it sure comes in handy in everyday life. Just knowing the difference between fear and anxiety has been a huge help for me.

And that’s what it all comes down to. Helping myself. Because others can’t. I’m pretty much beyond help from others, as far as I’m concerned. My needs and difficulties don’t “synch” with others’ expectations of me. I’m slow where others are fast, and blazing fast where others are slow. So, color me out of place. Perpetually. I’m “sub-clinical” when I’m in decent shape. And when I’m struggling, I often feel like such a disappointment to others (who expect me to be “high functioning”) that they just punish me for showing my vulnerability.

Yeah, I’m pretty much beyond help, in terms of other PNT (predominant neurotype) people. The mainstream has no clue what to do with me, aside from blaming and shaming me. So, never mind them. Life’s too short to spend hassling over those folks. I can help myself. In some really significant and meaningful ways.

That’s what I’m dong, these days. Helping myself. Digging into the things I love with all my heart, without getting bent out of shape over not being able to do them more often (or professionally). I’m still not happy about not getting to do the things I really want to do… weddings, university courses, etc… and I shed my share of tears over them. But that shouldn’t stop me from doing — and loving — the things I can do… sequestering myself with my anatomy atlases and researching furiously online … at my own pace, on my own time, in my own way.

It’s not all good, but enough of it is, to make it well worth it.

The Preamble

Sharing on my blog so I can read it later.

Finally Knowing Me: An Autistic Life

I have become increasingly conscious over the last few weeks that there is a significant part of my “autistic journey” still absent from this blog. I’m also conscious that I have so far erred on the side of pointing out some of the inadequacies of services available, and that the only account of an autism assessment I have thus far published is a pretty scary and negative one.

It is true that I have encountered some difficult times during the diagnostic process and that there is much that could be improved. I still look back to the end of November 2016 with some horror and still hope to be able to feed back what happened at some point (one reason I try to type things up is so that they don’t vanish from my mind). And I also look back further to other “care” I have received, including the unhelpful…

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Autistic Bilingualism

I can so relate to this!

Autism and Expectations

I’m bilingual

My first language is English. It’s what my parents spoke at home, my first words and thoughts were English. I learnt Welsh when I went to Ysgol Feithryn (nursery). I would have been about two. It carried on into a first-language Welsh primary school, and then a secondary school where English was not permitted even in the playground (making it the ironically rebellious act). I did my GCSEs in Welsh. I learned French and German and a smattering of Japanese through the medium of Welsh.

I remember a teacher once saying to me (and time passed means it will be a clumsy paraphrase), “It must be so hard for all you second-language-Welsh pupils, you have to translate everything in your head. You see a table, you thing ‘table’ and then look for the Welsh word, ‘bwrdd’ and then you can say it.”

I looked blankly at her. I…

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Welcome to the intellectual sinkhole – arguing about the validity of #autism #diagnosis

sinkhole in pavement with cracked asphalt around it
Well, that was exciting. I guess. Over the past couple of days, yet another drama scene erupted on Twitter with people arguing about whether self-diagnosis is valid for autistics.

I mean, seriously, this is such a poor use of time.

Not because affirming the validity of others’ identity is pointless. Rather, because getting all spun up over it is. When we get all worked up with fight-flight responses, our ability to think clearly leaves the building. That’s how we’re built. It’s not even a thing you can dispute. It happens. Higher reasoning gets switched off by forces beyond our control — which kick in prior to conscious thought. By the time our systems have figured out that it’s happening, it’s already been done.

And we’ve probably said or done something we wouldn’t have done otherwise. If we’d had our wits about us and had taken a deep breath and gotten our sympathetic nervous systems calmed down, the tone policing wouldn’t have happened. The swears wouldn’t have unleashed. The accusations (some of them pretty accurate, but not the most kind) wouldn’t have flown.

And the argument might have remained a civil discussion.

Not yesterday, tho’. Nope. Not at all.

As a result, I muted a handful of people whom I’ve followed for quite some time. I didn’t block them, just muted them. Needed a break. Needed to not have to listen to them impose their versions of things on me, as though their version is the only thing that matters. I tried reasoning. And that got me nowhere.

Because they’d already been hijacked, I’m thinkin’. They weren’t even there anymore — just a bundle of reactions and an overwhelming need to own the Whole Truth About Autism.

Sigh.

Which brings me to thinking about community. People seem to think that community is a warm-fuzzy-accepting place, where you’re accepted for who you are. Especially autistic community. After all, we’ve wandered — some of us for years, even decades — in search of our kind, our tribe. And when we find others like us, it’s a huge relief. We feel like we’re home. The “honeymoon” commences.

