One of those "Oh, yeah, right....." moments

I've been canning food for the past few days. Yesterday it was plum jam which unfortunately scorched at the last minute (this annoys me to no end- cheap, crappy, thin enamelware pot!!!). Today it was orange marmalade; I've just removed the jars from the boiling water and set them to cool. It looks nice, except that the orange peel won't stay in suspension but wants to settle towards the bottom half of the jar. I suppose this is due to using a pectin that doesn't set up until after teh product cools. It bugs me, though. I'll have to eat half the jar before I get to the part I like, or stir it upon opening. Neither choice makes me happy. (Yeah, I am crabby today).

Canning is a multi-tasking nightmare for me. I know for a fact that I don't ever want to do anything that requires a pressure cooker! Jams, jellies, pickles, and fruits are stresful enough, thanks. The first time I canned something, I was in mortal fear of poisoning our whole family if everything in sight wasn't sterile every step of the way. My god, I was afraid to breathe on the food... I tend to think that havign the right tools, set-up, and a well designed kitchen probably helps quite a bit. There's almost no counter space or available work surface in the kitchen I have right now. I do, however, have a decent water bath canner, jar lifter, a good assortment of lids, jars, rings, etc, and that helps. It's still stressful though, especially with lot of little kids underfoot.

Anyway, I got everything set up, prepared, the jars filled with orange marmalade, water bath canner steaming away with hot water, and commenced putting the jars in the canner. This is when the aforesaid moment occurred: I had enough water in there for 7 quart jars, so it should be more than enough for 7 pint jars, right? Well, as it turns out, no. Quart jars are taller and bigger around, but they also displace twice the amount of water....I had to add more, all for seven little pint jars. :Chamoisee feels stupid and begins to see the point in the short, very squat little jars that are only about 4" high.....:

I've had this book for some time without ever reading it. It's one of these that has an entry for each day of the year, and you read it and it's supposed to give you cause to think, or something productive to do or mull over. A modern day devotional, if you will. So I picked it up and flipped through it somewhat aimlessly...

April 27

Tell someone you love him or her.

It could be someone who obviously knows you love her, or someone who doesn't, or even someone who isn't quite sure. The point is, to speak, to say the words. (a few extraneous sentences) Don't worry about the other person's reaction. Some people will tell you right back that they love you, some people will be ambarrassed by your outward show of affection, and others will pretend that they didn't hear you.

(from How to be Happier Day by Day by Alan Epstein, Phd. This is copyrighted material and all that jazz.....)

My soul is full of irony.

Yesterday: I had three doctor or midwife appointments, all before noon. One of them got cancelled due to time crunch. Then I had to rush back here (Priest River, about 45 minutes away)to meet my friend, who was picking up some goats to take to the sale in Lewiston. She and I and another gal all pooled a handful of goats each to make the trip worthwhile, with each of us also pitching in for the gas. I was apprehensive, because I could only think of one or two does that I wanted to get rid of...and she needed to take more than that (and of course, I needed to sell more than that). Well, unbeknownst to me, one of the does I had in mind had expired a month before. She simply wasn't there. Nevertheless, we located a number of candidates in pretty short time, and I ended up sending seven off. There are still three buck kids (two for meat and one for potential breeding stock sale) and my oldest queen doe(to be sent away to retire at a nice place). After that I will have about only twenty left, which is quite a bit more managable. Best of all, I didn't cry or feel bad or guilty this time. The ones I sent weren't special and I won't miss them...some of them had bad attitudes and were troublemakers. One had hooked another doe's collar with her horns and was proceeding to drag her captive around the pen choking!! She went....and good riddance, too!

After that we had to run and pick up my daughter from her school, and then hurry back in time for me to go to work until 8 at night. It was a hectic day...but I'm glad that the excess goat problem was resolved a bit.

Also--> is this retarded or what?! Apparently Bonner General hospital will not allow a VBAC (vaginal birth after Ceasarian) for any reason, unless you are actually crowning (i.e, the baby is coming out) when you step into the door of the hospital. They say the liability for a VBAC is too high. This iritates me to no end. My first birth was a C-section, for reasons totally unlikely to recur. I have since had four normal vaginal births, three of which were at home. Yet, if I go to the hospital, I am too high risk to have a vaginal birth and they will force me to have another C-section!!! ::IRK::

The whole reason I was considering even the remote possibility of a hospital birth is that I had some serious cardiac arrhythmia during my last labor and birth. I was too close to having the baby to be moved to a hospital by then..moving me would have been riskier then just following through at that point, and we both came through it OK. If I start to have the arrhythmia again during this pregnancy (as I did last time) I would just as soon take the hospital route just in case....because I don't want to die just yet, thanks...and my net research indicates that this problem tends to get worse with each successive pregnancy. However, the thought of going under anesthesia and getting a C-section with a severely irregular heartbeat scares the living crap out of me!!! The whole idea was to have less risk, not more....

Groan...Newport hospital (Washington, just over the border) is apparently the only alternative nearby. Newport has such an abyssmal reputation that people go 30 miles further to Sandpoint because we are, almost across the board, from what I can tell, scared silly of going to Newport unless it is an absolute last resort. I can't think of anyone who voluntarily chooses to go there except under duress or for an emergency. It's actually kind of amazing that they're still in business.

I have no idea what I am going to do, other than another home birth and accepting the attendant risk involved.

An observation of artistic depictions of fairies and other winged humanoid-type fantasy creatures: Have you ever noticed that the wings are usually entirely too small and inadequate to actually support the weight of the fairy (or whatever)?Most insects, especially those who fly for extended distances or on a regular basis (as opposed to those who fly very briefly and occasionally, i.e. some beetles), have wings that are at least the size of their own body. What I mean is, each wing is about the size of the body or larger. In some cases, such as butterflies, moth, and dragonflies, the wings pretty much dwarf the rest of the insect.

Most or many representations of fairies have wings that are just large enough to be decorative but not useful. Often the wings are shown supporting the creature in a position that would not actually be seen in nature, and fairies who've landed still have their wings (decoratively) unfolded and displayed, not tucked away neatly and insects and birds do.

:Chamoisee ponders execution of a more realistic but still attractive depiction of fairies: If I do it, I'll try to post a picture of the results here.

I don't feel like myself without the goats. They have become as integral to my identity as my children.

Today a co-worker asked, "Well, how many goats do you have?"

"Forty or fifty."

Her jaw dropped open....There might be only 30-40, but I think it's probably above forty.

At least she didn't ask me why I have the goats...because that'd be a harder question for me to answer.

How can I explain how stressful it is for me to be surrounded by people, even perfectly nice people, all day long? To constantly have to stretch and strain my mind and conciousness to accomodate their patterns of thought, their ways of doing things? To hear them, smell them, see them, be seen by them, try not to bump into them or be inadvertently touched by them, and the list goes on.... If I'm already stressed or in pain then it takes even more effort to cope. I must be doing OK, because I haven't had any panic/anxiety attacks for a long time. Mostly I just feel very, very tired of people and exhausted.

The goats are the antidote, the counterbalance to all this. They don't care if I flap or talk to myself or hold entire conversations with them about my fantasies and daydreams and ideas. They don't care much what I look like, and they prefer my ordered routine for feeding and milking them. Not only do they not care that I'm different, but they seem more bonded with me and less flighty than around other people. We have a connection, we understand one another. I can go to them all stressed out, in tears, I can be at the point of breaking down entirely....and they pull me through, they calm me and the rest of the world fades away amid the calm cud chewing, amber eyed, familiar goaty faces. :-)

I am completely confused and befuddled by the mysteries of the male penis and sex drive, and not sure I'll ever really figure it out:

• A guy can get an erection for a girl he wants to be with.
  
• A guy can be attracted to a girl and want to sleep with her but be unable to have the erection.
  
• A guy can have an erection, even to the extent of being triggered by the presence of the girl, and yet have no desire to sleep with her?
  
• A guy can have an erection for and want to screw a girl that he feels nothing for. He might even dislike or hate her.
  

It all seems hopelessly disconnected and nonsensical to me....

As a female, it seems pretty cut and dried. If I want to be with someone, I tend to feel aroused. I don't think I've ever felt turned on by someone I didn't want. Sometimes I love a person and feel affection for them, but am not in the mood; however, I don't feel desire at that time. It's sort of either there or it isn't. How in the heck men can claim that women and women's desire is complicated is beyond me...

I am feeling disheartened. We've been rentign the place I'm in for a year and a half now, and having 5 kids in a 1 bedroom house has been pretty stressful. I don't really care to attempt it with the addition of a newborn baby. Previously, I didn't make enough to be able to put even a tiny down payment down on a place of our own, or to qualify for much of anything at all. Now, with slightly higher wages, I do...and I don't scrape bottom every month like I used to when I was working seven days a week and hardly getting by (now I work only 4 days a week). Unfortunately, land prices have since skyrocketed at what can only be termed as an insane rate. The people here do not make enough to afford the prices that the real estate is selling at. Newcomers moving in had better have a damned secure retirement fund or something...because they are extremely unlikely to be able to sustain themselves otherwise. Personally, I harbor the malignant thought that we haven't had a truly nasty, i.e. normal north Idaho winter for a very long time, almost a decade. It just doesn't routinely hit -35 anymore, let alone stay that way for several weeks. People gripe if it delves to the comparatively mild -15.... See, that's what we need, a true blue Idaho winter to drive back some of the new growth so that the ones who really love the area with all its vagaries can afford to stay here.

*******************************Despair!!!!!*********************************

I know exactly what I want: acreage and a house.

