VOICES

“Oh great!” I thought as I was checking out of the store today.

I had to get the NT cashier with the run-on mouth. She is the small talk master. All I wanted to do was pay for my stuff and get on outta there. But no, “How is your day going? You know it’s going to be sunny this afternoon? Do you have any plans? I’m doing BBQ with my husband tonight. I hope it isn’t windy or raining. Do you cook outside? We love it! Try to it every night during the summer. Are you married? You’re buying Milkbones! What kind of dog do you have? I love them all.”

chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter

I’m not entirely sure if these are really questions or little canned statements so she can hear her own voice. Do they really require a response? “Yes” and “No” are not adequate because she wants conversation in the bloody check-out! I rarely go beyond 5 or 6 words in neatly contained 1 or 2 sentences; the total sum of my small talk repertoire. I don’t understand the NT compulsion to go beyond “Hey, how’s it going?” — a question that only requires a wave or a “Doing good.” Very short and, thank god, to the point.

Certain qualities of the human voice seem to send needles jamming up the back of my brain. Too high, squeaky, and/or nasal; children’s voices or laughing or screaming; people arguing; fast talking, they all serve as irritants. A person’s enunciation can do the same thing. I have a mental cadence, a rhythm that I think and write in. When people speak to me outside of the rhythm it grates on my nerves.

So how did I deal with the chatty cashier? I didn’t utter a single word. I smiled, paid, packed my grocery bags, and got my ass out. About as much nice as I could muster without having my frontal lobes explode.

Where Did One Year Go?

For the history that goes with this post, please read previous posts:
5/16/10 — SISYPHUS HAS LOST THE BOULDER, AGAIN
5/30/10 — THE SETUP and the REVEAL
7/10/10 — I WANT CLAUDE RAINS TO PLAY ME!
7/16/10 — OBSERVATIONS THROUGH A BROKEN WINDOW

Catch up time…

April 14, 2011:
Mom did her chemo and overall, came out of it tired, but with no adverse effects. She is now on the every-three-months testing plan. The results of the latest test will come this Monday.

Her damned stubborn surgical wound finally healed, sans what the doctor thought was a fistula. Turned out, all that tiny tunnel needed was a good sterile cleaning and it healed over in a few hours.

She’s walking on her own, no wheelchair or walker. But she has arthritis in one knee so can’t stay up on her feet for longer than a short trip to the grocery. I try to get her out on walks but it’s a fact I can’t force an 85 year old (tomorrow!) woman to get out there. She has more excuses than a kid skipping classes. Oh, and she’s given up her driver’s license. Her reflexes and reasoning powers are not like they were before her fall and cancer diagnosis. I do all the driving now. I did get a handicap sticker for the car.

She’s still doing sponge baths. Even with the grab bars installed, she does not have the moxy to take a shower.

From the hit on the head she received a year ago, her short-term memory is worse. I could attribute that to simple age, but considering her flawless memory on other things, I’m not convinced.

Her hearing has been terrible for years (the result of falling asleep with blaring headphones on). She finally got hearing aids. The TV or radio is now played at a volume that doesn’t penetrate solid walls and doors.

She requires my assistance on and off all day, otherwise she sits in her recliner, does her resistance-band exercises, watches TV, and/or reads. She does a few things: dusting, small loads of laundry, and simple cooking. 9 times out of 10 I have to finish what she’s started or clean up her prodigious kitchen messes. Even when I set up her mise en place, she will still forget the ingredient that’s sitting right in front of her. I do the more physical cleaning; vacuum, window washing, the larger laundry loads, plus all the household maintenance. It’s not 24/7 care but I have had to cut my business workload by more than half.

One year to the day.
Mom’s life has changed.
My life has changed.

Niko, the freak-a-zoid Aspie brother, has Power of Attorney — NOT the NT older brother.

deus ex machina

A Letter to a Friend — A Love Letter in Disguise

To my Aspie friend, my only friend.
A person I will never know outside of the words we pass to one another.
Thousands of miles apart, our circumstances are such that we will never meet.
And what of our words?

Expressions of support.
We advise.
We console.
We cheer on.
We worry.
We feel each other’s disappointments.
We feel each other’s victories.
We make each other happy.
We share Respect and
Admiration.

We find joy in each other’s words.
Love friend to friend.

To the Aspie girl I love.
A Love we will never know outside of the words we pass to one another.
Thousands of miles apart, our circumstances are such that we will never meet.
And what of our words?

Expressions of support.
We advise.
We console.
We cheer on.
We worry.
We feel each other’s disappointments.
We feel each other’s victories.
We make each other happy.
We share Respect and
Admiration.

We find joy in each other’s words.
Love Aspie to Aspie.

Day by day, words pass over the ocean.
Day by day, we grow mentally closer.
In our minds, we can feel the breath and
Heartbeat and
Warmth of the other.
Forever joined together by a Computer monitor and keyboard.
.
.

