#Autistic preparation for the weeks to come

road leading through colorful woods

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.

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Occupying that space between…

child standing on a hill looking towards sunset with arms outstretchedThis 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.

Hello again

computer keyboard with display of code for Hello World displayWell, 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.

road leading into a flooded lake
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.

66 hours till my descent into the lower rings of hell

mountaineer rapelling down mountain 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

shovel standing in a turned-over garden
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.

Six months on, three months off

construction workers hanging on rebar

TW: Death/depression mentions

I’ve had a really, really busy past six months.  No, make that 9 months. For the last part of 2017, I had a handful of projects I was trying to get done, and I really pushed to make it happen. Same thing happened in the beginning of 2018. I kicked ass and hit most of my targets. Some of them I put off till later, thinking I’d have time… later.

Then I crashed. In a big way. I crashed so hard, I literally forgot about the projects I had been finalizing, and I went so far as to delete a website I’d set up for one of them. I didn’t think anything of it, when I did it.

Now, however, I regret that. For reasons I won’t go into, right now, I can’t recreate that website. It’s gone. Oh, well.

Actually, it’s probably for the best. Looking back at my projects, I realize I was spinning off on too many additional tangents and “complementary” activities, and that dissipated my focus. It’s better if I keep things narrowed and specific.

Anyway, I’m coming out of my crash, recovering from my burnout. I hate those periods of enforced rest, when I can’t think clearly if I try. I’m useless to anyone, outside of the rote discharge of duties. And that means I’m useless to myself, because I’m all about improvising and “coloring outside the lines”. But after pushing hard for 6 months (which, to be honest, I love), I have to give myself at least 3 months off to recover.

Or else.

Ugh.

Well, anyway, I seem to be coming out of my down-phase, now, with some new writing projects ready for resuming. I’ve got my “Autistic employment hacks” series going on… as well as guides to help people do things like save lots of money on really good laptops, publish eBooks, and other ideas I’m still refining.

And it feels good. I’ve really been wrestling with a lot of depressive feelings, lately, wondering What’s the use? and not feeling all that bad about the prospect of dying, someday. I know, it’s extreme. But that’s where my head/heart ends up, sometimes. Especially when I’m tired and I can’t connect with my “AAIFs” (Areas of Autistically Intensive Focus), I get so dragged down. To the point where life doesn’t feel worth living.

Fortunately, I’m reconnecting with my prior projects, and I’m feeling great about them. Especially the Autistic Employment Hacks stuff.

Note to self: It’s perfectly fine to take 3 months off those all-consuming projects. You’ll come back around, eventually. And you’ll pick up where you left off. Just don’t delete the “unnecessary” website!

#Autistic Ninja-Level Disaffection

#AutisticNinja - You'll only see me If I let you
#AutisticNinja – You’ll only see me If I let you

I’ve been thinking a lot, lately, about how I do — and do not — fit into the world around me.

With every news cycle, every new revelation about what’s going on in the world, every new development at work (heaven help us), and every twist and turn that the world takes around me, I can’t help but think,

This has nothing to do with the things that matter most to me in my life.

And I have to say, it’s a weird feeling. To be so disenfranchised. All . The . Time. Almost as if I’m not even here. I know there are a lot of Autistic people who feel that way, too, so I’m not the only one. All the meanness, the pettiness, the fighting, the drama, the emotion-for-emotion’s sake… it’s all very tiring.

And I’ve really resented this for the longest time.

But you know what? I’m over it. I tasted the proverbial Kool-Aid, and I didn’t like the taste of it. Spat it out, in fact. I’ve been slogging along, over the years, trying to get myself to want to participate, to feel invested, to connect, to dig in and be one of the gang. But after all these years… seriously, what’s the point, anymore? I’ll do my job, I’ll pretend I’m totally into it(!), and I’ll make the best of a bad situation. But don’t expect me to buy in. Don’t expect me to believe. Expect me to perform. But sink my heart and soul into it?

Nah. Not anymore. They had their chance to win me over, and they failed. So, so badly.

This used to legitimately frighten me. I thought that if I didn’t “get onboard” (what? the Titanic?) and sign up with my soul, I wouldn’t survive. They’d cut me loose, force me out, and that would cost me my livelihood, my home… my life.

Now, though, I see how much I really do add to every venture I participate in. I’m a really valued team member, and I bring something useful to pretty much every interaction I have. I’m an asset. Because I make a point of being an asset. Even if it causes me discomfort, even a bit of pain, I make it my job to do my part. And it shows.

And I figure, if people want me around, they’ll have to put up with me just as I am — disaffected, disillusioned, doing the best I can (of course), but not particularly invested in everything going on. I mean, seriously, there’s so much stupidity running everything.

OMG! Have you done your TPS Reports lately?!