The acreage: preferably at least 5 acres, though I'd settle for 3-4 happily enough under the right conditions. Water, in the form of a well in existence or a price low enough that I could afford to have one drilled. Power and phone and access (why would anyone buy land that they cannot legally get to??!!) It needs to be in an area that doesn't restrict me from having the goats...otherwise I had might as well get some dismal place in town. In all honesty, I'd prefer something that hasn't been raped to death (in other words, clear cut), but I would buy clear cut land if the price were low enough...regrettably...and then replant portions of it. Better than getting bought by someone else, paved over and planted in lawn or worse, allowed to rejuvenate and then clear cut once again!!!! Also, after seeing what happens with goats in a very damp, low lying place, I'd sort of like to get something a bit dryer overall, or for it least to have a dry area on it somewhere for the goats. Ideally, said area would have rocks for my girl to practice their caprioles on ;-) but again, I don't mind hauling boulders in for them.

The house: actually, I don't want a perfect dream house ready to move into. A run down fixer-upper or a mobile home (we could move one onto the acreage if the prices of both allowed for that) would be just fine for now. What I really want is to build my own place, myself. I want to sink my soul deep into the house and the land, to plan it all out and live in the work of my own hands.

So, the house: Paper bale construction, made of recycled paper that'd otherwise wind up in a landfill somewhere. The foundation could be either of recycled tire bales or plastic bales (for example, baled up plastic laundry bottles- yes, there is such a thing). By necessity and design, such a house has to be one story and of either a very basic square or rectangular design. I like simple rooflines anyway. Exterior finish, concrete stucco, a soft sienna color, with light french blue trim. Interior, some heavy duty plaster that'll stand up to scrubbing, with whitewash finish or paint in cool whites, paler versions of the french blue, and perhaps soft buttery yellows. Floors- either soil cement in sienna or ultramarine tones, wood (plywood would be fine) or possibly clay/terra cotta tile or natural stone in some areas, *sealed* against dirt buildup and cushioned with woven cloth rugs. In the bathroom area, a floor drain. Kitchen- a large stainless steel sink, the sort you find in a diary or restaurant. You know, the kind we have in the deli where I work!! It drains by turning a handle from the outside- I love that feature. Mostly I want the kitchen to be bright and sunny, not dark, dismal, or depressing. In fact, I want the entire house to be fairly bright and natural. No drywall anywhere....I have come to loathe drywall...and I would like to incorporate large built in planters (of soil cement) throughout the house: in the kitchen for a small herb garden garden (possibly under an overhead drain rack or near the sink for easy watering), the living room, and the bathroom. Well.....bark plaques of orchids might be OK for the bathroom....:-) Anyway, lots of windows, lots of light. I need to find an energy efficient way to use a lot of windows..because one of the huge benefits of paper bales is their very high R value.

More on this pipe dream (sans pipe) later.....

Incident at work today:

A couple waits at the coffee counter impatiently for someone to make epressos for them. Two 20 oz mochas with chocolate milk (this seems like sacrilege to me...but I comply without comment) and a flavor...I think it was English Toffee. I search for the flavor, it isn't there, one of the bottles totters and crashes to the floor, splattering sticky syrup and broken slivers of glass....oh lovely.... They are silent to this catastrophe...it is just another obstacle to their lattes being made quickly. They decide that they'll settle for vanilla instead.

Being aspie (Asperger's syndrome) which is just a fancy term for very high functioning and verbal austitic, I don't often make direct eye contact with people, especially people I don't know or trust (i.e. almost everyone). But I do look at people indirectly, not at their eyes, or glance at them while they aren't looking right at me. I sneak a look at these two while I'm preparing the awful chocolate milk. The woman had contempt in her voice, and she's about what I'd expect. Low class white trash with an "I'm better" attitude, streaked dyed blond hair. Smoker, makeup, not pretty, acts like she's worth a million or some damned thing. The guy's a regular, and I'm a little surprised to see him with this fairly cheap looking gal, because he looks like a decent sort. I am making the shots of coffee.

Just then, I hear him say these words, and my opinion of him plummets lower than the woman: "I see a FAG." His voice is full of hatred, imagined, fantasized acts of violence, and above all, loathing. I feel my left eyebrow arch critically with contempt, attitude, and smart assed remarks that I will not say. Who does he think he is, to go around picking people out at random, hating them because he imagines that they aren't attracted to women, like the slouchy piece of goods he has? What business of his could it possibly be? Why in the hell should he care?! They have seen the mounting coldness and precision and extreme politeness in me...as I silently vow that if possible, I will never wait on these two again.

Still fuming after they walk off, I think to myself that I should have told them: "Better than the Fetal Alcohol Syndrome Rednecks around here!!!"

Honestly, why in the world did he feel the need to broadcast and announce his antipathy and prejudice to the world at large? Couldn't he contain his own hatred like poison in a bottle instead of spewing it around? Why did he think we all needed to hear it and agree with him? How can he be so sure that A: I'm not gay, or B: that the man he spoke of, is? Asshole....

Yeah, I have prejudices too....for people like him (and her).

I stumbled across a page of demographics for Priest River, Idaho, and now I'm depressed. Consider the following:

Median household income: Local $26,765 (National $41,994)

Education: of 1271 people in the 1999 census, 338 of us haven't graduated from high school or completed a high school equivalency. That's over 20% of our adult population!

Employment: out of a population of 1,327 people aged 16 and older, 724 of us were not employed(!)

Sex and income: In 1999, out of 478 men, only 42 of them made 50K a year or more. For women, the stats are worse: of 378 women, only 2 women made over 50K, and these made less than 54,999. Most of us make less than 20K. Remember, these stats are for the people who were able to find work.

Our area voted for George W in 2004. Now, that's depressing!

To be fair, a LOT of people did not participate in the 199 census, and I was one of them. *But* I have a nasty feeling that this wouldn't alter the results much, and it might even make them worse.

It's almost enough to make me want to move. So, why do I live here? There are practical, rational, logical reasons: for example, my ex lives here, and we have shared custody of our three small children together. Moving would necessitate stressful commuting or long periods of time away from the children for one or both of us. My mate and I both have jobs in this area, and frankly, getting a steady job that we're happy about isn't easy for aspies...so this makes us leery of relocating. The cost of living here is lower than someplace like, say, Sandpoint, Idaho...a place where I could find more likeminded souls of a more intellectual bent (considering that Sandpoint is only 25 miles away, I can easily drive there when I want to).

In truth, my real reasons for staying where I am are wholly emotional and subjective: I am attached to the place, damn it! I know the nooks and crannies of the forests, the store where I work is the same one that I used to dart in and out of furtively as a socially phobic teen, the faces I see include some that I've known for close to two decades. I may have undergone a transformation from a bible thumping conservative who fervently believed that all of creation was put there by God for the use of mankind into a liberal agnostic leaning towards a gentler, more ecologically sound approach....but I still swoon with delight when some logger walks by the deli with the scent of fresh trees and pine sap wafting about him (I try to ignore the fact that yes, I also like the aroma of chainsaw intermingled with it, and that somewhere, there are a lot of stumps where a forest used to be). This is my home, and I am as deeply rooted in this place as the flora around me.

I'll try to overlook that my coworkers (avid readers of tabloids and romance novels- when they read at all) are shocked that I actually read non-fiction and listen to classical music (country-western is the standard fare here). Or that the school age girls my kids play with have only been to the library once. Try as I might, I can't quite reconcile myself to the fact that my son's school mates tease him relentlessly for being brainy and the best reader in his class (and possibly in the school). He's actually told me that he's going to give up reading -his passion- because it doesn't do him any good and the other kids hate him for it. But this is where change comes in; someone has to care enough to want it to be different, and I like to believe that even a few voices can make a difference.

Maybe someday we can have the best of both worlds?

What is going on here:

Elton John's "If there's a God in Heaven" seems very appropriate to me today. Some of the verses:

If there's a God in heaven
What's he waiting for
If He can't hear the children
Then he must see the war
But it seems to me
That he leads his lambs
To the slaughter house
And not the promised land
------------------------------------------------------------

I'm making lunch right now: onions, eggplant, mushrooms and zucchini sauteed in olive oil. This will go with steamed rice. It's pretty much the sort of thing I've been eating for the past ten years, but I didn't realize just how expensive it was: onions, .79 #, and the one I used was close to a pound, eggplant, $1.50 (I got it on sale, lucky me), the zucchini was free at the thrift store, otherwise...I don't know, ay least .69 a # and probably more...mushrooms, I got on sale also, a dollars worth. The olive oil is about $24 for close to a gallon, and it lasts a long time. I don't know about the rice, I buy it in bulk.

Three years ago, I would have skipped the eggplant and mushrooms and added some cheddar cheese on the top. Here's what it would have cost:

Onions- I grew all the onions
Zucchini and other summer squash- I grew these as well
garlic- I could be liberal with it because we grew that, too.
rice or pasta, bought in bulk, a dollar a pound or less
olive oil- roughly the same
cheese- for this dish (enough to feed the whole family) I would probably have used .25# of cheese at $2 or $3 #.

Of course, I left out the eggplant and mushrooms, but these items were hard to get. My partner disliked buying them excpet for special meals, and after all, we had more than enough summer squash, so much that it was being fed to the goats. Right now, it wouldn't save me any money to use more squash unless I could get more of it for free from the thrift store.

Other meals commonly eaten then:

Cream of spinach soup: with homegrown onions, garlic, milk, and spinach. Only the flour and butter for the white sauce base had to be purchased. Sometimes we used stinging nettles instead and that was even better. I believe I also used lamb's quarter's (a wild green) on at least one occasion.

Stir fried vegetables over rice (most of the veggies homegrown, the rice boughten).

Vegetable soup: same thing, except that there were usually dried beans and a can of tomato paste.