Then the community shows up.

And it’s not pretty.

For the record, I was raised in community — not a commune or kibbutz, but a community of faith and subculture that was tight-knit and well-defined and highly cohesive over generations. To this day, I know that if I ever fall on hard times, I can always — always — look to that community for help and assistance. Because we’re connected in profound, enduring ways that have withstood the ravages of centuries of religious persecution and opposition from the rest of the “world”. Those connections involve a whole lot of extended blood ties, as well as regular participation in shared activities. Church services. Family reunions. Weddings. Funerals. Baptisms. Holiness retreats. Potlucks. I’ve eaten more sloppy joes, coleslaw, and baked creamed corn than I care to think about. And I can toss a mean horseshoe.

I’ve also born the brunt of constant social violence, my entire life in that community. Continuous demands and requirements were forced on me, as a regular part of being part of the community. A lot of it was to enforce the appearance of neurotypicality — wear the right clothing, interact in the right ways, participate in the right activities, have the right interests, talk about the right things. I’m not putting the word “right” in quotes, because within that context, those were the right things. Everything other than the standard-issue, community-approved attire, behavior, activities, interests… those things were threats to the connection I had to everyone around me.

And they were not allowed.

Period.

If you did not comply, you were Out. And I mean Out. A lot of people left, over the years. I was one of those who split as soon as I could do so safely. I quit going to church regularly at 16. And once away at university when I was 18, I don’t think I went back… for years. I even broke from my family of origin for a number of years, just to get my bearings in the world. Community life had done its best to suck the independence and authenticity out of me, and when it didn’t succeed, it was vicious. Brutal. And not only to me, but to my extended family, as well.

When you live in that kind of community, if you screw up, your parents suffer as a result. And your siblings. And your aunts and uncles, your cousins, your grandparents. Anybody in your life who didn’t manage to steer you back to the straight-and-narrow was charged as an accessory to the crime of your “waywardness”. Everybody hoped, of course, you’d come home like that prodigal son. But in the meantime, if you weren’t around to pay for your sins, someone else would be made to pay.

So, when I hear people lauding the idea of autistic community, I have to smile. It’s a crooked, sideways smile that doesn’t reach the whole way across my face. Because to me, community doesn’t imply the same things it apparently does to others. And I wonder if people are genuinely aware of what’s truly required for community to thrive and survive? It’s not just about bringing people in and accepting them. It’s also about keeping certain types of people (and behavior) out, and establishing what’s not acceptable under any circumstances.

Community can be brutal. There’s just no two ways about it. And if we’re to truly build a new type of connection with others in an ever-expanding network of support for our autistic kin, we need to face that fact — and decide what we’re going to do about it.

Personally, I think we can use our autistic minds and perspectives to build something very different from the type of “neurotypical holodeck” I grew up in. That world was spawned in the trauma of 13th century western Europe. And it’s dragged a lot of pain and suffering along with it into the 21st century. There’s no need for us to replicate that. Yes, trauma and drama are very much a part of our autistic experience, but we’ve got a lot of very creative thinkers in our midst, and we’ve got a huge range of abilities and interests and capabilities and voices who can contribute to the discussion.

Provided we can actually listen to each other.

Which is an open question in my mind, to be completely honest.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking that rather than having a monolithic overall “autistic community” per se, autistic community might actually consist of different “pods” of interconnected folks who share deep connections in specific areas. And it may actually be less of a noun than a verb. Community is something we do, as well as something we have. It’s a living, breathing, thrashing thing/process.

And I’m building my own community, as I go, finding my own “tribelet” where I can. As for the larger community, it can be a bit of a trash fire at times, but I don’t have to engage with it.

It’s all an adventure. It’s all an unfolding process.

That’s half the fun.

And half the pain.

5 reasons I am self identified as autistic

Yes to this. A big yes!

Michelle Sutton

Every now and then I see a conversation in which someone (usually not autistic, but occasionally autistic) says that self diagnosis of autism is not okay. I’ve never dived into the conversation publicly before, because it’s a tough one to have and, to be honest, it’s exhausting defending yourself to people who’ve already made up their mind and don’t want to listen. But I do have some pretty strong thoughts about this, and I’m going to share them here.

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Accommodating my #autistic self

aurora borealis over ocean with the lights of a town in the distance
Aurora borealis over the ocean with the lights of a town in the distance – We didn’t see this last night, but we tried…

I’m not going into the office today. Oh, no. Not today. It’s Monday. I’ll work, sure, but not in that damn’ office, in that damn’ cubicle, surrounded by those damn’ people. It’s much easier for me to do the sort of work I need to do, if I have peace and quiet and isolation. I’ve got some research to do. I can’t do that, with a steady stream of strangers stomping past my cubicle.