I just can’t work up any enthusiasm for that foolishness. At all. I’m just here for the paycheck.

And I’ll do what I damn’ well please, how I damn’ well please. Because my way is waaaaaay better than anything the rest of these mediocre TPS-Report-filler-out-ers will come up with. And even the stuff I don’t know hands-down, I can — and do — learn in a matter of minutes. And they know it, too. They’re kind of in awe of me. And that’s fine. Let them be. It blinds them to my flaws, which is handy…

Anyway, it’s Sunday evening, and I had to work over the weekend, both Saturday and Sunday. Ugh. It wasn’t bad… just irritating. And I would rather have been doing things like work in my garden or go for along walk down the road. But no, had to be inside with my laptop for hours at a time. Cue the mournful violins 😉  I’m feeling sorry for myself, to be sure, and in the morning, I have to deal with my incredibly anxious boss who’s so busy “managing up” that he has no idea what any of us underlings are up to. Until he tells us to switch gears and work on something different.

Ah, me… Monday will come, and we will all suffer. Don’t care. It’s not a good use of my time to fritter away my valuable hours and life force fretting over the stupidities of others. I’ll take what good I can get from every situation:

  • A steady paycheck
  • Structured social interactions to meet my social needs in a predictable, formal way
  • A chance to get out of the house and see what else is out there
  • Maybe even a swim in the pool at the fitness center(?)

And I’ll disregard the rest, with my AutisticNinja style.

And other people take their cues from me. The funny thing is, even my non-autistic coworkers respect and admire my detachment. They have no idea how excruciatingly painful the whole deal is for me, and they’ll never know. I’m so under the radar with all this, and I’m so non-disclosing (I have enough to deal with, between chronic pain, a disabled spouse, a household to support, a nationally syndicated broadcast to get on the satellite each week, and an ever-increasing workload), the last thing I need is non-autistic people telling me, “Gosh! You don’t look autistic!” like it’s a complement. No thanks. I have no patience or energy for that. I’ll stay under the radar.

Just.

And I’ll set a fine example for all my coworkers who know in their heart-of-hearts that this is really all a bunch of crap, and we’ll take solace in each other’s company, sharing tidbits from our lives and commiserating about the sad turn of affairs that landed us in such a woe-begotten state.

Meh. Whatever. It’s a paycheck. It’s a job with a lot of glitz and glamour to it, as far as the rest of the world is concerned.

Right here, right now, I’m more focused on dinner.

It’s a lot more fun to think about than what tomorrow’s going to bring.

Oh, look – it’s Monday again…

sunrise over a mountain with a barn and field in the foregroundHa! Well, that snuck up on me. I had a pretty full weekend, reading and writing and taking care of some intermittent work that occasionally shows up. I also sorted out a bunch of stuff in my head about things that have been troubling me for some time. And I made good choices about what to do with my time.

In another 15 minutes, I need to get on a phone call with someone in Australia. He’s got a strong British accent, despite his “down under” location, and he talks quickly. Very quickly. A regular “firehose” of words and ideas.

Oh.

Fortunately, we understand each other, and he knows he has a tendency to overwhelm just about everyone he talks to. Detail. Detail. Autistic, maybe?

Could be… Wouldn’t surprise me.

Anyway, we’re in high tech, and we’ve both been in it for decades, so that’s a high likelihood. We can commiserate about how nonsensical things are, as well as place bets on how long till we get laid off. We’re both over 50 years old, so we’re prime candidate for downsizing. If I’m worried at all, it’s that I won’t get laid off with a nice severance package. I suspect that day may come in another three years, since the handful of dollars they gave me for “long-term incentive” (shares that mature over time, to entice you to hang around) are done in three years. And I’ll be 55 then, which makes me really qualified for a buyout.

Just cut me a check, and we’ll call it a day.

Oh, except… People love me. They want me around. Ha! Isn’t that hilarious? I have no idea what they’re saying to me, half the time, and sometimes I don’t even recognize their faces for a few moments when we first run into each other in the halls. I nod and smile as they go on about whatever it is they’re going on about, and in many of the meetings I attend, I’m completely lost and have to piece it all together later. I can be cranky and uncouth, difficult and abrasive. But I’m a go-team(!) team player, and people really seem to like my imitation of a neurotypical that I perform on a regular basis at work.

Oh, actually, come to think of it, I don’t do that imitation all the time. I also let my Autistic quirks shine through, on a regular basis. Quick bursts of intensely detailed information that no non-autistic person would consider. Stimming, tapping, brushing, etc. Sudden bursts of raucous laughter that make everyone around me jump. Hands over eyes, when thinking… fists clenched tight around a wad of tissue… dancing and flapping… I’m too old and too busy to manage others’ expectations and responses, quite frankly.