Pesto sauce with pasta- homegrown basil and parsley, boughten olive oil and parmesan cheese and pasta (oh well, one has to splurge soemeimes!!!)

Borscht: homegrown beets, onions, garlic, potatoes, and dill. Bought the sour cream and minimal amounts of cider vinegar and honey used.

There were bizarre dishes for breakfast that are hard for me to describe...soemtimes they were also lunch or dinner. Basically, you fry up an onion, add some leftover pasta or rice, summer squash if you have it, and the stir in some scrambled eggs and let those cook, and top it off with cheese. A little chopped up kielbasa can be added. It was good as long as the eggs were fully cooked (we grew the eggs too, or bought farm eggs). After I gave birth to my fourth son, I wanted eggs nearly all the time, and so I wanted this particular dish almost 3x a day!!! I must have been anemic from the blood loss....

Popeye pancakes: like a cross between a pancake and an omelet baked in the oven- homegrown fruit (raspberries or apples), milk, and eggs. The butter and flour were purchased.

Now, making most of this stuff wouldn't save me a lot of money. I'd have to buy the eggs, milk, veggies, and fruit. I've started buying my food in bulk again, and that does save money.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
I guess what I'm thinking is, I didn't value my work there very much. Even though I grew most of those veggies as well as the milk, and was a prominent figure in picking the fruit or finding free fruit elsewhere to pick, AND I did a lot of the cooking (which was sometimes time/labor intensive), along with birthing, nursing (which saved on formula and medical bills) and caring for five children (no daycare), I still felt like a lazy slouch.

Again, I could blame this on him, but one has to be responsible for one's own state of worth, happiness, and well being. And frankly, I didn't relaize how much all that was worth, how much money I was saving, until I actually had to go out and buy it all- *ouch*!

I've been reading a book about financial repsonsibility. Most of it, so far, seems like common sense to me...but it is full of all manner of horror stories, of looming debts and credit card accounts run amok, bouncing checks galore, bankruptcy, etc etc. I am havign a hard time conceiving of making the sorts of choices made by soem of the unfortunate (but true) examples detailed.

And it's odd....because I was a flagrant spendthrift in my youth, the sort of kid who had her allowance spent the very moment it landed in her hand. After I hit my teens, I had almost no money at all to spend, and certaily not enough to get experience with handling it responsibly. I could either credit or blame it on my ex, but that's hardly fair...and his first wife was reportedly less responsible than I am (though my information on this subject is limited and secondhand).

Ya know, I think what it is, is that I was bascially tossed out on my ear, homeless, as soon as I left home, and I've had to fight/work my way up from there. All the while, the threat of the streets gnaws at me soemwhere, in the back of my mind. It scares me...and I don't like that...but it's also what keeps me in line and motivates me to squirrel money away and be frugal and careful. Also...I developed survival techniques...you just can't be homeless or desperately poor without either resorting to handouts/panhandling/other forms of prostitution or, alternately, becoming very skilled at making the utmost of every available resource that comes your way.

I didn't give my boss enough credit. After bringing up the subject with him, my mind is at rest. He doesn't want anyone to suffer, and I think that if he had been aware of the situation, it would have been resolved much more quickly and decisively than it was. Perhaps it isn't so much a matter of distrust or lack of credit as it is fear/expectation of mob or group mentality. I was afraid he would agree with what the other managers had said and done...because that is what people tend to do. A lot of people simply don't bother to make up their minds or consider facts- it's easier to go with the flow.

I also realized part of why I was so upset by the incident: I love my job. I like working at the store, it feels like a second home to me. I am *attached* to the place. The assitant manager told me I was "sick" when I told her that...she was sort of joking....I didn't want to have to leave it or quit.

The newest twist now is that the people who opposed the girl leaving work early are saying that if she didn't have so much sex with her boyfriend, every night, they say, she wouldn't have so many backaches or cramps!!! Excuse me??!! Since when is my co-worker's sex life my business? It's not. It is not anyone's place to dictate whether she should have sex or not or how often.... :rolls eyes:....How do they know the details? Perhpas she just snuglles with her boyfriend half the time, or maybe she gets laid 3x a night. Either way, I don't care to know or think about it.

Now, I ask you: would they make such a rude, uncalled for judgment if she were married to the guy? "She and her husband have too much sex, she needs to settle down and grow up!" Seriously, who would have the balls to say that? Why does it suddenly become grounds for debate simply because she isn't married to or even living with him? Rude!!!! Rude, rude, rude.......

(And I'm not saying that I agree with casual sex or not, that isn't the issue here). It's only that even mentioning such a thing is grossly, glaringly unprofessional and should have no bearing on whether or not her state of health allows her to work on a given day.

I got mad today
___________________________________________________________________

Here's why:

I showed up at work in a happy, upbeat mood, ready to charge right into doing the dishes and to bread lots of chicken, as usual. But then...

My coworker comes into the back room (where the sinks are and I was). She has tears running down her cheeks and is sobbing. I haven't seen her this way before. Upset, yes. Emotional, almost always. Crying like her heart is broken, no.

OK folks, I'm an aspie. Things like this aren't supposed to bother me. After all, "autistics lack empathy". (Bullshit!! we just feel and show it differently!)

But it did. I'm not even close to her. She's a co-worker. That's all.

Now----> She was crying because: She is at least 8 months pregnant, and she was having very painful cramps in her lower pelvic area, causing shooting pain to go down her legs. I have felt this. I know what that feels like; it hurts like bloody hell. It happens during labor. The fact that she was cramping concerned me...she shouldn't be cramping up at all until closer to her due date...in September..not early August...

The manager wouldn't let her go home, despite the fact that she was visibly in tears and too much in pain to be productive or good for anything at all in the deli. The girl sat down for a blessed moment on the cans of dry goods in the back room and stole some measure of relief...even if only for a moment or two..

I was incensed!!!!! Yes, we usually have a third person there so she can cover for us while we take our lunches. Screw the lunches! Send her home and let her rest before she suffers a minute longer or worse yet, goes into full fledged labor! I wondered whether the store would be at all liable if overworking her and refusing to allow her to go home sick had such an effect....I suspect not. I wondered whether anyone would get in trouble if the baby wound up premature in an incubator...or would it just get shrugged off as 'one of those things'.

The biggest manager in the store happened to come by, and I immediately informed her that my co-worker was in serious pain and needed to go home...she abdicated the authority to the deli night manager and basically washed her hands of it. I was seriously tempted to talk to the boss, who was also in the store....but to be honest, I like the boss. I don't want to be confronted with the harsh reality that perhaps he wouldn't care. Maybe we aren't people with feelings and needs and aches and pains, to him. Maybe we're just worker drones. I don't want to know, I don't want to find out. So I didn't.....

Part of my fury was self-centered; I see this girl work, and I'm impressed. She is doing a hell of a lot better than I will be at her gestation. I know that, I've already had five of them. I'm five months along now. My last prgenancy was, in a word, hell. I was in a lot of pain in the third trimester. My hips got bad enough that at times, every step felt like liquid fire. I was out of breath, my heart hurt a lot and was irregular and I had lightheaded spells, because my heart was also giving me trouble. All this was in addition to the pelvis soreness and achiness that, frankly, gets worse with every prgenancy. I spent an awful lot of time in bed simply because standing up and doing things was agony and too strenuous. I was picturing myself in the shoes of this girl: in serious pain and unable to leave and go home without getting fired. They've already done that to me before, when my hips were giving me hell.

In short, I pitched a fit and let it be known that I was considering a different job if this is the way pregnant women can expect to be treated. I don't ask for kid-glove treatment...just humane consideration...like other people get. Like the girl who used to whine about menstrual cramps and headaches used to get. Like the night manager gives herself- one day she went home early simply because she didn't feel like being there that day.

In the end, we found someone to substitute for her, and she did get to go home early. Her tears dried, and she was happier simply knowing that she'd get to go as soon as her replacement arrived. Hope is like that....

But the incident has sown a lot of doubts in my mind about the job......

LOL, LOL.......

I just realized why a lot of those does at the Nationals didn't look so hot, for a change. See, I've seen maybe half of them (or their herds, at least) before, and shown against them. I didn't do well, and I couldn't understand why my does were so lean in comparison to theirs, how they could keep flesh on their does if they were milking like mine do (which is well- I cull does who don't produce according to my standards, perfect udder or no).

I would go to a show, and they'd commnce milking their does some 14-16 hours before the show. (Normally, a dairy animal gets milked twice a day, 12 hours between milkings). Well, I'd milk the very stressed does or those who had gone off their feed (due to the stress of the show and new surroundings) 14 hours beforehand, but most of them got milked about 12 hours before. Its hard, because you don't know how long the judge will take in judging the animals. Some are pretty danged fast and others take a very long time and the show stretches into the night. I don't want to risk my animals being in pain or serious discomfort...so 12 hours is usually enough, by the scheduled time, because it's generally longer than that before they go into the showring.

Anyway, other exhibitors don't usually do that. I was told flatly that I would lose if I didn't have 15+ hours of milk in my doe's udders. I didn't lose, they placed about where they should have.... Sometimes the other does are leaking a lot of milk or standing hunched up and in pain. Most of them don't leak. Their teats have had a special "stop-leak" glue applied to the orifices. Sometimes my does leak, too. They're used to dam raising their kids (others generally bottle feed) and they aren't really used to having even 12 hours of milk at one time, it's sometimes too much for what they're producing. I have been known to milk them out a little before the show because they are TOO FULL...and I don't want my does to be in pain.

Anyway...I couldn't figure out why these other does, who I've stood behind in the local shows before, looked so...ordinary...at the biggest show they could go to!

I woke up laughing.....because I suddenly realized why.