15 Aspie-isms ala Niko

000001. You’re WHO now?
000010. Don’t abandon me. Do not assume I know my way home.
000011. I crave being alone but I don’t like to be lonely.
000100. Do not fall in love with me. Love is a nebulous concept to me. Fond, I do Fond.
000101. Please turn down the volume.
000110. You are not worth the meltdown I will have today, tomorrow, or a year from now.
000111. Leave me the fuck alone!
001000. Do not get into my face. You will regret it.
001001. Don’t tell me insider jokes unless I am an insider.
001010. Do not interrupt me: Start, Open, Read, Close, Process, Open, Write, Close, End.
001011. I do not want to be with you now—I may, eventually, but on my own terms.
001100. GIGO
001101. Yes, I do always move and speak like this. And your point is?
001110. No, I do not trust you.
001111. Can I relate to you on ANY level? No? THEN BUGGER OFF!

The Sides of the Cube — 6 Abandonment Dreams

1 The West Side
I am lost.
I once had a feeling for place and time.
Pictures in my mind of
Where I could live;
Where I could be.

With a destination in my mind, I start to walk,
And stop
And realize I don’t know the way.
How do I get back home? Do I have a home?
And my memory of such a place fades
Until I am alone.

2 The South Side
In a crowd,
I am mute.
I am frozen in my mind and non-reactive in my body.
Their laughing becomes mocking as I spiral down
Hoping to become invisible.

3 The East Side
Where does trust come from?
How can one word or
A sentence
Become the catalyst for Aspie China Syndrome?
How can one event grow in proportion that I never trust again?

Trust is what I lack in myself.
I say the wrong words and hurt the ones around me.
Then I judge myself harshly and persistently.
Punishing myself mentally and physically.
I dread to discover what the rising sun will bring me.
A fresh day to start over or
A new day to fuck it up again.

4 The North Side
Do I deserve love?
Do I deserve to know?
Should I ask?

She is a lovely enigma.
I am an ass.
What do I deserve?

5 The Top — A not-from-me quote:
“Until I knew about my AS,
I thought everyone perceived the world the way I do.
I didn’t know there was a need to even develop … coping strategies.
I thought I was being silly to have problems with things that others didn’t.”

6 The Bottom
I am afraid.
Inside my skin.
I am
Persistently …

alone.
I seek substance.
I am
Persistently …

angry.
I live in the past.
I am
Persistently …

Not.
.
.
.
.

Hand-forged: the Square Nail

“You know, I’m sick of following my dreams, man.
I’m just going to ask where they’re going and hook up with ‘em later.” 
—Mitch Hedberg

As ASDs we share assorted symptoms and quirks. What matters to our survival is to what degree our symptoms manifest themselves and how we cope with the results of those symptoms. I’ve always had the philosophy of “Adapt or Die.” For some of us with ASD that’s a difficult or impossible mind-set to maintain. I have always wondered why I couldn’t apply the axiom to my own life.

HEY. YOU. NICHOLAS!
ADAPT, DAMN IT!

When I was growing up, there was no definition of Asperger’s and I can’t speak to the process of autistic diagnoses back then. Growing up I’d felt I was not socially functioning on the same level as the kids around me. Science and applied arts were my grand achievements but I was poor in “citizenship” or getting on with my peers. As I got into my teen years, my only definition for how I interacted—or didn’t—began to take on the basics of what little I knew about autism: sensory defensiveness, poor communication skills, a sense of loneliness but not wanting to be with people, out-and-out isolating, and a host of other eccentricities.
—Eccentricities—
I could have easily said “oddities,” “peculiarities,“ “exotic behaviors,” “quirks.” I have an acquaintance who describes my party-hardy self as “charmingly inept.” NT folk define us in these terms, softening our behaviors to minimize our impact on society. Is it better than being labeled a “weirdo,” or “retard?” Those were the terms used back when I was a kid, AT me, both in my face and behind my back.
But, here I was, 13 – 14 years old, wondering if I was “a retard” on some level(s). That’s the age where much of my emotional development stopped. I’m a middle aged kid—I scoff at the concept of Emotional IQ.

Adapt or Die. So, what are the basics for survival? Water, Shelter, Fire, and Food? That’s what I need in the backcountry. It’s what I’m good at, surviving in remote areas for several days or weeks if necessary—ALONE.
But what about human society? Why do I need to survive in an environment that is foreign to me: toiling under a stranger’s thumb, relationships, life in a society.

How do NT’s cope with the juggling of these concepts? My real question is, as a person with ASD, how do I apply modern society’s motis operandi to my life? Mulling around on the Internet, speaking to other ASDs, how can some of us work around our more perverse symptoms to function and cope when I find many interactions stressful or impossible to conduct? Even when given the basics, how have I handled them?

Many ASDs go out to jobs. I tolerated years of meltdowns and unchecked Aspie Anger before burning out on facing people day after day. I do computer contract jobs at home and the thought of having to conduct face to face commerce is excruciating. I do all my business over emails and ftp sites.
Is this adapt or die? A little of both.

