I probably need to get some medical help, but will it even matter? Should I even bother?

Run away! Run away!

Trigger Warning: I will seriously question the wisdom of sticking around in this world in the following post. You’ve been warned.

Oh great. Here we go. I’ve been feeling “off” for quite some time, now. Probably close to a year. My job was insanely busy, for about a year running. I was triple- and quadruple-booked in meetings, day after day after endless day, for months and months at a time, with a very rare 30-minute break every now and then.

My schedule was unreal. But that was the job. My boss’es schedule was like that. My coworkers’ schedules were like that. Everybody’s days were like that, on my team. At least we had jobs, right? And I was driving through on pure adrenaline and determination, the whole time. Just plain grit. Just buckling down and doing the job,  because we were so short-staffed and I was committed to holding up my end of things.

In all honesty, I really wasn’t holding up my end of things. I was attending a lot of meetings. Constant meetings. On the phone, mind you, not in person. That was one blessing. At the same time – and all you Autistic folks out there can relate – it was on the phone, and that was about the nearest thing to hell that I could ask for.

It’s bad enough being Autistic and having to be on the phone, but I also have auditory processing issues. I’ve never been diagnosed with any condition. All the tests come back saying my ears can hear just fine. But I’ve rarely been able to hear things clearly, the first time they’re said. Someone says one word, and I hear another. And then I have to ask for clarification. I ask them to repeat themselves. It’s like standard for me. I always have to ask people to repeat themselves. I can’t imagine how annoying it is for other people to have to say shit over and over with me, till I actually get it.

So, in addition to the non-stop work and thinking and processing and dealing with neurotypicals who care only about their own position (it’s never about the job) and being denied what I consider my basic human right to reach a flow state at least once a week (is it so much to ask?), I had to do it all on the phone.

Lovely.

And it was brutal. I was constantly pumping myself up to get going. Constantly staying on point. Constantly being on alert. And at the same time, my partner has been declining, physically and cognitively. So usually while I’ve been on the phone arguing with offshore managers about whether a job their team screwed up was due to a change in requirements or simply a lack of understanding of the basic requirements, I’ve been taking care of my partner, who is essentially bed-ridden (she can still go to the bathroom herself and feed herself, which is a major plus). And she’s often confused, frustrated, and angry. So, I’ve been juggling Hard Conversations at work with making meals and shuttling needed items to and from the upstairs from downstairs. 

Things have loosened up a bit, over the past months, since we got more help on the team, and I was able to offload a ton of meetings and tasks to another (hapless) coworker. But then we started remodeling our house, and the COVID-19 business kicked in. So, that was fun. We relocated to another place for a few months, while the house was worked on, which has been beautiful – such a lovely place to live for the time being. But managing the contractors, having a tree fall near the house (barely missed it – lucky for us), running interference with vendors who weren’t playing nice with our contractor, and making all these decisions about what needs to be put in place — and picking out stuff online and trying to get it shipped, when hardware and appliances that are supposed to show up on Monday so it can all be installed on Wednesday, suddenly won’t be delivered for another 6 weeks… well, that’s been fun.

And yeah. Running on adrenaline. While my partner calls to me from upstairs about how she needs her breakfast now, or she’s having a health crisis. Or she’s having a panic attack. Or she wants to just talk to me (why would anybody need to “just talk”? that’s puzzling). And I’m getting texted by someone about how something needs to be done, but it didn’t get done right. And oh, by the way, did you send out the check in the mail?

Pushing and pushing and just making it happen… that’s what I do. And I’ve been doing it. With surprisingly few meltdowns, I have to say.

But yeah, it wears thin.

And so have I, it seems. I’ve been feeling very lightheaded for weeks and months, now. My heart activity has been … interesting. Palpitations. Tightness. Feeling sick to my stomach and faint. Irregular heartbeat. I seldom go to sleep without my heart racing. I have to consciously slow it all down, which I can do.

And when I check my blood pressure, it’s usually low – the other day, it was 67/46. I know how to bring my BP up, so I’ve been doing my exercises to do that, but having a consistently low blood pressure (88/54 is another reading and I’m often around 95/65) gives me pause. It’s been even lower than usual. I have an enlarged heart, or so I’ve been told, so I wonder if that’s playing a role.

Okay, this is where the “female stuff” gets mentioned, so if you’re uncomfortable with it, you can scroll past the next few paragraphs. It’s not awful, but some people get squeamish, so you’ve been warned.

# Start of Female Stuff 

In addition, I’ve been having some spotting and cramping, despite being post-menopausal for nearly 10 years. The spotting only happened twice over the past month. I noticed a little bit of cramping, but I didn’t think much of it. Then I noticed the spotting. Not a lot, just a little. But still. That’s not supposed to happen. And the cramps are certainly not supposed to happen. But they’ve been there. I was thinking maybe they were constipation or related to my lower back pain, but these are definitely menstrual-like cramps. I had them intensely enough and long enough, that I know what they feel like. And that’s what menstrual cramps feel like.

Now, I started menopause about 10 years “ahead of schedule”, and they love to tell you that you run a greater risk of cancer or early death, if you are menopausal earlier than what’s usual. There’s precedent for early menopause in my family, so I never worried about it that much. But of course, now I’m flashing back on those conversations with “healthcare workers”, and it’s irritating.

Also, I’ve had a cervical polyp in the past, and I believe that caused me some cramping and spotting. It was benign. Sometimes women get these little “tags” of growth on their female plumbing, and it’s a simple thing to just reach up there and snip it out. Not painful at all, and the cramping and spotting stopped, right after I had that done.

So, this could be a polyp. No big deal. Or it could be something else. I’ve just been feeling so off, for months now… I honestly can’t tell what the hell is going on with me.

#End of Female Stuff

When I say off, I mean I’ve been feeling woozy and wiped out and feeling like I’m about to fall over, day after day. Exhaustion? Maybe. I mean, life is exhausting enough for me, without all this extra stuff, and there’s been a lot of extra stuff, lately. I know how to push through. I know how to keep going. I know how to prop myself up, so I don’t fall over. I know how to do a great impression of a highly functional individual who’s got it covered.

No need to worry about me! #IGotThis

That’s how we’re supposed to be, right? In America, you’re supposed to be positive and proactive and confident and bold. You can’t have misgivings. You have to always be ON, always be Convinced That We Will Prevail, No Matter What. It’s a sin, in this country, to have reservations, to doubt, to question, to not have faith. It’s anti-American blasphemy, and you’re sternly punished, anytime you show weakness or misgiving. So, despite having a distinct lack of all of the requisite attitudes, I’ve learned how to simulate all of that. Because it keeps people off my back, and I can just go about my business and do what needs to be done.