The National Show requires what is known as a milk out. Everyone has to milk out their does at the same time before the show. It's either 12 or 14 hours beforehand...and there are people who come along and check that every doe has been thoroughly milked out....completely. There was VERY little over-uddering at the National, a whole lot less than I've seen locally. Most of the does who were overfull were very young, their udders weren't used to holding a lot of milk yet.

All this time, I've been unfairly comparing my productive dairy goats to these overfed show animals who don't even begin to produce what mine do...and it never hit home until now....LOL.....I have spent I don't know how much money buying expensive, registered stock at high prices from these people....(and then been dismayed when many of the does didn't produce a whoel lot)...all the while bemoaning what I had...LOL, LOL. Oh, the irony....

I just got back from the National ADGA Dairy Goat Show. I am thinking (without any sound evidence to the fact except for high probability) that it is the biggest, most complete (inasmuch as the best specimens are represented) goat show in the world. And this year, it was only an hour away!! What an opportunity! My only regret at this point is that I didn't have my act together enough to have attended as an exhibitor, rather than as a spectator.

By pure coincidence, the only day when I could conveniently attend without it being a pain in the a$$ also happened to be the day of the Alpine show (the breed I raise)! Sweet. This is the first time I've been to a National; I've dreamed about it for years...(yes, even as a spectator).

So- my persective on the long awaited event:

• The event was not as intimidating as I had thought it would be
  
• Some of the people I'd wanted to meet were...less nice than I had imagined.
  
• Others- total strangers I'd never heard of, were extremely nice and friendly
  
• There were herds that I'd had a LOT of respect (even awe) for, and after seeing the animals in the flesh, and in comparison with other herds...in some cases I flat out lost the respect...in most cases the awe simmered down to interest or a footnote. In retrospect, a lot of the awe was due to hype or publicity or a huge, overinflated ego on the part of the breeder.
  
• There were herds that I hadn't paid much attention to...and wrongly so. I'll be keeping a closer eye on them in the future.
  
• And then there were the classics: herds that I knew I respected, and that I retained respect for.
  
• One thing that also struck me: many of the does were beautifully bodied but didn't seem too productive!! A National Show Animal ought to have more than 2-3 quarts in her udder...epsecially a mature doe.... In a lot of the cases, I can honestly say that my does produce better.
  
• The foreudders were not of the caliber of excellence that I had been (unrealistically) holding my does to.
  
• Feet!!!! Breed for better feet, people! And for better legs, too.
  
• Some of the does, including mature does, were small! I mean, really small. I won't be as obsessive about this (though it's still important to me not to own runts!)
  
• And...I hate to say this...but I retain my loathing for the falsehood of posing and concealing faults. One doe placed high in her class for a nice topline, when in fact, she has a roached loin. Her handler had posed her well enough to straighten her back out when she was standing. As a handler, this is our job...to make our animals look good...but the judge should look out for this when the doe is walking. But with some 40-50 does in a class, something is bound to get overlooked...
  
• Last but not least, I came away from the event with a much greater respect and appreciation for my own does. I saw only one doe that I coveted. There were does who were nicer than mine, but I didn't see anything that made me want to throw mine away and buy all new stock. In fact, I felt a little bit...smug. My does are good. They wouldn't have placed at the top of the line...but neither would they be at the end. My breeding program is headed in more or less the right direction and I'm extremely happy with what I have. :-)
  

Reading: A Species for Eternity

This is a neat book. Of course, I'm biased...because this tome about American maturalists and botanists features my ancestor, John Bartram, prominently. This guy was just flat out cool. He was a Quaker, but eventually managed to get himself kicked out of the meetinghouse (or whatever they call it) since he couldn't believe that Jesus was divine, and espoused the (then) modern theories of Newton. He found at least as much joy and fascination in plants as I do, and shipped 150+ new species to England, to be classified (classfication has just been introduced by Linnaeus...the two were contemporaries and correspondants). He became a very competent botanist despite that fact that he had a very limited formal education and didn't know Latin (a disadvantage in the circles he moved in). He opposed slavery and set a slave free who had been born into the family. On top of all this, the man was a pretty accomplished self taught artist. IIRC, so was his son, William. I haven't gotten to that part yet.

The book is interesting in its own right, though. I never really realized how much trading of plant material took place between America and England, France, etc, especially at that time. It kind of makes me sad though...becuase these men, from all different backgrounds, countries, religious persuasions, were drawn together in the pursuit of science and were very generous with one another towards that end both in terms of time, expense, and trouble (John Batram went out for weeks or months at a time on plant collecting expeditions, braving wild animals, hostile Indians, and risking his own poor health). He did all that while raising a family with 7 kids and managing his own farm!

And now....if a layman wanted to do something like this, it'd be so hard. Just consider the regulations and restrictions on plant material and seeds! I understand that there are reasons for that....but what resources and potential are we sacrificing by doing this? Would we see such brotherly cooperation between countries, across political lines, regarding plants never before identified or seen by a white man's eye? I can't help feeling disappointed by the way things are today.

Aspie relationships revisited
_____________________________________

I'm still of the opinion that an AS + NT relationship is likely to be fraught with difficulty without extensive, ongoing work and acceptance by both parties involved. It could be (fairly) said that this will be true of any relationship, and I will grant that. However, I think that this sort of mating has even more hardship than the usual and both parties are less equipped to adequately understand their mate than would usually be the case.

************moving along then****************

An AS + AS relationship:

Communication and understanding are less of a problem.
Trying to survive and hold down jobs can add stress.
If sensory issues conflict, it can cause trouble. For example, one party craves scents while the other is absolutely repulsed by them.
There is a tendency to assume that the other party knows what you are thinking...Oops!
More tolerance of touch aversions, tactile sensitivies, and overload.
Emotions can spike easily on both sides.
Arguments can result in cold silent wars until one or both parties relent.
Natural solitude can easily be mistaken for sulking.
If special interests conflict or compete.....uh.....hmmm.
Overall though, I have found that there is a lot of mutual joy and happiness and security in knowing that there is someone else like you who understands and accepts you because they are that way too.

Rodeo Days, Woo-Hoo...
-------------------------------------------------------------
Ok, as promised, I review the Rodeo Days Weekend (last weekend, I am still reeling from the 7-4 madness this week).

First of all, I didn't go to the Rodeo. I stayed at the store and dutifully cooked more deli food and fried chicken than I care to think about. My customers were many, hurried (they had to get to the rodeo) and ate lots of deep fried food. Nearly all of them were very excited and hyped up about the rodeo. The girls who had to stay at work were bummed...they wanted to go. One was able to leave early so she got to go after all. Secondly, I could care less about the rodeo. I had absolutely NO interest in going.

It just isn't my thing, and I had a hard time explaining why. Seeing grown men hop off horses and wrestle a small calf to the ground 10-15 times in a row is, well, boring (along with being a pathetically misguided show of machoismo). I can see no sex appeal there. I can admire barrel racing- it involves skill and quite a bit of work, and it doesn't hurt, scare, or traumatize any animals. let's not even get into what a low opinion I have on goat roping.... As for bareback riding and bull riding: in all honesty, why would a girl find this sexy? The poor guys look like limp rag dolls tied to the comparatively gracefully twisting and struggling chunk of muscle beneath them. Every time they land hard, I picture what it must feel like for their balls to get smashed like that, and I wince. I can't help wondering if it affects their performance.....and I'm sure that it must cause damage... Why would any sane girl *want* a guy who does that habitually and publicly?

So when they asked me why I didn't want to go and had no enthusiasm, my response was that, IMHO, the rodeo is nothing more than a (tamed down) modern day version of the Roman colosseum. (The same would go for wrestling, boxing, football, and other contact sports).

So....Starurday night, the second to last bullrider was a 17 year old kid. His bull hadn't been ridden much before, and it was mean. To make a long story short, the kid lost his balance, and his head went forward while the bull's head went back. Someone said that the bull's horn gored his skull, the paper merely stated that the bull's head hit his head and gave him a concussion. At any rate, he fell off, and then the bull stomped on/kicked his head and chest. He had protective chest gear on but no helmet (got to leave room for that fancy hat). He died in the helicopter en route to the hospital. This is our entertainment. People paid to see this.

I rest my case.

Aspie Relationships (maybe autistic relationships in general)
________________________________________________________________
Anyone who is autistic or has ever been in a relationship with an aspie knows how challenging (understatement!!) such things can be for us. I think there are several areas of difficulty...

Most of us wind up in an NT+AS match at least once. I tend to think that while not impossible, these matings are inclined to be extremely hard to establish and maintain with both parties happy. When I say happy, I don't mean euphoric-forever-madly-in-love. Just, happy-I'm-glad-we-did-this-and-we-like-each-other-still.

Why?

Partly because the NT has to adjust to us, and they're disused to doing so. Aspies are well aquainted with having to adjust to NT's and accede to them at times. It's the story of our life, after all... Herein lies another area of conflict and unhappiness: the aspie is *sick* of having to play head games and make concessions all day long, their entire life long. We want to be able to relax and let our hair down for a change, to be liked for who we really are. If the NT only likes us as long as we can maintain the "NT masquerade", it's not really us that they love; it's the NT mask that we're wearing (at an enormous personal price). It can't be maintained 24/7 for months at a time. The real person will show through when the effort of keeping up the facade proves too stressful or when the NT earns our trust enough that we start to let them see a little of our real selves.