Many ASDs are happy! I can look back over my life, assess, and count on one hand the years of true happiness I’ve experienced. A day here, a week there, a month, a year or two. Those were the times I thought I was in love, making decent money, and/or isolating for days on a solo backpacking trip. I didn’t feel worried and stressed.
All the other years of my life, I’ve spent in varying degrees of meltdown, anger, or depression.
Adapt or die? Maybe 5% adapt. The other 95% well…

Many ASDs have relationships. They get married and have kids. My relationships have been very few and in retrospect—mostly meaningless. I crave isolation; I am naturally selfish with my time. If I could have a companion on my own terms … she would probably be as ASD as me. We would be comfortable “together” in different rooms.
I have never considered having children. N.E.V.E.R.
Is this adapt or die, well, D’oh, it’s DIE.

I must give credit to a very sweet woman who’s been tolerating my emails and IMs for the past three months. Due to our mutual ASD symptoms and our skittishness of relationships, I will never meet her face to face. I’ve never known anyone like her and it’s difficult for me to describe how I feel about her. We have gained a mutual, emotional understanding. A long distance, loving friend, who is very dear to my heart. That description is a start; I know there is more to it than that—yet, there can’t be more than that. Maybe my emotional IQ is higher than I thought.
Adapt or Die?
Without a doubt, I finally got it right. I adapted and won a life-long friend.   

To sum up, I tried to break the old patterns of try and fail—
I used my ASD to my advantage until the more perverse aspects slammed me between the eyes and/or circumstances beyond my control TOOK control of my life.
I inverted into a dive, augered into a remote field, and died.
Not once, but over and over again. The same old pattern but in a different key.
I feel like Wily E. Coyote: Forever trying to catch that Roadrunner but always failing.
Difference is, in cartoons, gravity is nebulous.
In reality, gravity will always behave as physics dictates.
The boulder will always squish me at the bottom of the canyon.
With the touch of a feather, the cliff will always fall from under my feet.

There is no Adapt OR Die. It is Adapt AND Die.

deus ex machina

The Heart and Soul of the Corner or RIP

I have been busy setting up an online notification system in case of my untimely death. This naturally implies my blogging and other postings would stop and you guys would otherwise be SOL for knowing what happened!
I tried using an online system that asks for two verifications of death from relatives before releasing my passwords to my beneficiary. I don’t think it’ll work. *snark* Neither of my verifiers have come up to the plate.
I’ll have to go to some form of Plan B.
The beneficiary to my sites has instructions to post a RIP notice. She also will have free reign as to what happens to them, pictures, and blogs: to maintain, add to, or toss them to the stars.
What prompted all this was our mutual concern —given the fact we are many thousands of miles apart and the nature of online correspondence— how would we know if something happened to one or the other? If there were a sudden and prolonged silence, I could not bare not knowing what was going on.
Overall this has been a good decision but very hard on both of us. Putting together instructions and the ground work for archives has taken its emotional toll.
A final letter? What do you say to a person whom you dearly love but have never physically met?
Who knows the time interval? Speaking from my side, will there be a nice fat archive —multiple gigs of material over several years for my love to inherit? Or will it be skinny but well meaning because of time lost?
Both of us know that when the foundation is laid, we’ll be able to rest a bit easier. There will be little worry and wondering when the time comes.

There will be comfort in the words from a ghost.

A word of advice for anyone else building online archives. Do not store them in IPs that you pay out for. Once you’re dead and that bill goes unpaid your archive is in the bit bucket. The best you can hope for is a multi-function site that has a reasonable chance of living on.

The Professorial Side of the Circle

Since moving back home, I’m reacquainting myself with my old jogging paths.

I’m a frustrated Earth Scientist. Remember Gary Larson, the guy who drew The Far Side? Yea, like him—but totally Aspie.
I’m a trained observer, recorder, and sometime researcher.
Running, walking, or hiking along I play games in my head. This time it was “How many birds can I ID by sight or song?” On Sunday’s 22K walk, I IDd 54 species (list at the end of this post and sans invasive species). I would have had 1-2 more but I’m not good at recognizing some sparrow species by sight or by song.

My current observations:
The entire neighborhood is nature’s war zone! Danger lurks …
• All summer the Kestrels have been sky-hooking the robin hatchlings out of their nests.
• The invasive Ring-necked Doves (an escaped cage bird aka “Sky Rats”) are taking over the prime nesting spots and food resources. Outside of the city, it’s open season.
• With a sharp jab of his beak a huge male Red-shafted Flicker drew blood from a Ring-neck and the next day, probably the same Flicker, drew blood from a Starling. Woodpecker beaks make great foils.
• Blue Jays carry off Finch eggs one by one until the nests are empty.
• Hummingbirds, regardless of species, chase off ANY challenge to the feeders, water, or flowers. Even crows clear out.
• Everything that flies tries to chase away hawks, owls, vultures, ravens, foxes, and coyotes.

