How do I draw a map to here? The last time I wrote something over 750 words was August of 2012. That was one dead father (Morgan’s), grandfather (also Morgan’s), birthfather (mine) ago. That was three cases of cancer (Morgan’s … Continue reading
There is a flash blog about what “Autistics Should” do. Many of the responses are going to be better than this one, and here is why: I’m just not a good activist, and presently I am overstressed and overloaded by so many things these days that righteous anger isn’t something I have access to right now.
That being said, when searching on Google, a host of disturbing auto-fill options pop up. Apparently, we should:
- be killed
- be exterminated
- [shouldn’t] have children
Between a foundling orphan kitten (only four days old), “Superstorm” Sandy, and a few other drama-things, I have been avoiding too much.
- I have an outline for an article, or possible multiple articles, about my battle to get SSD coverage, and my ongoing one trying to make heads or tails of the Medicare web site;
- I have ideas about explaining the things I taught myself in order to “pass” – which is the Holy Grail of Pyrrhic victories, and the impact it had, and why I am trying to actively deprogram some of it;
- Ideas for parallels with my “mothering” experience with the kitten, nurturing, the difference between blood and love, the myth of inherent maternal instinct, and numerous other issues that have nothing to actually DO with my adorable kitten;
- Also have ideas for posting about the relatively new battle going on in our home: Morgan’s mysterious chronic pain and neurological problems, and learning to balance them with pre-existing needs;
- Morgan and I are going on a cruise for our eighth anniversary. With a fair amount of luck, that will be a “happy” post.
There are a few others floating around, but these are the things on my mind at the moment.
Slight exaggeration of my elementary school. Springvale School, Fallout 3
On my first day of kindergarten, mom dropped me off at my ugly little elementary school with my backpack and verbal directions to my classroom – something about going up stairs, a second set of doors (or was it through the doors, going up the second set of stairs), a red phone. My mother didn’t want to be caught up in traffic or parking or anything else that might actually be Helpful to me, and drove off. I stood in front of the school. I couldn’t remember mom’s directions to my room.
I watched everyone disappear inside. I stood on the steps, heart pounding. I couldn’t speak or cry, though I wanted to do both. The school was built into a hill, so entering from the front I was walking into a dim, damp hallway. The dramatic lighting change made it difficult to see. Nothing had specific meaning. Painted brick walls, strange smell, squared off metal railing, speckled floor. Continue reading
What Are You Supposed To Do With That?
Article on “Mama Be Good” – I’d say more but most assuredly fuck it up.