A number of NT's that I've talked with online mention feeling dismayed and somewhat betrayed, or duped, when they find out that their aspie lover is more than just a little eccentric. No folks, we are very eccentric, and we do have areas of hardship in dealing with the world at large, just as you have faults of your own. Asking us to retain the mask ALL the time is....not love. Sorry. :-/

We're not perfect...not by a long shot. Speaking for myself mostly, I've felt isolated from the world for most of my life (uh, maybe all of it). It's like an invisible wall seperating me from other people. I can observe them, but I'm a foreigner. Not theirs. I routinely feel lonely...lonely in a way that I suspect normal people rarely do...like the deepest ocean, almost bottomless and with no islands in sight anywhere, not even a bird. This has been more or less the norm for me, and there are very, very few people who have been able to pierce that loneliness or to walk through my wall more than momentarily (at least I have plenty of tiem to think and mull things over). Can you imagine feeling deeply, desperately lonely, like a black void crying out in agony, while you are in the midst of lovemaking and your mate is having a great old time? I can hardly think of anything worse...but I've experienced that more times than I care to count, and far more often than it's been otherwise, unfortunately. It isn't about physical satisfaction, it's about feeling that someone knows the real you.

Library is shutting down so I'll resume this at home!!

Sensory Preception and Autism
_______________________________________________________________

I found a site which actually contains some very accurate,hit-the-nail-on-the-head information about autism. Scroll down and take a look at the spider-type diagrams, especially the second one. I have experienced most of those things. This is a fascinating article...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sensory Overload at the Workplace....
_______________________________________________

The last three days have been just *insane* at my job. It's rodeo weekend, with a large rodeo and carnival just 5-6 miles away in our neigboring town. If you haven't encountered my blog before, I work in the deli/bakery of a gorcery store. At first, I ran from the customers and could hardly function, but I adjusted. Now I'm a very competent worker. Anyway, I've had to work all three days!! We have been deluged with insistent people (many from out of town, therefore they have no reason to be especially nice to us)for hours at a time. We've also been shorthanded with our workers. This is a bad, bad combination for me....

I've been rushing around trying to help all the customers (frequently there is a crowd of them), trying to cook or prepare enough food for them (but they buy it just as fast as we make it!!) and it is a multi-tasking nightmare.

The effect has been:

-->Sometimes I can't seem to hear them. There is so much noise overall, I can't sort their voices out.
-->When they smell bad (perfumy, usually) it is affecting me worse and I am more likely to say something out loud to my coworkers. Today, I waited on a woman, and as she left, I turned to my manager and said: "sugary flowers!" and made a face. It was what the lady smelled (stunk!) like. Smells really, really bug me.
-->People say things to me and I hear words, but they don't translate into meaning. I hear only the words, and I know the person is trying to communicate with me, so I look at them expectantly, but probably quizzically. Sometimes I have to ask another time or two or say the words back before it decodes into something useful to act on.
-->Anxiety attacks, oh lovely.....
-->and my co-worker (one in particular) gets very, very impatient and somewhat bitchy with me, espcially if I give her the blank lok because I didn't understand. I am working just as hard, at least as hard, as she is, and I invariably end up stuck with most of the customers as well, so I don't understand the bad attitude.
-->It can be hard for me to prioritize what needs to be done first when there are a lot of things that all seem to need immediate attention. Three customers, the phone is ringing, the intercom is calling us, the buzzers and timers are going off, there is a chicken order to fill, the hot case is empty and needs food in it.... Usually I wait on the customers so they'll go away. Sometimes (groan) they keep coming! After that, the most annying stimulus gets attended to first (timer shrieking insistently).
-->Oh, yeah. Concentration. It becomes very hard for me to focus when there is so much going on. I begin to feel like I'm drowning in noise and demands and can't cope. I feel all scattered inside....
--------------------------------------------------------
I'm really glad this was the last day of rodeo weekend (more on this morbid subject tommorow).

OK, I am getting sick and tired of hearing this statement:

"Most autistics also have mental retardation."

Supposedly, 75% of us are retarded! Most of my personal aquaintances who are autistic haven't struck me as retarded at all. Some of them have been non-verbal. Others stimmed a lot or were otherwise very obviously autistic. Many of them were aspie (Asperger's), like me, but not always. At least three of them were not aspie. I have only met one individual who did seem a bit slow, and he was A: drugged up with all sorts of meds and B: had a primary dx of Tourettes, with a secondary of PDD. The majority of those that I meet are not retarded.

Of course, several of the peopel I've met also haven't been formally diagnosed. We made it all the way into adulthood before we found out, and suddenly the struggles and questions we'd had made sense and the pieces fell into place. Who exactly are they counting when they come up with these staistics, because I haven't been counted? Perhaps they only count those of us who are on SSI or SSDI; that's not fair.....

Additionally: if most of us are retarded, then explain this one to me: I applied for an autism research study. However, the study had a window of I.Q. range, anywhere between 80-120. In other words, if you are autistic and have an I.Q. of over 120, you cannot apply, too smart. Their study automatically sieves out the higher end of autism that *should* be studied and given more credit and recognition. I can see that they might consider 150 a bit high...but 120? I mean, 120 just does not seem that phenomenal to me. In fact, it seems a bit average.

Is there an agenda to discredit the fact that many of us are quite bright and have managed to cope reasonably well in the world?

These lyrics from 'Losing My Religion' ( yeah, that too), (by R.E.M.) very aptly describe what it's been like for me, as an autistic playing the field, searching with all my heart for a soulmate.

That’s me in the corner
That’s me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don’t know if I can do it
Oh no, I’ve said too much
I haven’t said enough
I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try........

Trying to keep an eye on you
Like a hurt lost and blinded fool, fool
Oh no, I’ve said too much
---------------------------------------------------------------------

I've been the jester, giving everyone else their jollies and giggles...
Taking the brunt of their ridicule and their burning scorn...
Swallowing the bitterness time and again...
Falling down over and over, trying to stand, getting knocked back down...
Fumbling, saying all the wrong things
and not the words that crowded and choked my heart

Mistaking their amusement and pity and politeness for love
or even for friendship
when I meant nothing at all....
just a pawn to eventually dispose of...... :-(

What is it with people,
that when they see something with a pure and innocent heart
or something weaker or more vulnerable than themselves,
they automatically despise it?

Mean boys never really progress past pulling wings and legs off of insects;
they only change their focus to other poeple,
and learn how to make themselves seem oh-so-holy and blameless.....

I despise them!!!

Here is a really wonderful excerpt from Temple Grandin's new book, _Animals_in_Translation_. Read it here!!

I agree with her.

An Afterthought on Non-Existent Amish Auties and Vaccination
__________________________________________________________________
If a clear link between vaccines and autism is suspected, the way to go about it is to investigate ALL autistics who were not vaccinated, and to compare the autism rate among non-vaccinating parents to that of the general population. There are MANY parents who do not vaccinate their children. To draw such conclusions requires a wider genetic base with fewer interfering factors (such as culture, religious objection to medical advice, general ignorance of autism, and isolationism, as well as the narrow gene pool).

Not all of my children are vaccinated. One of the ones who isn't seems very aspie to me. My dad seems aspie. It's commonly accepted in my family that eccentricity is common among us. I am convinced taht it is genetic and vaccinesmay or may not excaberate the situation. I do know that the aspie physiology (based on hearsay and compaisons with other aspies) seems to be very sensitive to some substances and stimuli and hardly affected by others. It does make sense that vaccines might make it worse than it would otherwise have been.

No Amish Autistics!!!! It's a Conspiracy!!!
_________________________________________________________

At this point, I suppose I should link to the relevant articles:
here's one and here....is another.

Ok, here's my spiel on the matter: Dan Olmstead desperately needs to research animal breeding (heck, plant breeding would work too) before he starts jumping to conclusions. It is true that the Amish live a relatively simple and less industrialized lifestyle than most of us (although we tend to romanticize and exaggerate this fact: the Amish actually do have washing machines in many cases....just not your standard on the grid machine). I'm sure that quite a few of them also don't go to doctors unless absolutely necessary. Their life is far less inundated with the sort of noise and chaos that drives an aspie to their wit's end. The schools are smaller and less overwhelming. Among these facts: The Amish generally don't vaccinate their children. This is one of many aspects of the Amish culture.

Apparently there are far less reported cases of autism in the Amish community. I suspect that the aspies function better there than they do in our modern day life and probably go undetected....if they are there. Possibly a person would have to be pretty undeniably and noticeably autistic in order to be labeled among the Amish. At any rate, Mr Olmstead appears to suspect that there are fewer Amish auties because they don't vaccinate.

This is where a distinct knowledge of practical genetics would come in handy.

See, the Amish are very genetically limited. In a word: inbred. This isn't an insult; it's a simple fact. The Amish gene pool is very small with very little new incoming blood, and families often stay rooted in one area for long periods of time. They can't outcross with the "English", or non-Amish. Most people who do not breed livestock don't realize that inbreeding isn't necessarily a negative thing. It all hinges on *what* genes you are concentrating. Basically, you just get more of what's already there in the genes. It doesn't magically make horrid deformities or mutations unless those genes were there to begin with. It DOES increase the odds that you will see more of what's really there(genotype), genetically (as opposed to phenotype, i.e., what you SEE). If you have a wonderful animal with a solid background, the easiest way to fix the genes and get consistent offspring is to linebreed or inbreed with a relative (of varying degrees).

When you inbreed------>> You will see some traits, even if they're not that common in the general population, at a higher concentration. With continued inbreeding/linebreeding, the population becomes more and more consistent with less genetic variation. Some traits which may be common in the general populace may not show up at all in the inbred population: if the genes weren't there to begin with, or were not there in sufficient numbers, they didn't get concentrated.

And that's what I think happened with the Amish. They have an excessively high rate of some birth defects and genetic diseases (one of the dangers of inbreeding, and you can't ethically "cull" humans the way you do with livestock). But it stands to reason that other traits (possibly including autism) simply wouldn't be there at all. This is what anyone would expect to see....not a big surprise. No conspiracy there!