The fun of working in the yard:
• I was out pulling weeds in the flower garden when a Rufous Hummingbird buzzed me. I turned to look at it hovering just to my right and it rotated to my back left. I turned and it again rotated to a blind side. Visual Tag! We repeated this dance four more times before the bird zoomed off to toy with a new victim.
• Butterflies are highly territorial. The Tiger Swallowtail I see 3-4 times a day habitually takes the same path between houses and up the alley. Other Swallowtails are chased out of the yard.
• The Crows in the tree next door have fledged four screaming Crow-letts. They jump around on the neighbor’s roof. I whistle at them and they peek over the ridge at me, curious but cautious.
• You can call in Chickadee fledglings exactly twice. Then they learn you don’t look like an other Chickadee and ignore you.
• The perennial flock of English Sparrows—made up of mom, dad, two rounds of kids, aunts, uncles, and cousins—also play on the neighbor’s roof. The kids are very competitive no matter the prize. They’ll chase each other for possession of a leaf. Most of the day this little tribe pop in and out of my house gutters. Tromping up and down. They’re trying to give me a clue: I have yet to clean those gutters out.

Non-nature observations comparing 2009 and 2010:
• Over the winter, two of the dogs along my old tromping ground died; however, I gained three others.
• Several homes have or are being remodeled. Seems like a lot of over-building for the location. A very popular thing to add to a property is a detached two-car garage. Oh, how I’d love to have a large heated space to putz around in! One guy put in a 3 bay garage and an illegal apartment above. We’ll see if the city makes that come down. All the houses I regularly pass while running: 21 are STILL for sale; two have sold, both flips. Several home owners have put their homes up for sale, gave up, then tried again, and gave up again. Nine houses are empty now; seven are bank repos.
• City gardens and boulevards have turned into un-mown weeds or dirt, the trees of “Tree City, USA” are dying due to lack of water. No flowers; the city didn’t even provide plants for volunteers to plant—and there’s no water anyway. Several city parks have closed services including swimming pools, drinking fountains, and restrooms. The two popular city fountains were closed until donations helped keep them running. And although, PETA offered to install and empty trash cans in the parks, our dumb-ass city council nixed it; so there’s trash everywhere. Oops, I was going to steer clear of the political and tax issue nonsense. Besides, I touched on this a few blogs ago. Yes, I am going to pat myself on the back and say, twice I’ve donned gloves and a garbage bag and picked up trash along the jogging path.

July 25, 2010
1. Mountain Chickadee
2. Black-capped Chickadee
3. Red-breasted Nuthatch
4. White-breasted Nuthatch
5. Rufous-sided Towhee
6. Western Kingbird
7. Canyon Wren
8. Rock Wren
9. Brown Creeper
10. Lesser Goldfinch
11. American Goldfinch
12. Northern Oriole (Bullock’s)
13. Western Tanager
14. Scarlet Tanager (blown in on a storm)
15. Lazuli Bunting
16. Indigo Bunting
17. Dark-eyed Junco
18. Western Kingbird
19. Barn Swallow
20. Catbird
21. Redstart
22. Yellow Warbler
23. Yellow-rumped Warbler
24. Wilson’s Warbler
25. Black & White Warbler
26. Common Flicker (Red-shafted)
27. Hairy Woodpecker
28. Yellow-bellied Sapsucker
29. Blue Jay
30. Scrub Jay
31. Steller’s Jay
32. Morning Dove
33. Song Sparrow
34. Bell’s Vireo
35. House Finch
36. Black-headed Grosbeak
37. Evening Grosbeak
38. American Robin
39. Common Crow
40. Common Raven
41. Black-billed Magpie
42. Broad-tailed Hummingbird
43. Calliope Hummingbird
44. Rufous Hummingbird
45. Common Grackle
46. Brewer’s Blackbird
47. Canada Goose
48. American Widgeon
49. Mallard
50. Great Blue Heron
51. Cooper’s Hawk
52. Red-tailed Hawk
53. Sharp-shinned Hawk
54. American Kestrel

How To Ante Up Without Losing Your Shirts.

After my last blog and near full-blown meltdown. I’ve garnered somewhat of a perspective; this is NOT to say I may not go aspie bogots sometime in the future and on the exact same dreck. But for now …

Some comic relief before I get into the next post that’s currently in the works.

Consider:
In order for Mom to get around with the walker, I had to remove her bedroom door and, right across the hall, a bathroom door. Mom now has an unimpeded view right across to the only bath in the house with a shower. The same one I have to use.

You know something? Old people have a philosophy of wanting everything they could ever need, want, or desire within reach. They don’t seem to understand that at a certain point everything that is supposed to be within reach is crowded out by all the other things that are also supposed to be within reach. As a result there is NO where to hang a robe; NO where to put a pair of TWs; NO where to put my towels. We are talking every surface taken up with something.