But feeling like shit, every waking moment of the day… well, that gets old, after a while. It’s kind of my default state, and I’m used to it. But this level of shitting-feeling has been noticeably higher over the past months. And now I have spotting and cramps on top of it.

So, what do I do?

I’m insatiable, when it comes to information, so I guess I’ll reach out and talk to someone. I’ll get on the phone with a TelaDoc later this week, when I’m away from my partner — we’re moving back to our house in a week, and I’m going back for a few days to get the house ready, before we completely move back in. Then I’ll be able to speak freely without worrying that she’s listening and I’ll then need to assauge an endless, relentless borderline-panic-attack that she can’t manage herself (story of my life). 

Based on that information, I’ll decide what to do from there.

But I have to admit I’m really torn about what I’ll do. The healthcare system and I are not on good terms. I’m a woman over 50, so I fit the profile of their standard-issue concept of a woman who’s just looking for attention. I’ve gotten that, tons of times, over very real concerns I had about health issues I was having – but nobody took very seriously, nobody explained well, and everyone just dismissed. They didn’t get it at all that I am both highly sensitive in some ways and not sensitive in others, so I have to have a professional opinion to help me make sense of what’s going on, so I don’t inadvertently die. I’ve been on the verge of pneumonia, as well as having an eardrum burst, because I couldn’t tell what was going on in my body, so there’s precedent.

In much larger ways, I’ve been so close to losing everything – and I mean everything – because of health issues that needed to be managed, that nobody took seriously. At all. I had to fight, tooth and nail, to find someone to help me, and then insurance wouldn’t cover it, but I didn’t care, so I nearly bankrupted myself getting help. Same story as a lot of people. And yet, here we are in 21st Century America… Why am I surprised? 

But I digress.

Anyway, I’m thinking through my algorithmic process for how I’ll handle things. Of course, without the correct information, I can’t make a firm decision, but I’m doing heuristic analysis at a high level, just considering my options. I have to think it all through carefully, because I’m the sole caregiver for my partner, and she is Extremely High Risk for COVID-19, so I have to add in an extra layer of caution in Everything I Do.

How will I handle getting tests done, if they’re needed? How will I get to the hospital? How will I tell my partner?

How will I deal with the results? If they’re fine, do I just stop thinking about it, and pretend it’s not an issue? If they’re not good, do I go with invasive procedures, or do I just settle into making the most of whatever time I have left?

That whole question of whether to pursue extreme measures or not is a big concern for me. I’m not sure how worth it, it would be. For others, sure! They love me and depend on me! No shit. I’m a fucking asset to the world – no joke. I’ve turned becoming indispensable into an art and a science, and there are so many people who love me. But what’s in it for me? Everyone asks way more from me than they give back. And I seem to be surrounded by people who are ninja-level Takers, but haven’t the faintest idea how to give unconditionally with an open heart. And anyway, they’re not interested.

Nobody is.

All anybody cares about is themself and their own corner of the world. There are some who think they care about others, and maybe they do on some level, but ultimately, everybody’s just trying to stay alive, while the world burns down around us and we do less than nothing to stop it.

All of our “leaders” are killing us. They just are. The companies that crank out all that trash of “packaging” that is now settling to the bottom of the ocean… the manufacturers who over-produce all kinds of shit we will never need and rarely use, just because they can, and because it will line their pockets… the community and government managers (I won’t say “leaders”) who refuse to put any regulations in place to protect us from those predatory manufacturers and marketers because it might impact the economy… the people in charge of police forces who just carry on as they always have, no surprises there… and the people telling the rest of us that the police forces can or will ever change, which I have no confidence can or will happen.

We have been well and truly betrayed by everyone who holds any form of power, and they show absolutely no sign of acting in the best interests of us or our planet. They are legitimately deficient in logic, reason, compassion, and conscience, and they have no accountability to anything or anyone. We wouldn’t be in this situation, if that weren’t the case. If any of them cared enough to actually act – if they cared more about principles and the survival of others – they’d take action. But they don’t. So they won’t. And here we are.

So, if I get bad news, why would I stick around? Why would I bother making myself even sicker, in hopes of prolonging the agony of being in the world that neurotypical and autistic assholes have created. Whatever your neurodiverse location on the grand spectrum, assholes are assholes, and their numbers are legion.

Why would I subject myself to the violation of the American healthcare system, which has rarely done me much good, anyway, and has ridiculed and dismissed me and my pain and discomfort time after time after time? Why would I fucking bother? If I have to leave, I might as well do it with my dignity intact, you know?

Plus, prolonging the agony of being around all this… I just don’t know. It’s too much. All of it. It’s relentless. It never stops. People are assholes.  Uncompassionate, self-centered, planet-killing assholes. If they really cared at all, and they had any intention of doing what’s really right for the planet, they would walk way from all the plastic-using, manufacturing-produced, poison-infused shit that props up our modern life, and live off the land, off the grid, with zero impact. Quit driving the fucking Priuses and cars in general. Quit buying shit on Amazon that’s so wasteful and exploitive of fucking everything you can think of.

But nobody wants to do that. It wouldn’t be comfortable. It would be inconvenient. And we need our retail therapy. We need our … stuff. Yeah, you can have it all. But you have to do it differently. Very, very differently. And unless you’re 100% not impacting the planet — or other people — negatively, you’re still a problem. You’re a liability and a threat. It’s pretty binary, actually. Either you’re a problem for the planet, or you’re not. I don’t know of anyone who’s NOT. Including me.

Hell, just by typing this on my ancient laptop that’s sucking electricity, I’m a problem. I now sit at a table that was made from artificial materials and wood from some hapless tree… with a lamp that’s also sucking electricity… in a house that’s built out of all kinds of shit that’s either toxic itself or was manufactured with highly toxic processes…  I’m a problem. I know that. And all my online venting is just adding to the burden I’m placing on the planet. Yay, me…

So, why stick around in this failed experiment? If I’m going to go, I might as well do it on my terms. Why deal with the medical establishment that practices medicine (and has yet to master it) and uses us all as test cases? I know, I know… they can deal with extreme cases, sometimes. And their extreme measures can sometimes be successful (I’ve seen the promotional ads with smiling survivors). But I’m feeling a bit like Planet Earth — all used up, abused, neglected, taken advantage of by uncaring and unfeeling narcissists. And since I can’t do the wildfire, earthquake or tsunami thing, all I can really do is determine my own fate. Kind of.

All that being said, I do think there are many other things I can do for myself to help my situation. Really take care of myself and what my body and mind need. Quit worrying about shit. Get more exercise. Eat right. Focus on what’s right in front of me. Mind my own business. Get on with it. And see what other options I have that don’t involve anything that doesn’t have anything to do with what I love and value in the world.

I don’t know exactly what’s going on with my health, and I can’t draw any conclusions till I get some more info – if I ever do.