Victimhood: all too easy to fall into. You can spot a vicitm a mile away many times, because they tend to whine or moan a lot about their fate but frequently take very little action to change it.

Then there's martyrdom: martyrs expect you to see their suffering and to think highly of them for it. Suggesting that they should take steps to remedy their situation will be taken badly: who are you to rob them of their honor?!! Martyrs suffer in silence or stoicism, often when they don't really need to suffer at all.

Either way----> the problems don't get better, or if they do, the person finds something new to whine about and the success isn't mentioned. Solutions are not sought out, they are discounted.

I should know: I've definitely been a victim, especially in my younger years, when I felt powerless and that God would be displeased if I stood up for myself, that to do so would be selfish.

I think I'm pretty much over that, though: when I started work I realized, after several months, that if I didn't stand up for myself noone else would care, or listen. The work environment was just totally different...and while I'm not above whining occasionally, I'm more likely now to defend myself, to set things straight, to go to a boss if I need to, or to simply tell someone off if they need it.

I am tired of being a vicitm. I'm gonna pitch a fit and scream my bloody lungs off if anyone even attempts a tenth of what's already been doen to me, ever again.

Anyway, the question is this: does accepting and facing the challenges and joys of being autistic make me a victim? I don't think so. I am looking for solutions to life's adversities, for a niche in life, for ways in which I can succeed and fulfill at least some of my potential. That's not a victim.

More than simple envy......

Why, when males are endowed with something as nice as a penis, don't they put it to better use than they do?

Violence: a penis is like, the world's best sex toy, and almost every guy has one. Why would they want to use it as a weapon?

Foreplay: Men have a distinct advantage here in that their very sexy male organ is on external display. It can bounce! It can wiggle! It gets hard! It does all kind of entertaining things. Do they take advantage of this fact by taunting us into a frenzy until we practically beg for them?? Not often. But they could. I mean, they could tease us all day long, off and on, until the girl feels like dragging him into the bedroom. But most don't. Instead, they're like, "Time for bed!" (meaningful look or gesture), it gets hard, and then they're like, "Wow, it's hard! I could stick this somewhere!" and that's about it. :-/ I'm not complaining TOO much, but guys, are you seriously that lacking in creativity?? Or in patience?

In the Bathroom: Frankly, if I had such a handy urethra that could aim as well as theirs does, that's what I'd do with it: aim. My anatomy precludes this, unless I want to start the arduous task of learning how to pee standing for females. Still, I manage not to get it all over the seat, floor and walls. I have told my sons, time and again, that if they cannot aim and lifting the seat is just too strenuous for them, they should sit. They do not. I'm just about to the pont of removing the seat entirely...except that I would rather sit on it than squat above the bowl! I hate having to wash it off before using each and every time.

I still believe that love, whether or not it is returned or rejected, is never wasted.

So, for all the lonely souls in the world, who have loved in vain without return, let me say it again: love is its own reward. It doesn't have to be reciprocal to be genuine or worthwhile. Don't ever be ashamed of loving someone, whoever they are.

Love enriches the world, it opens our hearts, it causes us to see the good in life and to be the best people that we can be. It gives life strength and meaning and passion and drives us to acheive goals and surmount problems that would otherwise seem insurpassable.

The pain doesn't come from love. The pain comes from rejection and from the death of hope and yes, expectations. Don't ever be afraid to love or stingy about it.....just watch out for those expectations....the biggest reward has already been had.

I just got my second raise in about a month!!! I couldn't believe it! Wooohoo! The boss said, when I asked him why he did that, that he felt that people who work harder should get paid more even if they don't have as much seniority. I told him that I would work hard to deserve the raise (after thanking him profusely). I think I embarrassed him. :-P

I found something that helps my hips a little: to wear an insole in the leg that is shorter. When I wore insoles for both, they hurt like hell. Took the left one out, relief. I have not had SERIOUS pain since doing this.

Okay. I boiled water for chocolate malt-o-meal at least three times and had it all evaporate before I could add the cereal! Finally I used about half a pan's worth of water, let it boil, measured the boiling water, threw out the excess, and made the cereal. It is very hard to boil just a cup or two of water and have any of it left!

One of our nice neighbors gave us a whole bunch of oriental poppies that she was digging up, along with other plants. She did this on MOther's Day. And Tim had also bought me some stock starts and a strawberry plant (complete with green berries already fruiting), these, I am happy to say, were in pots. The poppies were more or less bareroot and not very happy about that. I planted them all ASAP and we watered the heck out of them. They recovered.

The medication, which cost $25, does not work! Lovely. I still alternate between that familiar burning sensation, times where they're only very faintly sore, and where the area feels numbed and I feel queasy and lightheaded and exhausted. It is, more or less, one of these three modes, almost all the time.

One of my legs is about 1/4" longer than the other, and this, incidentally, is also the leg with the foot that was turned inwards when I was a baby, the one I wore orthopedic shoes for. The left one. The same hip that hurts me. Hmmmm...... I forgot to mention to the doctor that my hips also dislocate during some activities...they haven't done so in a long time, but it hurts like hell when it occurs. The thing is, I wasn't in a LOT of pain when I went to see him. I'd had two days off work. And even with the hike, I was only mildly sore. So he'd ask, "does this hurt?" and I'd say..."Uhhh...yeah. I think so. Maybe." I have a high pain tolerance. I would have to be in agony in order to be able to tell him really well exactly what hurts and where, precisely. I would have to come in after working all day long.

---------------------------------------------------------------

We're considerign buyign the house of the assistant manager that I wouldn't speak to for a while. I'm still not sure how well I like her. OK as a person, maybe. I still don't want her to be my boss. It's a really neat home, an underground one. It's like a little hobbit house! Very unique! YOu would expect it to be dark, right? It is not. It has a big skylight. What it IS: very well insulated by all that earth, and it feels very holistic and nourishing. It has 5 acres and is all set up for g oats already!! It has woods! It has water, power, phone, internet, AND a generator setup for power outages. It needs more gardens, they haven't been kept up. Also, it has a lot of outbuildings, storage sheds, barns, woodsheds, etc etc. I want to get this place, but I can only get $50 K financed. The house needs some significant work done on it (which I can do) and no bank will loan on it, because it's an earth home. They won't take payments in any form, they have to be bought out. Today they're getting it appraised....and I'm betting that it will be in the 75-100K range. I wonder who they will sell it to? Soemone who will build another house and demolish that one? :-( I really want this place. It feels right.

I want to cry. I woke up feeling this way and it just hasn't gotten any better. But I won't/can't, anymore than a desert can flood on command. I just feel desolate and barren. We went for a walk though, and saw a lot of pretty plants and great rocks and boulders. Boulders with moss, shooting stars...hmm...I can'y decide which I like better.

Anyway, I took some St John's wort and should be feeling better sometime today. Hopefully before I go to work. He's been so nice to me, it isn't his fault. I just get into a bad mood now and then.

So I went to the doctor about my hips. He asked me where and how they hurt, but they didn't hurt enough to be able to tell him as well as I'd have liked to, as well as I could have had I worked all day before going there. Unfortunately my work hours don't really allow for that, nor do his. He took X rays. Bones are so beautiful, so graceful. The bony pelvis reminds me of a butterfly. The xrays show that the bones are fine, just fine!!! I don't know how they can hurt this much...how?! It is so frustrating.... He syas that it's probably soft tissue; ligaments, tendons, and so forth, that have gotten strained. Try not to lift heavy things (yeah, right). And he gave me a prescription for an anti-imflammatory, but that's not good since the insurance company won't acknowledge that I've been paying them a sizable chunk out of my check every two weeks. They haven't sent me the card yet, and they deny that I'm on it.

The pharmacy says that it's "only" $25.00. Over the counter anti-imflammatories don't even touch this pain, I seriously cannot even tell that I took them! OTOH, do I want to work in pain and be this crabby and irritable because of it? Maybe I'm just a hypochondriac, as a number of people seem to imply. All I know is that there are times when this hurts so freaking much that I feel nauseous.

When the goal is to turn an autistic person into a pale imitation of a neurotypical and to deny them any expression or manifestation or justification or legimacy of/for their autistic selves, isn't the true goal to squelch and suppress their self identity? This "therapy" leaves the autistic no place to turn inwards, where they can say, "this is me, this is good, I *like* me, this is who I am. Instead, it's all pretense and facade, something we're not all that good at, I think. One is left in unhappy introspection: is this me? Or it it what they wanted? I'm not happy with it. They liked it. I don't like this...they pick on me for it....it's bad because they don't like it...they say it's weird...Why do I have to pretend so hard...and who do I pretend to be?..." (I used to choose one model at a time, usually someone I admired and was fond of. If and when they rejected me, I then had to discard that persona and try to model after someone else.) I always had a slight nagging feeling about this...and what hurt the most was when the person encouraged me, actively assuming the role of role-model, and then abruptly abandoned or spurned me. I was unable to choose a generalized 'normal' mode, or to identify one. I *had* to imitate other people in order to act any semblance of normal.

Is this what you people want, to deny us our autistic self identity? To say that who we really and truly are deep inside, is wholly inadequate? We are supposed to live out an entire life this way?! And to be happier for it!!! My god, what have you been smoking? How could you even imagine that this would be successful or productive? (We won't even go into humane, auties apparently are too far gone to deserve humane treatment!)

A person's self-identity is the very germ and seed of their personality. To rob a person of this, and intentionally, yet, is a crime worse than rape. A body is only a shell, but without our real self, we would just as well be walking zombies acting to please the general populace. A person's selfhood is sacred, and noone: no parent, no teacher, no therapist, no expert, has the right to deprive anyone of that.

What better form of expressing one's inner self can there be but the arts?