People ask me, sometimes, if I would ever disclose being autistic at work, so I can get accommodations. The answer is always “no”. I don’t expect my employer to offer me any accommodations, to be honest. The environment I work in is highly demanding, and they expect people to cover for themselves, not expect someone else to handle things for them. It’s a “tough luck” environment, where everybody — and I mean everybody — is expected to take care of themselves and not put additional strains on the existing infrastructure and overall team cohesiveness by expecting special treatment.

There’s a guy who’s missing an ear who simply puts a large bandage over one side of his head and goes about his regular business. The woman who worked in the cubicle before me died of lung cancer and refused to take time off while she was declining — until she was literally unable to work anymore. There are folks with significant physical disabilities walking the halls, and that’s just part of it. People show them consideration, but they don’t get a whole lot of special treatment. And autistic folks abound. We’re everywhere, at that place, but nobody actually ever mentions autism.

There aren’t a lot of official accommodations offered. I can’t get the fluorescent lights turned off over my cube, because that will short out the whole floor (according to Facilities). I don’t have a lot of control over the temperatures in the place. The scented diffuser in the restroom is non-negotiable. So, like everyone else, I have to fend for myself. Just like everyone else.

If you don’t like the noise in the space, you’re expected to put on noise-canceling headphones and concentrate harder. If you don’t like the temperature in the place, put on a sweater. Or wear something lighter. If you get overwhelmed by things, you’re expected to step away for a little while to unwind (a lot of people do that). If you have issues with sensory stuff, you’re expected to just roll with it, do what you need to do for yourself, and keep up. Just keep up. And when it all gets to be too much, you work from home. Like I’m doing today.

It might sound like a harsh environment (and in some ways it is), but the bottom line is, we’re all given the opportunity to manage our own situations…. Not throw the whole workplace into disarray because of a few unique requirements.  We’re expected to be grown-up about things and arrange for what we need. Everybody’s got unique requirements, so rather than having the Overlords provide for your safety and comfort by official edict and codified guidelines, you’re afforded the right to determine your own conditions under the circumstances that everyone shares.

And I actually like that better than the formal accommodations thing. Because my needs change from day to day, and the help I need one day, might be “overkill” the next. This way, I just manage my own situation, and the work gets done.

So, today, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Managing my own situation.

I’ll make sure to get a nap this afternoon. I woke up tired, and I’ll be even more tired by this evening. I was out late last night, trying to see the aurora borealis in the northern sky. The plan didn’t work out. No northern lights were to be seen — just some brightness behind clouds in the distance. But it was fun to get out in the evening with my sweetie and just hang out.

The whole weekend was tiring, now that I think about it. I did a lot of non-standard hanging out. I wrote some pretty solid work both Saturday and Sunday mornings. On Saturday, I spent the afternoon visiting with a friend. Then on Sunday my partner and I went to see another friend compete in a dressage competition. Her horse is beautiful, and it was fun to get out to a different part of the world for a day. I was expecting a lot of moneyed people to be there, since dressage tends to be “high-end”. But there were just little groups of everyday people like me. And my partner got a chance to actually chat with other people, instead of being stuck with task-oriented me.

I know for a fact, I can be trying in those situations. I have a really hard time relaxing in public, especially when it’s a hot, bright, sunny day and I’m in a new and unfamiliar location. It’s just hard. So, it’s good for my partner to get to stop and chat with others, widen her world beyond my fretting about getting everything done in a specific order. Changes in routine can’t stop me from just living my life. Nor should they stop my partner from living her life, as well.

Yeah, it’s hard… so…? Everything worthwhile is hard for me. That just makes it worth more to me, when I manage to get it right.

But then, the exhaustion.

But then, the self-management. The self-accommodation.

I took naps, when I got home from both of my social outings. I just lay down in the bed and relaxed and slept. Then I did the usual — got up, made supper, ate supper.

Last night, I changed up my usual Sunday routine again, and we went out to see if the northern lights were going to show up as predicted.

They didn’t show up in the 90 minutes we were out there, and in the end, I got too tired and we had to come home. My partner was really disappointed. She’d wanted so much to see them with me. To share that experience. But the space weather didn’t comply. For me, it was good enough, just hanging out.

Now it’s Monday. I’m tired, but I’m happy.

And I’m going to take really good care of myself, today.