In the meantime, I’ll just focus on what’s in front of me. I feel like crap, so what else is new?

When have I ever not felt like crap?

Now that the dust is settling

It’s been a few months, since I blogged here. So, I guess I’m due. I’ve been really busy on a handful of personal projects that have really taken off. Some of them have good potential to do others some good. And that’s great. Of course, it takes a very different skillset to market and sell things, versus designing and building them.

I’m in the process of looking for folks who can help me with the former — the people stuff, y’know?

If I put my mind to it, I can definitely sell. The problem is, Alexithymia gets in the way, and I literally can’t tell how I’m doing on a sale. Plus, auditory processing issues keep me from hearing clearly what people are saying to me. The whole sales process is nuanced and people-centric, so while I could apply myself and learn how to do it, I tend to stay in my little comfort zone of designing, architecting, and building tools and applications. Because I can. It’s comfortable. I do it very well.

Still, it seems like it’s time to expand my skills somewhat. And get more into sales and marketing. So, I’ve been doing a bit of that new training. It’s interesting. Confusing. But I’ll figure it out.

As usual, I digress. Meandering on a Sunday morning.

I’ve been rediscovering some old passions I used to have. Languages (not English). Reading and writing in them.

I’ve also been reaching out to meet new people online, connecting with like-minded people who are learning the same new skills I am. It’s pretty cool.

And it also gets to be a little much. I’m far more comfortable being non-verbal and coding away, building applications, testing them, retesting, tweaking, etc. I can (and do) spend hours at a time focused on just that. Being in the zone. Finding Flow. Just being able to reset my mind back to its normal state, after being bombarded by people and phone calls all week.

My job, ironically, now consists almost entirely of talking to people on the phone all day, every day. It’s the last thing I have any interest in doing. Plus, many people have thick accents, and it’s hard for me to listen and understand. So, I pretty much fake my way through it and pretend I know what’s going on. I’m not sure anyone realizes just how … “simulated” … my work performance is. But that’s what it is — a performance. And it’s paying off, since I’m probably going to get a promotion.

But geezizfukkinchrist, it’s so depleting. Yeah, I need a new job. But I’m so exhausted from just trying to maintain, who has the energy to go out and stir up something new? Plus, how will I know it’s not even worse somewhere else?

Well, I don’t need to figure that all out right now. I get my bonus at the end of March, and after that I can start thinking about other things to do with my life.

In the meantime, I’m just coding away, having fun with it, and reading non-English works by people who think very differently from the mainstream.

#Autistic preparation for the weeks to come

It’s that time again. Holidays are upon me, and the inevitable questions arise. Are we coming to Thanksgiving dinner? Are we making the trip down to states located 8 and 16 hours away from us? Will we make the drive? Are we coming to Thanksgiving dinner?

It’s so … complicated. I’m just coming off a month’s worth of travel, if you include all the preparation (which I do). Going on trips for work is a lot of effort and requires a monumental amount of energy. But then you follow that up with an 11-day trip out of the country to parts unknown, surrounded by thousands of strangers (many of whom want to interact and won’t let you get away from them without exchanging at least some words – gods help me)… and that’s just waaaay too much.

But wait – there’s more! Thanksgiving is just around the corner, metaphorically speaking. And that means even more excitement. Family. Friends. Traveling to places that aren’t friendly to queers. (That’d be my partner and me — big ole queers – and proud of it!) Houses that aren’t accessible for my partner, who’s got significant mobility issues and needs a scooter to travel distances more than 20 feet. Scents and sounds and all sorts of sensory overwhelm. And lots of people wearing perfumes because they think it smells great.

… Let me pause for a moment to get myself something to eat, because just thinking about it is driving my blood pressure up, and I’m feeling just a tad hypoglycemic …

…

…

Okay, that’s better. I got my cereal and another cup of water, and I’m good.

So, where was I? Oh, yeah… the holidays. When everything gets so frantic and amped-up that I feel like I’m under constant attack. By everything. There’s way too much color at holiday times. What is it with all the red? And sparkly things. Sheesh. You’d think we were all a bunch of magpies. Then again, some people are, so…

Probably the worst thing about it all is how demanding everyone gets. Needy. Hypersocial. With lots of unspoken rules about how you behave (or don’t), that don’t necessarily apply the rest of the year – so I can’t practice. Do I wish people Happy Holidays or Merry Christmas or Blessed Yule or Happy Kwanzaa, or what? I tend to stick with “Happy Holidays”, since it covers everybody generically. The last thing I want to be is non-inclusive and obnoxious, but people don’t make it easy. Especially folks who seem to belong to the secret club that teaches them the secret handshake from a very young age.

Sigh. I get tired, just thinking about it — and look, it’s nearly time for my afternoon nap! That’ll be welcome change. I’m still really tired from my October-November travel. So, I’m probably in no shape to be saying/blogging anything, right now, but you’re kind of stuck with me for the next few paragraphs, ha-ha!

So, back to my complaining… 😉

Actually, let me rephrase – back to my discourse. I’ve been through 52 holiday seasons, thus far. This will be my 53rd. By now, I have figured out a few things.

1. Stay focused. Keep my eyes on the prize – January. Like the picture above, keep the focus on where I’m going, and let the rest of the details just fade to the periphery.
2. Take care of myself. I’m not a turkey, so I’m under no obligation to end up “dinner” for someone else. I have a choice about what I do with my holidays, and if that means disappointing or alienating people in my family, then so be it. If they can’t be bothered to extend themselves to my partner and me, then why should we extend ourselves to them? I have to make sure to eat right, exercise regularly, keep conscious and conscientious about my habits, and just be easy with myself, as the weeks unfold.
3. Do what I can, and leave the rest. I have to take care of myself, as I’ve said, and I can’t be indulging every single convention, for the sake of fitting in. Yes, yes, I know what’s done, this time of year. Parties. Shopping. Gifts to out-gift all other gift-givers. Social extravaganzas. And I’m not a fan. Surely, there must be a far better way. If one doesn’t come ready-made, I’ll come up with one, myself.
4. Leave it. Seriously. Leave the rest of the world to its machinations and gyrations, and just settle into my own Autistic ways. I have a lot of vacation time left from this year (especially if we don’t go away for Thanksgiving), which means I’ll have time to really immerse myself in the stuff I love the most. And get some things done. That would be the most delightful and wonderful thing of all. To actually be able to complete some of the projects I’ve started. Oh, glory and joy. How fantastic would that be! A grrl can dream.
5. Go back to bed. I haven’t been sleeping enough. I haven’t been resting enough. It’s taking a toll.

Speaking of which… I’m gonna sign off now and wander back to bed. I just have to wait for the wash to do its final spin, then I can toss it in the dryer and head off to my dark, dark room.