In the past, I’ve taken the risk to pad buck naked down the hallway, slip into the bath, and get out before she wakes up. But, she’s caught me a few times. I’m starting to shrug it off because the light is low, there’s a bit of distance, and she has cataracts, she’s not going to see much.

However,

I did laundry the other day.

This was my load of sheets, whites, and two very heavy, cotton t-shirts I’d acquired in an advertising trade. The washer had just started its first spin when it lost balance and started jumping around. My t-shirts had crowded to one side of the tub and this model of washer does not have an auto-off.

Mom was sitting not 7 feet away, deaf to all the noise, and, with her walker, she would not have been able to get over there to hit the stop dial. I was still in the shower, heard the banging about, and flew out to hit that dial. I stood there, swearing and trying to pry those soaked, soapy t-shirts out to rebalance the machine. Only then did Mom look up and pipe out,

“NAKED AS A JAY BIRD!”

Yep, there I was, in front of an 84 year old woman — soak ’n wet, dripping in shampoo and bath soap — And waaay out in the open!

Sure, you could make the argument that I don’t have anything she hasn’t seen before. But GEEZ! I happen to be very conservative on how much skin I expose—and to whom!

I turned a couple shades of red and did a hasty duck and run.

After dressing and settling at the breakfast table. Mom looked up at me and had one thing to say,

“You don’t have a hairy chest like your father did.”

Aw, Shit!

Observations Through a Broken Window

My family ASSUMED and logically, I am the only member who is “available” to take on the 24/7 job of Mother caregiver.

Am I a willing participant?
I fear confrontation with that question.

Do I do the right thing and again shut the fuck up. My entire life has been this holding pattern; all my puny life, I’ve ALWAYS been the one whom everyone believes can stop and answer a call for help.
OR
Do I spill my guts on my own fears of permanently loosing the life I was attempting to build beyond my ASD.

If I’m brutally honest, how many lashings of the whip will I give myself; how many of YOU will cleave the meat from my bones? What will it take for me not to feel constant guilt in this conundrum? Will there come a time I won’t care?

Here, I can’t say it; I can’t even be honest with myself, in my own words. I typed it and deleted it.
The cogitation is too broad, too harsh.

I’ll put you to work filling-in the blanks. I have but one word to give you a start: prisoner.

When will I come first? When is it my turn to cull my own space?
When is it my turn to be happy and not emotionally emaciated?

All is lost.

I have to stop. Meltdown mode. May write more, later.

Keep on keeping on

Somewhere along the line an online friend of mine convinced me to continue posting blogs on WordPress.

AREN’T YOU GUYS LUCKY!

I’m posting all the blogs that I’ve written since the last time I messed around on this site. SO YOU ALL ARE VERY LUCKY!
LOL

Niko Gambeli

H.G. Wells, Griffin, & Nicholas

At what point does an Aspie become indistinguishable from the background?

Can I point myself out in a group picture or
Am I that shadow.
A spot in space?

As time passes, I’ll fade out.
Die away from people’s memories.
My name permanently forgotten.
My life permanently forgotten.
No spark in the collective unconscious.

deus ex machina

 

This free verse goes hand-in-hand with the blog:
I WANT CLAUDE RAINS TO PLAY ME!

.

I Want Claude Rains To Play Me!

This is another blog that I’ve pretty much written on the fly. Very little edit, presented with possible misspellings, and my thought process may seem non-linear.

Because of the events surrounding my Mom’s cancer I had to give up my place in the mountains and move down into the city: home of Focus on Your Own Damned Family; Who IS Lionel Rivera and why is he in charge of a this filthy, noisy, crime ridden city; and just WHAT has the USOTC done for this town other than bankrupt it.

I’m back, living in my childhood home as caregiver.

I’m an adult Asperger “kid,” who was pretty much lost on his own but still had some semblance of pride and identity.

Now, I’m in a leg-hold trap—soon to go glassy-eyed while trying to escape by chewing off my own foot.

A couple of weeks before Mom came home, I moved furniture around and removed interior doors to make it easier for her to get her walker around. I traded my old bedroom for hers to get her closer to the bathroom. I shampooed the carpet, washed the windows, and painted rooms. Took bag after bag of STUFF to Goodwill. All this while transporting my things from the mountain house, storing, or taking bag after bag of MY stuff to Goodwill. They know and love me there.

Mom’s physical state is such that she’ll never drive again so she signed over her car to me. It gets much better mileage than my truck. My truck: I sold my only means to the remote trailheads.

She cannot walk without the walker and still has the wound vac attached her surgical wound like a little leech. She can do a little cooking, a little laundry, a little of this and that, but she gets tired halfway through and I have to finish every job she takes on.

Then the chemo started.