Take me as I am.

Because, frankly, I’m wonderful. Being an awesome team player is one of my Areas Of Autistic Specialty (AOAS), and I make an art form of it. No matter what, even if I personally hate you with a cold, burning passion, if you’re on my team, and you come to me for help, I will come to your assistance, and I will do what needs to be done to help you be successful.

That’s why they keep me around. And (ha ha), it’s probably keeping me from getting my early-retirement payout.

Maybe I need to start being mean to people more…

But that wouldn’t be me. It’s not in alignment with my values and principles, so nope. Not gonna do that. I have to live with myself, after all.

So, it’s Monday. I have to start my conference call in 6 minutes. Heaven help me! I hate conference calls, but some days, that’s all I do. It’s the job. Tough luck.

So it goes. So it goes.

How much has #television contributed to the #Autism panic?

television

I’ve been thinking a lot, lately, about how … abruptly Autism has seemed to have emerged on the public scene. So many people getting diagnosed, supposedly in “epidemic” proportions. “Autism wasn’t a problem when I was growing up,” people say… “It must be something new — vaccinations, environmental toxins, gut health, gluten, and more.”

I’m not going down those particular ratholes, because I think there’s another factor that’s really contributing, not only to the number of people who are getting diagnosed, but in the distress that we’re experiencing because we’re Autistic.

I think it has a little bit to do with the surge in pathologization (if that’s a word) of behaviors that have been around since the beginning of time. There have always been folks like is in the general population. But society’s acceptance of our traits has dramatically decreased, over the past 40 years. And that, I believe, contributes far more to the issues and challenges we experience, than any of the commonly blamed “causes”.

Society has never been super-accepting of outliers. My ancestors fled their homes many times over many generations, as a result of local people not wanting them there. For over 1000 years, they routinely had to move along to some other locale, because people didn’t like their language, their culture, their religion, their ways. Back and forth across Europe they went, chased from one country to another, because they just didn’t fit.

So, the human race has never been strong on the whole acceptance bit.

But now… I’ve noticed a massive shift in people’s acceptance levels of traits that I grew up with, which were never seen as liabilities in the place/family of my origin, which were simply seen as differences that gave you certain strengths, where others were weak — and vice versa. It’s not just Autism traits, either — flapping, talking fast and long about fascinating subjects, being sensitive to foods, needing to stim — it’s everywhere.

When I got into high tech, 25 years ago, I was an outlier. There weren’t many women on the technical side of the house, but people made room for me. I earned my place, weirdo that I was (and yes, I am a weirdo, and proud of it!). And there wasn’t the raging sexism that I see in high tech, now.

And I think television has had a hugely influential role in all of this. Because we’ve been inundated with all the messages, for countless hours, on countless channels, about how men and women are supposed to look and behave… for how “normal” people are supposed to look and behave. Television has provided a bland, one-dimensional template for everyone to abide by, creating emotional bonds between audiences and invented characters which are the product of a media industry that’s almost mind-bogglingly homogenous. Writers of color, Autistic writers, disabled creators, people who don’t fit in the mainstream, don’t have great representation there.

And it shows.

Personally, I have to wonder how much television people who freak out over the “Autism epidemic” actually watch. The folks who “light it up blue” and support A$… how many hours have they spent in front of the glowing box (or eyes glued to a device), internalizing all the subtle, one-dimensional messages about what it means to be a human being, and how we should behave? People who cringe at the different ways people present and identify, gender-wise… who squirm at speech patterns and behaviors that don’t match what they think are right… how many of them have had their social expectations set by all the t.v. characters they connect with each day and each night?

I have to wonder.

And I have to admit, I really despair, when I see what kinds of characters are on t.v., as well as in movies. For the sake of drama and an unfolding story, embarrassingly immature people are trotted out for our “entertainment”, their foolishness normalized, their vacuity standardized, their shallowness presented regularly as “how people really are”. It’s depressing. And when you toss in the music and laugh tracks and subtle ways creators and producers use to entice viewers and hold their attention… Ugh… even more depressing.

Over the past years, I’ve been watching less and less television. I watch a few shows regularly, but mostly I watch movies (which are slightly better, but also have their shortcomings). And the more time I spend away from it, the more tolerant I find I am. That includes tolerance for myself. I’m not as intensely sensitized to the ways I differ from others (of course, menopause helps, because I’m no longer hormonally inclined to give a damn what others think). I’m more tolerant of others, as well. Differences don’t bother me, the way they used to — and the way they bother others.

Because my templates for acceptable human behavior haven’t been defined by a handful of white, middle-class collaborators who live in their own little bubble and work behind closed doors.

And I have to wonder, if more people just didn’t watch t.v. and let it tell them what it means to be human, how much more human could we actually become — and allow others to be?