And that’s about the most I can manage for the next few hours.

Which is fine.

Perfectly fine.

Occupying that space between…

This past week, I was on a business trip, and man, oh, man… straight people can be pretty extreme about their gender compliance. And they can be pretty demanding, when it comes to others’ compliance, as well.

I spent four days in a row with my workmates, who are all profoundly straight and gender-norm-conforming. And what a pain in that ass that was. Talk about masking. I mean, seriously… I kept things pretty much under wraps. It wasn’t worth tangling with their fragile sensibilities. Their gender rigidity was intense. And they were definitely not open to any sort of divergence.

The new woman who’s joined our group is friendly and motherly and a long-time engineer. She’s also extremely traditional in terms of male and female roles, and she was quite keen on “the girls” sticking together when we traveled. There were three women in our group of nine, and she was always keen on keeping the women and the men separate. She’s new. We wanted to make her feel welcome. So, we went along with it.

But it was strange not to hang out with the guys. It was definitely a different dynamic, this time. On other trips, I’ve been the only “woman” in the crowd, which has been kind of strange, because the guys always treated me like a woman… although I’ve rarely felt even remotely “female”. Erg. Please. This is definitely not the group to go all-out Queer with. They spook easily, and frankly, I need to work with them.

So, on goes the mask. And I “tone it all down” in the way I do.

People might think I’m capitulating, that I’m not being true to my whole self. Yeah. No kidding. Thing is, I have to make a living. And this job has been the best deal going for me, for pretty much the past 15 years. Maybe longer. So, I make my concessions. At least they’re not assholes, which is more than I can say for most of the other gender norm-compliant people I’ve had the great misfortune to work with in the past.

Well, whatever. It’s all a grand adventure. It just makes me more keenly aware of how queer I really am… and how much I value what freedom I can find to just be myself, as myself, in the privacy of my own home… even if I can’t get it anywhere else.

I don’t consider myself transgender. I’m not sure I consider myself non-binary, per se. I’m just gender non-compliant. Fluid. Just being me, independent of any gender norms.

Whatever specific label and territory people have marked out… I don’t belong anywhere within their boundaries, no matter how queer they may make those boundaries.

Maybe I’m just boundless. Yeah… I’m boundless.

Planning for what’s next

I love to plan. There, I’ve said it. Planning is probably one of my favorite things to do, and as a matter of fact, it’s also what I do for a living. Somebody out there actually pays me to plan how stuff should happen, when it should happen, and what should result from all that activity.

Fun! … Provided people actually do what I tell them to 😉

Of course, with planning comes the need for discipline. It’s easy to get waylaid and distracted by “shiny” ideas that seem so wonderful, but aren’t actually doable. It’s easy to get pulled off course and overlook things. It’s also easy to over-reach and come up with all manner of tangential activities that don’t actually help me get where I’m going.

I’m in the midst of planning new things for myself, these days. I’ve got a couple of projects that I’m pretty happy with and stoked about, and I’m planning out the steps for each. It’s a big undertaking, this master plan of mine, and there are a lot of moving parts (so to speak). So, I have to be thoughtful and deliberate about each piece of it, put it all together carefully, and not let my mind wander off into “wouldn’t it be nice? land”. I have to keep focused. I have to keep from getting sucked into the odd / various / sundry vortex that feels like fun at the time (hello… Twitter & Facebook) but ultimately takes away my most valuable resources : time and attention and energy.

Gotta keep focused. Gotta keep on track. And I have to not expend a lot of energy on things that don’t move me towards my goal, because I’ve been living too long doing other people’s bidding and not getting to fashion my life the way I want it to be fashioned.

Wouldn’t that be nice…

Actually, I’ve gotten some ideas for how I can remake my work-work situation into something more suited to me. I’ve been a huge fan of a certain business philosophy for over 12 years, now, and I’ve been talking it up at work, because it really explains our current situation well. It explains a lot of situations well. And I’d love to really dig into it and share more at work. Make some videos. Create some lectures. Introduce people to it and put together case studies that people can read and use in their day-to-day.

That’s another thing I need to keep focused about. On top of the things I do for myself. And it’s a way for me to be extra engaged — and develop a following — at work. Ha ha! Part of this is so hilarious. I’ve been detesting my job for quite some time. I’ll freely admit, I’ve been looking forward to leaving, almost since the day I started. It’s a miserable place for an Autist like me to work, and I’m constantly being asked to do things that are so painful and awkward for me. When the whole BAM (Big-Ass Merger) happened, it was even worse, because there was all kinds of churn and drama and insecurity and anxiety and whatnot, on both sides of the merged companies. And a lot of people didn’t behave nicely.

But something really interesting has happened, along the way. As it turns out, people really love me. Especially at the new company that’s the dominant one in the BAM. I’ve been making regular trips out there (just got back from one which was just incredibly painful and taxing and depleting in an Autistic sense, but was ever so productive in every other sense, so I can’t complain about every aspect of it). Over the past few years, I’ve built up a fair amount of “social capital” with some important people. Not people at the top, who are so busy fighting with each other that they barely notice my existence… but the people directly beneath them, who need good connections and alliances and know I can be of help and service to them.

I apparently also have a reputation for telling the truth (though always in a spirit of love and compassion with the common good in mind). So that sets me apart. And it makes people value my feedback, because I won’t sugar coat it. But I’m not mean-spirited about it, either. I just tell people what I think, based on many, many years of experience, as well as an eye to what actually makes sense, logically.

That’s a rare commodity, so people value it. And as a result, my “social capital” has increased. And as certain people seek me out, others follow suit. And before I know it, I’ve got friends and allies in all kinds of places. I’m a trusted advisor of sorts. And I have good “dirt” (okay, let’s just call it what it is — gossip), that helps people put their situation in context. I don’t trash people behind their backs. I don’t need to. Their behavior speaks for itself. I know how to be diplomatic and say things in ways that other people really get what miserable, vindictive bastards others are being… and I don’t need to say a thing negative about them, for that to all come across.

And the really hilarious thing is that I’ve felt little to no connection to this job for years. I’ve been looking forward to the prospect of getting laid off, in fact. Hoping for a severance package. Hoping to get a few extra dollars to float me till I can move on to what’s next. Because with me and my super-duper-Autistic “career path” (if you can call careening from one opportunity to another a “career path”), it’s always about what comes next.

‘Cause I can rarely stick around long enough in neurotypically slanted circumstances for more than 3-4 years (at most). The vast majority of my “gigs” have been under 2 years. Some of them under a year. Many of them only a few months. It’s easy to do that when you’re contracting, which is my preferred mode. Of course, over the past years, I’ve had to  provide for an increasingly physically disabled spouse whose anxiety triggers in a massive way, every time I change jobs, and makes both our lives all that much more … interesting. So, I’ve stayed put. And it looks like I’ll need to do just that for the foreseeable future.