It hasn’t knocked her for a loop yet, but she tires easily, sleeps more, I have to watch that she gets her supplements and meds, drinks water, and I prepare the meals and make sure she eats. I have to constantly quiz her on any side effects of the chemo; otherwise, she won’t volunteer the information. I flush her Picc lines and make sure the wound vac keeps suction. Bodily functions … yea, that too; I cut her hair, finger, and toe nails.

I set and keep track of her appointments, take her and stay with her; she’s mostly deaf, so I have to listen to the doctors and the nurses, answer for her when she either doesn’t hear or misunderstands a question, take notes and follow through. I do the grocery shopping; house and yard maintenance; pay all the household bills; and, thank god, I have finally organized her files so I can find her paperwork stuffs; and, thank god again, Mom had the wherewithal to give me Power of Attorney.

Since April, I’ve lost 15 pounds. Not good for a skinny guy to get even skinnier. I used to run 40K a week, but with the stress and sleepless nights, I’m lucky if I do 10K a week. I was in training for five trek hiking trips this summer—I had to cancel every one; my training has stopped dead.

I’ve acquired a number of muscular twitches and sudden pangs of pain that last from a few seconds to a few minutes.

What little social life I enjoyed along the mountain trails has stopped. With my form of Asperger’s, it’s an understatement to say I’m a strong isolator, but I did have some friends I enjoyed seeing. My social life now consists of cyber-friends on the social sites. Not a totally bad thing, there are many sweet people on board, but I can’t take them hiking up McCurdy Mountain.

My love life has never been a great go. But, now, who would want to date an Aspie guy who lives at home and takes care of his elderly mother?

I’ve had to take on half the contract work I used to do so my monetary resources are drying up.

At the first chemo treatment I was speaking with someone from the American Cancer Society when one of the nurses shot me “The Look.” Most Aspies know what this is. What perpetrated it was my lack of voice modulation. At the second treatment, I received “The Look” from two nurses. In the past, I’ve always noticed this NT behavior wherever I went. You never get used to it and drawing that kind of attention is embarrassing.

I’m not going to mention much about the obvious. If you’ve been following my blog you know to whom I refer. They keep paying lip-service and I keep nodding my bobblehead.

That’s an attitude I learned from my Dad. “Show no weakness” or “You god damned better FIX yourself!”

I am the The Invisible Man.

This post goes hand in hand with the free verse post titled:
H.G. Wells, Griffin, & Nicholas

OBJECTS IN MIRROR …

ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR
 
Sometimes I don’t recognize myself in the mirror.
I violate my own rigid Aspie principles to the point that face looking back at me is foreign.
Not only visually but, my brain is no longer controllable. My right brain takes over.
 
I met a woman on a social site. She’s 2700 miles away and we communicated through the site and emails—very personal emails. That in of its self is a danger signal to the logical side of my brain. She was intelligent, sometimes charmingly crude, a sense of weird aspie humor, and that made me hang in there. Besides, I’m attention starved, I loved her interest in me, and she said my profile pictures were “sexy.” She offered nothing but to feed my ego—the left side of my brain threw up its hands and gave up control to the emotional right side.
The face she presented was a lifetime of profound disappointment, personal tragedy, and estrangement. I’ve experienced all that but on a much different level. Definitely not profound by the definition of her life. Much of her Catch-22 is seemingly caused by Asperger’s, physical maladies, and a complete lack of a + b = c logic.
 
Asperger wise we had much in common.
Asperger wise we had nothing in common.
Day to day I came to one or the other conclusion.
Sometimes I’d read her emails and think, “One of us is insane,” — as in psychotic.
 
Earlier this week, her emails changed. No longer presented in neat sentences, they became raw, fractured four word thoughts. Within a few hours, she proclaimed several personal events had caused her go on a drinking binge. The next day her posts to the social site were profane and impersonal—she wasn’t attacking anyone in particular—just a general “Fuck all of you” across the board. Post after post of emotional explosions.
I don’t know which side of my brain told me to give her time to work it out.
Then I discovered she had accessed my business website beyond it’s bandwidth, crashing my site.
18 hours into this, a phantom-like post from a supposed relative attempted to calm her legend of cyber-friends. It backfired for me. It felt contrived, staged.
I teared up. The most emotion I’ve felt for another person in a long time …
I threw our cyber-relationship to Ammut.
I deleted her from my friend list, deleted all our emails, blocked her.

 

I’m writing this 4 days later.

I can laugh—somewhat—at my emotional idiocy.

In my living, breathing life, I’ve slammed my aspie heart away and now, I am locking up the cyber-heart too. I’m throwing the key into the vent in Halema’uma’u. It will melt away into the lava; become part of the Big Island, never to be seen in my or anyone else’s hands again.

.

I AM Carnac the Magnificent

OR PERHAPS

The Amazing Kreskin

OR PERHAPS

I’m a Drama King.

This thought came to me–oddly–as I was mowing the lawn.

Many of us Aspie’s are drama kings and queens.
As a rule we don’t mean to be, as a rule we’re unaware. 
Our brain wiring is just too hot!