You can ban me from your forums, you can shut me up, you can shout me down. You can fire me, threaten me, hurt me, and pretend I don't exist. You can tell me that since I'm autistic, my opinion doesn't count. You can claim that I'm not really autistic, the pschologist was dumb and I'm pretending and therefore I'm invalid. You can make up elaborate and bizarre theories to explain things away about me and why I'm so, in your opinion, fucked up. You can pray for me, plead with me, sigh over me, wring your hands, ply me with guilt trips, laugh at me, or swear at me. It doesn't matter.

I am tired of trying to be what I am not and I refuse to do it anymore. It's hard work to be what I am, but at least I know who I am. I am just as legitimate, being autistic, as you are, being neurotypical, and you aren't one iota better than me for it. You can't shut me up. I will paint, and even though I can't communicate well, my pictures will say it for me: this is me, this is who I am, this is the beauty that I see in the world around me, through my eyes!

A long desired wish....
__________________________________________________________________________
I've wanted a violin since I was 17 years old and a friend let me play out a tune or two on hers. I was enchanted with it, in love with the resonant tones. For years I would ask at thrift stores and pawn shops and pick up the thrifty nickel paper for used violins at a very affordable price. Whenever I found one, I didn't usually have the money. Once we saw one for only $20, and when I called the old man said he'd sold it already.

There is a girl who plays her violin in front of the grocery store regularly. I don't think she does it for pay, she does it because she likes to and maybe others will like to hear it. Maybe it's advertising. Her dad makes violins and buys other violins and refurbishes them. We got to talking one day at the store, and I confessed my long love affair with violins. Imagine my surprise to hear that I could get a newly improved model for as little as $100!!! Whee!!!!

My tax return came in today. I have my violin, at last. :-) And I'm a little afraid to play it, to shatter the veil of dreams and give birth to the reality. I will play it every day.

I really don't feel like going to work today. Yesterday my hips hurt, and I was stiff and limping for several hours, even after taking painkillers. They must have helped a little though...after that the stiffness went away and the pain dimmed down some. Then it flared back up to the point where I just wanted to go up in the break room and cry for a while, but no: we were swamped with customers. It's all the pivoting, stopping, starting, twisting, squatting, lifting, that does it. The faster it all has to be done, the more it hurts. There were only two of us, Sierra and I; we needed a third person desperately, especially since I was slower due to my hips, and her to her pregnancy. Then some fool needed to feed 50 people but called with less than an hour to spare, at the rushed hour, and wanted 20 breasts and 10 thighs!!!! Egads! They wouldn't all fit in one fryer load, the hot case was empty from cooking chicken (when we cook chicken, we have only one fryer, so we can't cook anything else. A batch of chicken -8 each breasts, thighs, legs, and wings- takes 15 minutes to cook) and there were *also* two orders for 12 pieces. So: 20 breasts, 10 thighs, plus 6 each breasts, thighs, legs, and wings. 54 pieces in all, and all within about an hour's time. The case just got emptier and emptier....meanwhile, other people saw the chicken cooking and wanted some, and we had to tell them it was all pre-ordered. Then they got pissy. One man all but yelled at us. There was so much chicken ordered that we had to bread more (we bread it ourselves) to fill the orders. Breading a box of chicken takes at least 15-20 minutes, and she had to do that while I waited on the ranting customers and reduced the doughnuts. A checker came back and helped us. At any rate, it was sort of hellish. I don't want it again tonight.

Today: Birthday shopping. Make a cake for my oldest son. It will be an ice cream cake, chocolate with mint chip ice cream. And, the library book sale, before work.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Is it this hard for everyone? For normal people, do the bills and chores and deadlines and pressure of daily life lay this heavy on them? Do they constantly feel as I do, that they're at the very ends of their ropes? One problem solved only gives rise to another, it seems. One bill paid off gives birth to a different one. Every hour seems claimed and possessed by a task or some urgent matter. There is no time to think without the world intruding on me, I hate it.

I figured out how to effectively handle the conflicts with my (night) manager. Note: she is not my boss, or even my manager, only the assistant manager, who has a power trip going on. Anyway, I stopped talking to her. At all. It works amazingly well!!! Nearly all of her intimidation was verbal. When I stopped talking, she tried to get me to talk a few times (angrily hissing) but after that she stopped trying, and I've been so much happier! :-D It's not even a matter of my being upset with her anymore. I'm a lot calmer in my own headspace. I've also come to the realization that while 95% of her intimidation was verbal, 95% of my verbal communication with her was of an approval seeking or conciliatory nature. No wonder I felt bullied! And see, I was kind of my own fault in a way, wasn't it? At least to some extent?

I know she's peeved, but she's more or less avoiding me, and as it turned out, verbal communication wasn't actually even necessary. I don't think I'm going to resume speaking to me until I have come up with an adequate way to defend myself from her.
-----------------So that's handled...for now...-------------------------------
Another girl, who is deficient in comparison with me in terms of seniority on the job, experience, speed, quality work, work ethic, intelligence, * and* she is younger than me, insists on treatign me in a bossy way. It irritates me. If I confront her on an issue, she immediately backs down: "Oh, I didn't mean it that way, I just..." and makes it out as though I was overreacting. I may not be a gem, but I do conciously try to improve on my job peformance every single day. This girl is lazy. In fact, several of us,, including our well respected and loved manager, think she's a pothead and comes to work stoned. (Gee, thanks, doper, enjoy your buzz and just float along while we do your work!) It's all OK though. The big bosses seem to have their eye on her. She didn't get a raise, everyone else did. Hmmmm....

Getting a buzz on your off time at night is oen thing. Coming to work stoned or trying to function that way is something entirely different.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Anyway, my hips feel shot, I'm exhausted, I'm going to bed. Yes, before 9 P.M.!
(Like anyone cares).....

Ok, I made an appointment with the voc-rehab people. Please, please please, people, take me seriously. Don't tell me that I'm doing fine where I am and don't need voc rehab....

OK, let's get one thing straight from the start here: rejection is never nice. It never feels good. That having been said, I think it hurts more to be rejected by a guy than it does to be turned away by a girl.
Here's why:

• Women tend to be fickle. We all know that.
• They also tend to be emotional and to want love.
• Therefore, it may be that their heart hasn't connected yet. That's bearable, isn't it?
• Also, if they turn down a fling, woemn do have more at stake: possible pregnancy, their 'reputation' and even physical harm.
• When a woman turns down a guy, she's turning down the possibility of bearing his child. You have to feel pretty secure to want to do that.
• With a guy, bedding a lot of girls is proof he's a stud (among his peers, at least).
• He doesn't have to worry about getting pregnant, and he isn't as likely to be raped by a girl.
• With guys, they are hardwired for sex and lots of it.
• That's not to say that they don't feel love, they do....but they can easily enjoy it without the love.
• Besides, some guys will screw just about anything that has a hole. Old ladies get raped. They get off on *pictures* for godssake.
• So, I mean, if a guy doesn't want you, at all, something is seriously wrong with you.

Of course, it could also be that the males are evolving to be more conscientious. I suppose that's possible.
______________________________________________________________________________

I went to the store this evening, and I was in a good mood. Scattered, but Ok. I saw some people I know, and as always, it took me several seconds (him) and a tad longer (her) to recognize them. Actually, I wouldn't have noticed her without him. He's easier to tell apart from the general populace. Nothign personal at all, I'm just that way. I often walk right past people I know without even seeign them. When they say hello, alarms go off...I feel confused...who the hell is this? They look like they know and like me. Who are they?? So anyway, I see these people, and he's very, very friendly and extraverted. He smiles hugely, showing his gums and lots of teeth, his glasses flash...and he asks if I saw his picture in the paper. I have just processed who it is, context and all that, and then it takes me a moment to process what he just said. Paper...picture? Whose picture? His and hers! :-D Paper? Paper? :scratching head: Local paper! :-D Oh. I don't buy the paper. That's why I haven't seen it. Hmmm. I will look. Nonono!! The *free* paper, don't you get it? :-D Oh! yes, I get it. I didn't look at it yet. OK, I will look. :smiles:

Meanwhile, she looks very pissed, stares at my shirt and gives me a very dirty look, and if I can read a look, it's intense. It has to be. :Me, looks at shirt, looks back at her: My shirt is plain blue, comfortably snug so I know where it is. Nice blue, I like it. What's wrong? She says to him, "That's OK dear, don't bother her with it. She hasn't seen it.", in a very snippy, snotty voice. I say good bye to he and he waves bye in a rather naive but friendly fashion. Nice guy. Why's she such a bitch?

And I have absolutely NO idea what I did wrong. This kind of thing happens to me all the time. I try to tell myself that I don't care, and I don't....much.... But it niggles at me, anyway. Maybe someone told them something bad about me? :shrug: I just have no idea at all. Is it because I don't care much about people except when they're right in front of me, for the most part? I am friendly when they're there.....and isn't that what matters? :stumped:

*Bitterness* (Tim, don't worry about this)
_________________________________
Oh, this song says it so well...R.E.M. I can't always find words for what I want to say....but that says just about all of it, in one song. Heh. :-/

I drink down the bitterness of it as though it were some sort of evil tasting medicine.

Do you realize at all...that since all that, I don't take the word "friend" seriously anymore. I hear that word and it touches that nerve of bitterness...the cynic awakens and sneers....and I know that I'll never trust a "friend" in the same way as before. The word has lost any pleasant meaning for me, I almost hate it. Can I blame you for this, I don't know. Does that matter, not really.

I've never said this before, but I'll say it now and not again: if there had been one chance of my being "normal", if I had ever had the will for it, if there were a motivator, if there were an example, an interpreter, you were it, man. And it's gone. Fuck normality!!! Normalcy with all its two edged swords (both edges cut me) can go and take a flying leap.