Okay, where was I …? Oh yeah – planning.

Anyway, I’m planning out my next steps, finding ways that I can balance my own projects with my work-work projects, keeping it all fresh and interesting along the way. I’m a bit of a folk hero / rock star at work (yep, I’ll happily own it, too). And I’m gonna ride that positive wave as long as I can. There are things I absolutely positively need to do, to fulfill myself. And there are things I absolutely positively need to do, to keep my job — and keep it interesting.

So, that’s what I’m doing today… Planning things out, making little incremental steps along the way, and actually making some progress.

Woot.

Hello again

Well, it’s been an interesting three months. The project from hell (…Hell, I tell you) just about killed me. My partner’s health has been declining. And for some reason, this summer just took a lot out of me. I wasn’t expecting that. I had a vegetable garden that I was tending, early in the summer. It got off to a great start. Then it started to rain. And it got hot. And work was awful. All-consumingly awful. Non-stop. No sooner did one thing get sorted out, than something else awful happened.

As though people had nothing better to do than make everyone around them miserable.

Huh.

Well, anyway, we finally launched that pitiful excuse of a project… to the intense wailing and gnashing of teeth of just about all our users. Apparently, nobody came up with a comprehensive communication plan. One day, people were able to use the website. The next, they weren’t. It would be funny if people’s lives didn’t actually depend on it, but the do.

And it wasn’t funny.

Of course, much of this could have been avoided if people had just paid heed to what a whole bunch of subject matter experts were saying. But no. The brand new owners of their new toy (our website, which got aquired a year ago)… well, they wanted to do things their way.

So, I did what any self-preserving, sanity-defending person would do.

I went on vacation for a week. Checked out. Didn’t look at answer any email (I couldn’t help looking, just a few times).

I walked around on the beach. I got a tan. I ate good meals. I made fires on the beach.

So there.

Now I’m back. I’m doing a lot of programming, these days. Working on some projects. Regaining my interests in areas that fell by the wayside, over the past 10-15 years, when my life seriously went to sh*t. Getting myself back.

We’ll see how this goes…

Trading one type of conformity for another? Notes on not belonging anywhere.

Whatever road I choose seems to lead me nowhere.

Try as I might, I just can’t seem to fit into any type of community. I fit into all of them, to some extent. Enough to make others feel like I belong.

I mask and blend extremely well, after all. It’s one of the advantages of being Autistic — learning how to survive, even thrive, in all sorts of conditions. Being able to play my part, support others, be a productive participant whose contributions are valued.

I’m a member of the community gardens in my town. I’m also on one of the town boards. I’m a valued contributor at work, and people seek out my input. I’m loved by my family. I’m also a member of an Autism support group for folks over 50 years of age, and they miss me when I can’t attend.

All this is great. For them.

But I never seem to fit well enough to be truly comfortable myself.

This is especially true of the whole new gender / sexuality scene. There are so many “new” words for different ways to be, I can’t even keep up. And while I can relate to a lot of them, I don’t find myself neatly fitting into any one catgory. Ace. Aro. Demi. Pan. Enby. Queer. Gender Fluid. I probably fit into any or all of them, at some point during my life — or day — but nothing ever “sticks” for me very long.

And I’m sure there are plenty of other definitions and categories that I’d fit into, here and there, as well.

But nothing really fits me 100%. Even if it seems to, it rapidly changes. And then I don’t fit anywhere.

Again.

That’s one of the reasons (I think) that I haven’t been blogging that much here, lately. The whole Autism landscape feels like such a minefield, and anything anyone says can be weaponized against them — or someone else. Even honest mistakes or lack of information get lobbed back at people like they’re deliberate attempts to harm others. Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t. Or (given what I know about human nature) they’re a combination of both. There’s never an easy answer.

But that seems to be what so many people are looking for, these days.

Easy answers. Clear delineations. Black-and-white categories to define who’s in, who’s out, who belongs, who doesn’t, and so forth.

A lot of that seems to be coming from the younger generation(s), it seems. Maybe I’m wrong (it’s been known to happen), but the pattern I see is folks who are young enough to be my children doing their best to make sense of the world with new categories, definitions, re-definitions, and unique identities. And I don’t fit into any of them. I understand the desire to do that. I did it, myself, when I was in my 20s. But I just don’t have the spare energy for that, these days… especially considering what how impermanent my “final say” assertions about the world turned out to be.

Plus, I have a lot on my proverbial plate. I’ve been working insane hours. Not getting enough sleep. Keeping my garden going. Driving my partner to and from her events. And trying to keep my own projects going. There’s so much happening in my life, I just don’t have the resources to keep up with all the new ways of thinking about people.

Or of thinking about myself.

Back about 20 years ago, I lived as a man for some 4.5 years. I put my female body into male clothes, a male role, a masculine way of moving through the world. I was pretty serious about transitioning, at that time. And then I ran into the buzz-saw of Community Requirements, and the types of behavior and acceptable conduct felt even more restrictive to me than outside the circle I was hoping to join. Nasty comments on online forums. Getting sized up and dismissed.

I didn’t feel free. I felt even more restricted than I had before. And I realized that I didn’t belong there, either.

Everybody’s got their “stuff”, of course. And who knows why people interacted with me the way they did. 20 years ago, the trans community was going through a lot of changes, growing pains, just getting started. And not everybody was sweetness and light.

Rather than getting into it and stirring things up, I dropped the whole transition thing. There was really no support for me, personally, and the costs outweighed the benefits. Everybody’s different, and everybody has their reasons. There are plenty of people who see more benefit to shifting their place in life, and I’m glad they have a place to go to.

But for me, there doesn’t seem to be any one place where I’m 100% comfortable. Except with a very few friends, and also in my own company.

I guess that points to me being Autistic. Of course it does. And of course, it’s not a deficit in and of itself. If anything, it’s a strength. Because the rest of the world is pretty much  a big old mess. And even the parts that aren’t a mess can be so distressing to interact with, that it’s only logical that I (and others like me) would pull away and not want to have anything to do with it.

That goes for Autistic corners of the world, as well. Those of us who are hyposensitive can be painful for those of us who are hypersensitive. I should know. I was raised by a hyposensitive mother, whose interactions with me were the equivalent of her beating me on a daily basis. She didn’t realize it. It wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t sense where her body was in space, or she had to over-contact every single thing and person in her life to experience them. It’s not her fault, and I quit blaming her, years ago.

But that doesn’t change the fact of the effect of her behavior on me. I’m still stuck with the enduring trauma. I’m still convinced, deep down inside, that I’m a bad person who deserves to be punished, because I felt “punished” every single day of my life in her house, and I’d been taught that you only get punished if you’ve done something wrong, or if you’re a bad person. No matter how unaware she was, I’m still tasked with recovering from it, every living day of my life.