But, on to the main subject at hand …

I AM Carnac the Magnificent

Could any of you predict that I would be RIGHT about my brother? On his own schedule, he’ll help me make the house handicap friendly.
That means,
I will do it bloody-well myself.

For Mom’s sake, I kept my F’n mouth shut.

… and the Drama continues …

deus ex machina

It’s The End of the World as We Know It

Physical therapy says Mom may come home in 1-2 weeks. They’ll go through the house with me and list what I need to do to make it more handicap friendly. Shower bars, moving furniture, re-purposing a couple rooms, may have to remove a door or two so she can get the walker through the thresholds.

She’ll be able to manage and help with a little of the cooking and housekeeping, but I’ll have to take over the bulk of it along with ALL the driving, shopping, groundskeeping, and become a medic of sorts. I’ll have to cut the programming contracts I take, won’t be able to make my job deadlines with all this other stuff going on.

One advantage of being an aspie-social-cripple: This won’t ruin a social life I don’t have anyway.

Still, I have been trying, quite unsuccessfully, to get to the monthly Aspie Social—haven’t made a single one yet.
I had to cancel all my backpacking trips this summer. Not getting up into the mountains will really put me down.

I hate these conflicting emotions: Happy to have Mom coming home but Depressed that my job and R&R are getting chopped.

NOTE: I didn’t mention my brother in this hoorah. Oh, just did.

Gambeli Update Ad Nauseam

I’ve reconfigured and added to my GAMBELI’S OFFAL page.
Also, added a new page of my famous humor.
My next job will be Aspie Standup Comedian.
HAHAHA!
X’D

Enjoy.

The Setup and the Reveal

For a refresher, see the post dated May 16, 2010.

Mom’s still in rehab. Slowly getting better. Will start chemo in two weeks or so.

Early into Mom’s long convalescence, my brother offered his assistance should anything happen in Mom’s house. Plumbing, electrical, yard work, whatever. “Call me if you need me … for anything. Anytime.”

I can fix just about anything. But an electrical problem forced me to call my brother for an additional hand in getting the job done. He lives an hour away. Realistically, I know he’s not sitting around waiting for a my call, but his cell phone rang up 1500 miles away! Obviously, he’s not coming and it’ll be a week before he can.

I did get the problem fixed, thanks to a great guy at one of the BIG hardware stores that starts with an “L.” His advice was invaluable. Thanks, Dude.

When I visited Mom yesterday, I gave her a quick unprejudiced account of the repair job.
It’s been unspoken knowledge between Mom and I—but periodically, she’ll surprise me by verbalizing what I’ve been thinking for years—that my brother’s promises ring hollow (and have for more years than I can count).
That he will always be conveniently away when needed.
All these years his timing has been impeccable.

Again, my selfish side emerges. I’m jealous of my brother. He went off and got a life. I’ll always be here, in the thick, taking care of family and business. If it weren’t for my Asperger’s and not really being able to cope “out there,” Mom would be SOL, and she told me as much.

I know when I see him in a week—or two or when-the-hell-ever—he’ll fill me with his fun plans for the summer. Should I be the martyr and I tell him that I had to cancel five backpacking trips? Should I outline the next 7 – 8 months of my driving Mom to chemo, sitting her through nausea, making sure she eats, and whatever else it takes to get her healthy and reasonably independent again?

A direct question deserves a direct counter attack.

Sprinting the Outer Diameter — Part 3

This is the first post I’ve written on the fly. My usual MO is to edit and re-edit ad nauseam—sit on it few days and re-edit again before posting. This time I’ve simply read it over and am presenting it in the raw.

I’m sure most Spectrumites have experienced society’s prejudices at sometime in their lives. Called “freak” or worse “retard” under the breath of classmates, workmates, or even relatives.

What is it that hurts the most? The instant labeling? The stigma? The litany of lip service? Being ignored, forgotten, considered superfluous, or ostracized?

I write this in retrospect to when I announced my Asperger’s diagnosis to my family. But, first, a small bit of history on them:
My sibling and his family can complain as much as they like to each other—on any physical or mental concern—ANY personal subject. They exchange proper words, sympathy, and support amongst themselves.

I am an outsider.

I’ve learned over the years that I should not share information with my family. Beyond vague news, I rarely divulge details concerning my life. They cannot be trusted not to react disparagingly. Regrettably, my memory often fades with time. I think, “They are intelligent people; they work with droves of associates and friends. Many of the students, engineers, and basement scientists they associate with are probably Aspie themselves.” I’m lulled into a false sense of needing to share—but always to my detriment. None of their familial understanding falls my way.

When I shared my diagnosis, the walls instantly crushed down on me. Of all their inquires, not one was addressed TO me—just AT me. It was a blind-side personal attack. I waited for it to stop and when it didn’t I wanted the earth to suck me in.
No one questioned why I’m the little brother who never belonged. Always facing left instead of the right. Never quite getting a life. No one asked, “What is it like.” “What can we do to help?”