The song is still playing...it couldn't be more real to me...

Mystified.........
------------------------------------------
I went back looking at the comments left on this blog. For some reason, a LOT of Tim's comments are flat out GONE! :-( I enjoyed going back and reading them....

There are other comments, by someone termed "friend", and this is what has me puzzled. Who is this 'friend'? I don't have very many friends, and this one feels male. There are even fewer male friends. I think it might be a Christian, which narrows it down further, but I don't think it's the father of my children....he would probably sign his name. :confused:

I went to a play/musical program at my daughter's school last night. It was, in two words, absolutely horrid, and I'm saying this aside from being surounded by some 200 people, lots of sounds from speakers, and people clapping, etc etc, all the usual sensory overload stuff. It was rampantly patriotic and Christian, and perfectly demonstrated the herd mentality. An excerpt: "We owe our freedom of speech not to the organzers of protests, but to the soldier. We owe our freedom of religion not to the (can't remember), but to the soldier" etc etc, ad nauseum. The gist was that, essentially, we owe every civil right we have to violence and to men who are willign to carry out violence. That the world just can't get along without people who are willing to commit violence! What an awful, misguided theme for a children's play!

Would it be so....unthought of...to have a children's play with some innocent, childish them, or something educational, or something such as peaceful efforts towards improving the world, or understanding different cultures, or saving the environment, or living conciously? They will grow up soon enough...do they have to be indoctrinated towards committing atrocities at such a young age?

(and then we wonder why we have school shootings and stabbings...)

Sometimes I wish that I could leave my body to its daily chores, to go around it's work as a sort of golem. And that my heart could soar in its own thoughts and be mindless of the troubles and pains of the world...

Everyday Eroticism

---

It's the theme of all my art (well, all my recent art from the past year or two). I see it everywhere, the thread of creation and reproduction, sexuality. Understand: by sexuality I don't mean merely a man and a woman having missionary intercourse. No, I refer here to sex in its far reaching sense, from hermaphrodite nudibranches to the kelp they cling to...waving sensuosly in the ocean currents...to the pine trees showering the air and earth with their grains of pollen...I could go on in this way for a long time.....

Now, consider this: the custom of a man giving a flower to the girl he wants or loves. What kind of a flower? A rose. What sort of a rose? Longstemmed...no thorns, and very few leaves, if any. Color? Red...dark, passionate, blood infused red. Lastly, the profile of the flower: full blown, fragrant, with the beautiful shape we associate with a rose bush? No sir...a tight, pert rosebud. The contours of it should be fairly clean. OK: now picture this, all these factors, in your mind. In hand: a flower, held upright, with a long stem, culminating in the most important part, the dark red bud. Think, think, think.....what else could this represent? Hmmmm.....is it any wonder that this is the symbol used as an emblem of acceptance or rejection? Could anything be more heartening to a man than to see his girl clasp his rose lovingly and bring it to her lips?

Now, don't go blaming this on me. I didn't come up with the custom. I don't even like red roses much. All I did was to observe what should have been obvious anyway!

Re: Standing up for oneself: I hate to do it. For one thign, it's very hard for me (at times) to deliniate the line between doing a favor for someone and being taken advantage of. For another, I simply dislike having to assert myself in order to obtain fair treatment. In a relationship of any kind (intimate, friend, aquaintance) if the problem becomes a recurring issue, I have a bad habit of simply dropping the relationship altogether, or at least dropping it to a less intimate level.

People very often assume that I'm a doormat. That isn't necessarily true... It's more along the lines of: If someone is willing to take advantage of me or to treat me badly unless I stand up for myself, I really don't know if I care to continue the relationship. I feel like I shouldn't have to assert myself in oder to be treated decently.

An analogy: You are playing a game with someone, a board or card game, perhaps. You catch them cheating. Perhaps you call them on it, perhpas not. At any rate, they continue to cheat, and to escalate the bahavior. Do you continue playing with them? No. Why not? They are not fun to play with.

Or, to put it another way, if a person is so inclined as to take advantage of or be mean to me, I don't really want to continue being as close to them. It isn't worth the hassle or confrontation and stress and adrenaline. Screw it! After all, doesn't their behavior say something about the value of the relationship to them?
__________________________________________________________________________
But, there is a problem. I don't know how to *confront* someone unless I'm so angry that I could scream. (By that time I don't much care how they react.) My co-workers are not treating me well, and I'm not mad enough to scream. What to do, what to do? One of them is a manager so I can really let loose with her.

Eeeek! Ok, it's my turn now to be a shallow, self absorbed female...the sort I don't like. I just got back from the thrift store. For some reason they had the bathroom mirror cruelly mounted directly opposite the toilet! Talk about tactless!!! I don't even much enjoy looking at myself clothed, thank you. Anyway, it was/is a little depressing. See, I *knew* that I had gone from 105# (my all time lowest as an adult, not bad after 5 kids!) back past my usual 120# to 125#. Five pounds over niggled me a little bit...but not too much. Many of my pants still fit...the size 1-3's, as a rule, did not. Oh well, wear something else. That was my attitude, until I was so rudely confronted by that mirror. Cellulite? On me??? I don't even care very much what I look like, but this bothers me. It's gross. Twenty pounds of fat! Ick, ick, ick. Sadly, I know what is doing it: the birth control. I'm not actually eating more or exercising less. I could probably cut back to one meal a day and not lose very much of it......:sigh:

I feel like such a pathetic piece of shit. He is so nice to me, and all I seem to do is to wait for some warning sign that yes, it's too good to be true and he doesn't actually like me the way I thought he did, That there's been some sort of a mistake, that something has changed or is changing. I am so used to it, it's all I've known. I feel like my hopes have been dashed so often that there just aren't any anymore, that the stuff faith is made of simply doesn't reside in me any longer. I feel so safe, so happy with him, but it's hard to enjoy it, because I'm always afriad that it's going to end. Because it always does.

One of these days he is going to get really tired of my worrying and insecurity, and he is going to say, "Fine! Have it your way! I give up! I don't want you if this is the way it's going to be!" and then he'll go. :-( :-( :-(

I really am a pain to deal with.

I am considering dropping out of the goat world as such. Oh, I'll still keep my girls (I am still looking for a place for us and them), and I'll keep breeding them for the same traits I've wanted (nothing foils a goatbreeding program, or any breeding program, as quickly as changing your mind constantly about the goals!!!). I'll renew my ADGA membership, even though I'm convinced by now that they're a bunch of back stabbing, membership bleeding crooks, because I need teh records and the registry. But as far as showing very much, or including it as an element in my goals or plans.....I dunno.

See, what I'm realizing is that the showring B.S. is all about social interaction, who you know, who likes you, and who you hate and will gossip about. And this, my friends, is soemthing that I am simply unable to do well at. I know, because I've tried. I've rubbed the right shoulders, talked to the right people, done my homework backward and forward,and made the mistake of showing it off. Soem of teh breeders have been nice. Others seem to have been nice to my face one day and ignore me the next (or even within a day, for no reason I could ferret out). I thought, at first, that mayeb people disliked the lady I bought my broodstock from, but others have her stock and seem to do alright. What I do see is that the showring itself is politics. It's about who you know, and whether the judge likes you. Occasionally you have a truly honest and fair judge. They're rare! For a very long time, I've wanted to be one of them, a fair and honest judge who could black out the faces and just look at the goats, and only the goats. But frankly, I really don't feel like having lots of people mad at me.

Could I forget the people surrounding me and see only the goats, keep my concentration and drive the anxiety away? Could I even speak? If I could, could I actually articulate exactly *why* one goat is better than the next. I often just know, intuitively, and it takes me time to figure out why. What will I do if some hot shot with their head in the clouds walks by disgruntled and insults me or threatens me? (I suppose I'd ignore them). Do I have what it takes? I know that I can do the goats justice. The social issues and their stupid games (and believe me, they whine about this even among themselves) are what worry me.

Frustrating: That I am not able to adequately communicate my thoughts through speech, so impatient people assume (unfairly) that I'm unintelligent. Yes, I'm articulate enough here, in writing. Get me on a phone or in person and I fumble and can't grasp the spoken words to my satisfaction. I have an excellent vocabulary, but I cannot...organize it to my liking in the time frame that most people expect in a typical conversation. If they pressure or criticize me, I quickly turn into the likes of an inarticulate idiot, sputtering vehemently. They say that it's very funny when I get mad. :-/
----------------------------------------

Carrying on from the previous thread: sometimes I have the wish to be an advocate for other autistics. I miss the autistic people I used to work with as a 'worker' (they were called 'consumers', how sick is that??? I called them clients instead, it sounded more dignified). I don't miss anyone else, just the other autists. I had a dream that I was working there again, only this time I was working with one of the ones they only let me work with once or twice (they quickly curtailed my interactions with my kin when they saw I was on their side). I was communicating with him, in non verbal ways, and we were interacting. I hesitiate to have written this. It isn't professional (fuck their professionalism!!!), and it feels weak somehow. But it bothers me deeply, the way our kind are treated. Frankly, I don't care where on the spectrum they are: they have a right to stim, a right to experience the things they do, and a right to be unique. They have THE SAME BASIC HUMAN RIGHTS that regular people take for granted. I get so upset, I feel so futile. We are autistic, NOT sub-human.

I was lucky; for all that I was smothered and abused, it would have been far, far worse had I been labeled. I am not against labeling per se, hell I like to label and categorize anythign that comes to my attention. If I see a plant, I want to know what it is, what it's related to, etc etc. But when a person becomes nothing more than a label, something to be dehumanized, to excuse inexcuseable behavior to them *because* they're autistic is WRONG.