Then again, those of us who are hypersensitive can be pretty intolerable for those of us who are hyposensitive. We’re picky, we’re persnickety. We’re so demanding. We need a lot, to function, to feel at home (if we do at all), to feel safe… if even for a moment. I pitch fits. I freak out. I snap. I meltdown. I collapse. And that’s not helpful for anyone, especially me. But that’s where I’ve landed. That’s how I am. And it’s my job to figure out how to live with it in ways that don’t harm everyone around me. I harmed a lot of people around me, for many, many years. And I’m tired of it. I’ve devoted much of the past decade to learning how to not do that, anymore.

But no matter how I try, I’m not sure I’ll ever really get to a place where I really feel comfortable. Anywhere. It probably has a lot to do with me being as sensitive as I am, which makes it hard for me to fit in over the long term. I’m most comfortable by myself, and that’s okay. And at this point in my life, I’m getting used to the idea of piecing together community where I can get it — and not relying on any one group or any one category to provide a safe haven or a sense of identity for me.

In some ways, it feels dangerous. On the other hand, it feels safer. More realistic. None of the labels fit me completely. None of the identities feel like they’re a good match for all of me. I almost envy people who feel like they do fit into a category, like they do belong in a certain group.

Almost.

But not quite.

Well, it’s Monday morning. I have to get to work. I’m officially out of time, for today, for thinking about this stuff. Maybe later, when I’ve caught up on some sleep.

When being #Autistic was a very, very good thing

I wasn’t alone in my wonder at the wonder of it all

It’s been an incredibly busy past 4 weeks… or has it been 6? Business travel, deadlines at work, projects not turning out the way they should, people making excuses, left and right, and the very people who are making a mess of things taking control of all the projects.

Ah, me… I’m at a loss, as are many of my co-workers. It’s incredibly dispiriting. But at least I’m not alone in my despair. I have plenty of company (fortunately or unfortunately).

One of the benefits of being too busy to think about much, is that I find out what matters most to me. Because that’s the stuff that bubbles to the top of my thought process. That’s the stuff that works it way out, like rocks emerging from the soil in the New England spring. All the rest of the stuff I’ve been thinking about is apparently compost… it will go through its decomposition and melt back into the background of my life. But some things have “sticking power” and won’t go away.

It’s those things that I’ve been thinking about.

So, of course I’ve been thinking a lot about my childhood and how it set me apart. When I was younger, I was tempted to believe that my lot was terrible, painful, horrible. That it was too punishing for words, and oh, how I suffered. It’s true. I did suffer. But that’s just what happens, sometimes, and I’m through with thinking that suffering is a sign of aberration, of something being amiss. Nope, sometimes that’s just how things go. And the magical part of it is, I get through it. All of it. Just because it’s uncomfortable, even painful, doesn’t mean it’s necessarily a bad thing. Because, after more than half a century on the earth, I now realize that pain is very much a part of life — but suffering is something I make worse, myself. By judging and resisting that pain.

It’s much more productive to take a Meh attitude — a Meh-titude, if you will — and get on with it. Get my mind off the anguish (much of which I’m causing myself) and just get on with living.

My childhood, in retrospect, really worked in my favor. It prepared me for the world as an adult. It made me into the person I was. And it was full of wonder… precisely because I grew up in an autistic household which absolutely, positively accepted my Autistic traits for what they were and revelled in them, rather than pathologizing them.

Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t all delight and bliss. My childhood was, in fact, extremely difficult, both inside and outside the home. My family got a lot of things really wrong. But the parts that my family got right, they got really right. And I’m a better person for it. So many of the “disordered” behaviors — repetitive motions, echolalia, alternative play styles, talking a “blue streak” about passions, having passionately focused interests at all, even my frantic energy — they were all recognized and welcomed as the things that made me what I was.

My Mom, in fact, loves to talk with exuberance about so many of my behaviors that qualify me as Autistic. Singing a song to myself over and over and over for days at a time. Dismantling a toy vacuum cleaner that was given to me, so I could play with it my own way. Immersing myself in Native American studies, learning about trees, animal tracks, animal scat. Talking, talking, talking some more about the things I cared so deeply about. And running wild, all over the place, making my Mom nervous, but never actually getting hurt.

My parents remember those things as wonderful. Because they were me. They could also relate. And for all the things I did wrong and was punished for, at least — at the core — they recognized and loved me for who I was. Because that was me. And they’d both been punished enough as kids for their own Autistic traits, that they never wanted to do that to their own kids.

That’s one thing they certainly got right.

And I’m glad I can see it now. Because for years, I got so hung up on the things they got wrong, for their shortcomings, their failings, their neglect and abuse, that I missed the ways they were so good for me, so healthy, so helpful and supportive. And although I’m still at odds with the community of my upbringing (they still seem a bit cultish to me, to be honest), I can still see there was a lot of good in it for me, that helped make me who and how I am.

It helped make me healthily Autistic, in so many ways. So much so, that I have to just look at people (or shake my head when I’m online) when they talk about Autism only being a problem. Or only a disorder. It can be problematic. It can be disordering, even disabling. But in and of itself, Autism is not the enemy. And it’s not only one thing.

It’s not only one thing at all.

It’s many things. And we can choose for ourselves what we’ll do with the full spectrum of experiences. That much is very clear to me.

With that being said, it’s a gorgeous day. I have an all-day conference call I need to attend — and no, I’m not looking forward to it. It’s part of the job. It doesn’t happen every day. I’ll survive. Plus, I get to work from home while I’m doing it, and I can sit out on my deck and enjoy the breeze and sunshine, which is wonderful and delicious today. There are worse ways to make a living, that’s for sure.

So, off I go…

66 hours till my descent into the lower rings of hell

Not that I’m counting, or anything.

Except… I am.

In a little less than three days, I’ll be lugging my “carry-on” to my car, putting it on the back seat in a position that will make it easy to grab, when I finally find a parking space at the airport garage and get ready to jog to my departing terminal. My partner will be standing at the window overlooking the driveway, and she’ll turn away as I pull out onto the road. It’s bad luck to watch someone drive away, she says. She’s always said that. And I picked up on the habit, too, years ago.

I’ll make my way to the airport, driving the 45 minutes in a constant state of low-level anxiety, since I’ve cut it so close — either got stuck in a freak snowstorm, or went to the wrong terminal — and nearly missed my flight at least once. For all the times I’ve flown for business, I’ve been later than I liked a bunch of times, but I’ve only cut it razor-thin close once. But once was enough. Yes, they held the plane for me, and for that I’m grateful, but the mortification… all the irritated eyes on me, some of them my own colleauges, because a bunch of us were flying to the same convention for work… that’s something I’ll probably never live down.