Truly, what am I? A sucker?
Saw it coming and still had to spill the news.
Made myself a big-ass target.
Was it a desperate need to belong? I make my worst faux pas when desperate for understanding or human connection.

My analysis: Who are the freaks? Who are the retards? It doesn’t help me, mentally or emotionally, to turn the tables on them. By the time I have my come-back, they’re onto the next insult.

I’m profoundly lonely in my life and within my own family.
And that, my dear friends, is what hurts the most.

There is no safety net under my Aspie trapeze.

BTW, if you follow my blog, please give me sign. A comment, a thumbs up, something. Consider it another form of the desperation to belong.

Sisyphus has lost the boulder, again

I completely forgot to post for Mother’s Day as I’d promised after the Easter holiday fiasco (See post April 5, 2010).

On April 14, just one day short of her 84th birthday, my Mom fell in the garage. Thank goodness, she fell back on her butt before hitting her head on the cement. No broken bones. But she’d been suffering for several days with what we thought was the flu. I called the paramedics and they took her to the hospital for a checkup.

She’d suffered a vertigo attack caused by severe dehydration. The doctor’s did a CT scan, but because dehydration taxes the kidneys and isotope is even more taxing, she had to drink the low rez isotope. What came up was a large ovarian cyst. A GYN surgeon came in, operated, removed the cyst, and discovered it was benign. HOWEVER, while poking around, he also came across a very large cancer on the descending colon that was not evident on the scan. Another specialist came in, advised, and resected 9” of colon. A few days later, Mom’s kidneys recovered enough for a new CT scan using the high rez isotope. From that scan, they discovered the cancer is in three lymph nodes. There’s also something suspicious in her right breast.

She’s been at a rehab facility for 17 days and maybe another three weeks. I have to start making phone calls to the oncologist. He’ll give her a clue of prognosis. When she gets it, of course, it’s her choice if she wants to go for treatment. She hasn’t talked about it, but three years of watching my Dad endure metastasized colon cancer will be on her mind. Watching my Dad suffer, I’m not unfamiliar with the process of deterioration.

So … What do my Aspie sensibilities tell me?

My pragmatic self is keeping things together. I’m paying the household bills, keeping up the yard, and other such maintenance. Visiting Mom twice a day and meeting my work deadlines. Also, since I have Power of Attorney, I’ve been dropping useless subscriptions and changing or downgrading services to help her save money. Interesting, she’d rather pay extra for services she’s not using than go to the trouble of canceling them.

My emotional self is short of cracking up. The worst is my sense of selfishness. If my Mom dies, I will be Aspie alone for the first time. I’ll manage but it’s fucking scary. I don’t have a personal mentor or an emotional safety net “out there.”
You may ask where my sibling is during all this? Sailing at his favorite lake, literally. To be fair he does call and visit once a week. He’s asked me once how I’m doing. What else can I answer?

“I’m holding up,” says I … MY end, anyway.

Sisyphus has lost the boulder, again.

DEFINITION of INFO TECH & the REGULATOR/RECTIFIER

The orginal title of this post was The Definition of Information Technology and the Regulator/Rectifier but, lesson learned.

KISS—Keep It Short Stupid

I don’t have a voltage regulator or a gate to change the frequency of how messages get through to my brain.
Sometimes I get communiqués all at once or not at all.

Other times, I want the information but can’t pack it in fast enough—
Like a high amp appliance pulling electrons through a low-amp cord.

Nature & Other Strange Sightings

.
What is the nature of suffering?
Isolation.
What is the nature of sufferin?
Loneliness.
What is the nature of sufferi?
Self-loathing.
What is the nature of suffer?
Angst.

What is the nature of suffe?
Auditory.
What is the nature of suff?
Vision.
What is the nature of suf?
Olfactory.
What is the nature of su?
Touch.

What is the nature of s?
Input.
What is the nature of?
Output.
What is the nature o?
Jargon.
What is the nature?
Crush.

What is the natur?
Noise.
What is the natu?
Pain.
What is the nat?
Brain.
What is the na?
Nerves.

What is the n?
0000.
What is th?
0001.
What is t?
Unknown.

What is?
Me.

Enter … The Flea Circus …

Ever feel like some one has been looking at your life through a magnifying glass?

From Liane Holliday Willey’s book Pretending to be Normal:

“My deep, dark fear, the one that makes my bones scream, is that there are AS people in search of friendships who will never find any, no matter what they do, solely because of their AS.
… I know the reality that will wound them as they stumble forward, deeply lonely, and ever more estranged from others.”
.

Not Over Or …

… Under It.
Fact is, I’m moving on.
Not off and running but,
Rather,
A new species of aloneness.

I am
Not as naïve,
Not as free,
Not as giving.

I am
More guarded,
And more apt to hide.

Still raw but
Healing.
Still hollow and

Incomplete.
.
.

Zero to Zip

.
0 is workable

{  } is nothing
.