At least, not in my own mind.

This trip is a rough one. The stakes are higher than most trips I take, although it seems like every single business trip has increasing levels of criticality. I don’t travel for pleasure — at least not like this, with planes, trains, and automobiles. My idea of travel for pleasure is a three-hour drive to the beach and a week of stationary, stable routine, with plenty of healthy food, long beach hikes, and spontaneous naps sandwiched between sunrises and sunsets over the ocean.

This trip will not be like that. I’m crossing the country — the whole continent — and my routine will be the main casualty. Try as I might, each time, I can never seem to get enough exercise or eat the right food. And every morning and every in-between break during the conference, there will be nothing but different configurations of sugar and carbs and chocolate and caffeine stacked high on wide silver platters, all of which are poison to me. I’ll be stuck talking to people. I’ll have to mix and mingle. I’ll have to go to the cocktail reception, possibly get stuck at a group dinner. Help. Help.

h e l p

I’m also staying in an upscale hotel in a city whose development represents just about every aspect of 21st Century “modernization” to which I object. 25 years ago, when I lived there, the city was smaller. Funkier. More human. A place where people on the margins of life could go about their business and be left alone by other people on the fringe who simply nodded and passed by. Now, it’s built up, tricked out, pimped within an inch of its life… chock full of respectable mainstream people flush with the glory of high tech ventures, rolling in cash and flaunting it, oblivious to anything other than their own milestones and timelines and key performance indicators.

Into the midst of this I shall go — to the heart of it all — becoming yet another corpuscle in the lifeblood of that city, that industry, those trends. And I shall play my role as a “willing” participant who embraces the future arm-in-arm with the Overlords who decide who gets a place at the table. I shall have a place at the table, because I do a damned good impression of someone who belongs there.

I do such a good impression that my crunchy granola cousins who live out there don’t really want to see me, when I say I’m coming to visit. They’re polite about it, of course. “Oh, really… that’s great…” they say on Facebook when I message them. But the last few times I was there, it was clear they consider me a part of the problem, one of the high tech interlopers who’s taking over the Tenderloin and driving up rents for everyone else. Crowding out People of Color from the neighborhoods they filled, before the gentrifying real estate prospectors got hold of them. Gold rush. It’s always a gold rush out there, and they think I’m part of it.

What they don’t realize is that I’m horrified by what I see, the trends that have emerged over the past 15 years, the ways that the industry I work in has trashed lives and wrecked communities. In all honesty, it’s trashed my life more than once. And community? I hear about it, I talk about it, I imagine it, but it’s been a long, long time since I experienced anything like that under the watchful eye of The Owners who need to make sure we’re getting our work done on time.

What my cousins don’t realize is that if I could avoid doing this trip, I would. I hate what’s happened to the city. I detest what’s become of the people, all wandering around the streets with their eyes glued to their mobile phone screens as they meander across wide crosswalks and do their zombie stagger down the sidewalk. I hate the hype, the shine, the glitz, the glass and steel.

I wouldn’t go anywhere near it, if I didn’t have to.

And I would never see my cousins again. That would be a relief for everyone, because I know I embarrass myself around them by talking too much… by my clumsy, domineering pacing… my conversational roughness… my lack of spontaneity when they talk about things they care about (but I know nothing about). I’m just another white high tech dominator showing up to kill their buzz.

But I have to go.

The reasons are complex, of course. What is there in my life that isn’t? I have to go, because I’ve been told I should. Because my boss said I should. And I know I should. I run a program that’s based on the technology company that’s hosting this conference. It’s a user conference. I’m a user. I’m supposed to have a high profile. I’m supposed to be a “Player”. I’m supposed to make my presence felt. It’s what someone in my position does — makes their presence felt. Show up and participate. Engage. Contribute.

Please, God, make it stop. My pleas would sound more convincing, if I actually believed in God, but there we are… How ironic. Me praying to a perhaps-non-existent God for release from a situation I got myself into.

Anyway, in the end, I’m sure it won’t be the unexpurgated horror show I anticipate. None of these situations are. And the one mitigating thing in all of it is the fact that I’ll be presenting at this conference. In front of a room full of my professional peers… even a few superiors. Putting on a show. Putting in a good word for a product I detest, singing the praises of a vendor whose people are the bane of my existence and who have cost me a lot of sleep, over the past year and a half. It’s fair — and accurate — to say that I hate them — ALL of them — with a cold blue flame, and if they were hanging off a cliff and I were the only one who could save them, I’d actually have to give it a lot of thought to decide what to do.

It’s that bad, my attitude towards them. I, a hopeless benefactor who has stopped traffic to move a tiny baby snapping turtle off the road, am questioning whether I’d spare a human life. How low I’ve sunk…

But yet, I’m doing this. I’ve got a pretty compelling presentation pulled together, along with a colleague (whom I also detest with a cold blue flame — ha ha — because she’s so hellish to work with), and we’re gonna rock the room, I’m tellin’ you. How could we not? Once I get up there, in front of the room, I’ll turn on the charm, crank up the compelling use cases, and do my seasoned best to put us all in the most glowing light possible.

I’ve done this a lot, actually. I’ve presented professionally and for fun a lot of times. More times than I realize. I’ve done “roadshows” at work, making the rounds to different offices to present mission-critical information to top-performing teams. I’ve spoken at funerals (I seem to be really good at that, actually). I’ve spoken at special interest groups. I was in Toastmasters for a while. And I’ve gone on the radio to talk about current events in the USA with people far from this country who couldn’t figure out what the hell we were up to, over here.

I love to present, actually. It’s scripted. It’s focused. And I’m usually well-practiced. I get to talk about the things I love and know a lot about, and people get swept up in my excitement. I’m allowed to be geeky and nerdy and a subject matter expert. After all, that’s why I’m there. And this presentation is the one thing grounding me, for this trip.

It might sound strange, coming from someone who dreads being around people, but think about it — my whole trip will be organized around that presentation. And I’ll be identifiable as a presenter, which will give me an identity that people respect. After the talk, I’ll be recognized as a subject matter expert, and people will reach out to talk about my presentation with me — an area of conversation I’m ready and willing to discuss. And best of all, my co-presenter is a legitimately awful presenter. She’s going to make me look really, really good. It will be the sweetest balancing of the scales of justice, considering how miserable she’s made my life over the past 18 months with her incompetence, lack of transparency, and outright sabotage.

So, I’m hanging all my hopes on that talk. It’s only an hour, but it’s got my full attention. It will focus me. It will center me. It will make me a star. And the company I detest, whose product I’ll be praising, will owe me big-time for it. They’ll know it. I’ll know it. Again, the scales of justice will get just a little more ballast.

If I weren’t Autistic, I couldn’t pull any of this off. Because I wouldn’t have the practice I’ve gotten at functioning through the pain, the frustration, the anger, the rage. I very likely wouldn’t have the tolerance for all of that, as well as the deliberately honed ability to not only “fake it till I make it”, but actually outperform anyone who truly likes and believes in what they’re doing. I feel the way I feel. I think what I think. But I still do the job that’s required of me. I still perform, regardless of the anguish. I outperform, perhaps because of it. And in the end, no one is the wiser for it.

There’s a reason I keep this blog anonymous.

No one can know.

No one can ever know.

Thank heavens. In 48 minutes, it begins again – my regular #autistic routine

This is part of my new garden. It’s 8′ x 10′, and it took me 90 minutes to turn over with a shovel. Yeah, I’m a bad-ass 😉

I had such great plans for this past long weekend. But, of course, things turned out very differently than my designs. No surprises there. And yet, I am perpetually surprised when things don’t live up to my engineered ideals.

You’d think I’d learn.

But nah.

I had been hoping / planning / intending to spend my time intentionally. I was in serious need of some relaxing and recuperating after the prior week. I wanted to catch up on my reading, do some gardening, relax, nap, eat interesting food which I’d prepare at a leisurely pace, and have a generally restorative time. Maybe make hamburgers on Memorial Day. Watch a movie on Sunday afternoon. Call my parents.

Instead, I had a busy Saturday morning, got all “socialled-out” by interactions at the community garden, including some faux pas along with some connections. I met some of my co-gardeners in the space we share. We all have at least one 8-foot x 10-foot plot. Some of us have two plots. We’re a diverse group – an elderly Chinese man who only speaks Mandarin, an elderly white hippie-ish couple, a Black woman whose mother helps her out, an Asian-Caucasian bi-racial couple with two girls, and the older white guy who runs the place.

The elderly Chinese man communicates with us by dictating to Google Translate and showing us the text translations. At first, he was showing me Chinese-Russian translations, and I couldn’t explain that I couldn’t read them. Then I got my phone in the action, and after I explained to him that he wasn’t translating to English, he changed his settings, and all was right with the world. I also showed it to the other gardeners, who thought they needed an app to do it. But no – Google will translate text, and you can dictate the text for it to translate, so we were all fully enabled and empowered within a few hours’ time..

The day was bright. I had a lot to do. I was tired from the week. Everybody wanted to talk. Ugh. I mean, yeah – they’re lovely people, and there are worse groups to be around – but after a few hours, I started to wear thin. Especially as people continued to engage with me and discuss their plans. I found myself getting snarky and bitchier than I normally am. Fatigue. Bright sunlight. F*cking mosquitos. Anxiety over my beans, which are being chewed on by something, not to mention the constant threat of rabbits. Fencing. I need additional fencing around my plot, because the overall fence isn’t holding up. Hm. It keeps the deer out, but not the rabbits.

We’ll have to do something about that.

I’d really rather not have to deal with people, when I’m gardening, but I asked for it. I joined a community garden, so that’s what I get. Community. Good lord, what was I thinking, spending 4 hours on a viciously bright Saturday morning, when I was still hungover from all the adrenaline rushes from the week before?

I know what I was doing: trying to Live My Best Life, that’s what.

Well, I gave it my best shot, and I’m sure not everyone will remember me as the snarky, bitchy new kid who gets prickly over the garden politics of who gets what plot (just give the old Chinese man the plot next to him – nobody’s using it, anyway! – why can’t everyone just handle things logically, instead of jockeying for position?)

After my time there, chatting about this and that, I ended up feeling pretty deflated. Everybody wanted to discuss their domestic situation… as if it matters to the seedlings in your garden, whether you have kids or living parents or nieces and nephews, or you love your job. I hate those kinds of discussions. They feel intrusive. And no, I don’t want to announce to the gardening community that I’m a big ole dyke with a disabled spouse who works too-long hours in the employ of the Masters of the Universe. What difference does it make to the health of my peppers and tomatoes? Will that information make my carrot seeds actually sprout? Nope. So, why dwell on it.

I like my conversations topical. I hate schmoozing and connecting over personal details.

Hate it, I tell you.

After I extracted myself from that awkwardness (which I’m sure seemed perfectly lovely to everyone else), I rallied and got my Saturday errands done in pretty decent order. Ran to the post office and mailed out the package my partner left on the counter. Took the trash to the dump. Went food shopping. Did some cleanup around the house. Had some lunch. Took a shower. Got a nap.

The nap helped a little, but more than anything, it reminded me how exhausted I was. What was I thinking, doing all that activity first thing on a long weekend? It wasn’t like I had an overabundance of energy, to begin with. But my Saturdays are often like that. I’m coming off an exhausting week (typically), and I have just a day to get all my most unpleasant errands done… which I do. And then I crash on Saturday afternoon (if I’m lucky). I can usually rally, but last week was pretty grueling.

Well, anyway, my plans for a lot of reading and relaxing didn’t exactly materialize. Sunday and Monday were rainy, which was fine. That’s normally a relief for me. But I was thrown off by the long weekend, for some reason. My pacing was off. And I was really tired and irritable with my partner, resulting in too much friction, too much arguing, a little yelling, a bunch of tears. I really hate when that happens, especially when it’s pretty much centered around my meltdowns. It’s like my meltdowns are whirlpools in the rapids of my life, and as I sail downstream, paddling wildly, I keep getting sucked into them… pulled down into the roiling darkness, as I’m flailing madly, trying to keep upright, trying to keep from tipping over or getting pulled into the Darkness.

The worst thing is, it often feels like my partner is sitting in the back of the boat, commanding me to keep the craft righted (not bothering to pick up a paddle, mind you). But that’s another blog post for another day – still working my way through understanding how to better handle that type of situation.

Anyway, my weekend ended up much more active than it should have been. I lost sleep, didn’t catch up on it. And the things I’d been planning on doing… well, most of them fell by the wayside. I did read a lot, though. I’m working my way through Katherine May’s The Electricity of Every Living Thing, and it’s a real pleasure – I’m nearing the end, and that saddens me. 😦

I got some writing done. I got some sleeping done. I got my exercise. But rest and recuperation? Nope. I’ll have to see if I can work that into my upcoming week — my typically structured week with the usual routine, which is so important for my regular maintenance and mental health. Three days off was a plus. But I’m glad it doesn’t happen all that often.

P.S. On a bright note, we did manage to get one of our rooms partly cleaned out and tidied up. We’ve been getting increasingly boxed in (literally) by all this stuff that we haven’t managed to either throw away or put away. Executive dysfunction, combined with exhaustion and bare-minimum interest, isn’t the most domestically beneficial state to live in. But yesterday, we actually did something about that. Bonus.