“Touch this, feel that. Seventy-five bucks.”

We had a thunderstorm last night, and are expected to have another today.  I’ve been wearing noise-canceling headphones to compensate.  Fortunately, the new episode of Gettin’ Grown with Jade and Keia podcast is out.  It’s something I look forward to each week.  My Amazon Prime membership expires in a few days.  Buh-bye to my former impulse shopping addiction.

In celebration of this wise decision, I ordered one last thing.  I purchase fidgets and sensory toys every so often.  I can’t recall a time when I didn’t.  I’m pleased with the recent popularity of fidget toys because now they’re conversation starters, too.  I ordered Super Cool Unicorn Poop.  (It’s purple and blue, glittery slime in a cute little bottle.)  It’s odorless.

unicorn poop

It feels like jello that wasn’t allowed to set long enough, without the sticky mess.  (It’s non-toxic.)  My skin feels wet after touching it, but it leaves no residue.  It’s right at the limit of my grossness tolerance.  I won’t play with it often, but it’s ridiculously fabulous when I do.  (I was even more amused by the fact someone is selling a single used bottle, last I checked.)

I got the 3-pack because slime shrinks over time.  There’s a negative review by someone who was irate over receiving partially full bottles.  They may have overlooked the limited shelf-life.  Or perhaps they bought a used version.  Heh.  I don’t think of myself as stuck-up, but when it comes to slime, I prefer new.  In fact, I insist.  😂  Also, I want to see this on How It’s Made.  So much.

My body seems to have recovered from my recent dietary fiasco.  The only lingering effect is my broken off-switch.  Unfortunately, it’s broken all the time, so I’m probably just hyper-aware of it lately.  I’m trying to be careful about what I begin because I’m likely to continue for quite some time.  I usually track this by how often I complete 1000-piece jigsaw puzzles.  Ideally, it should take at least two sessions.

I do them daily as part of my winding down routine before sleeping.  I love puzzles.  If I start completing one a day, I know my broken off-switch is operating unacceptably.  I use this method because I notice, even when in rote mode.  Eventually.  I have a love-hate relationship with my broken off-switch.  Part of me loves how I’m able to complete time-consuming tasks more quickly than others.  Another part of me recognizes the need to sleep sometimes and resents it.

Rock 'n Roll jigsaw puzzle

I don’t like it when I can’t stop, though.  It doesn’t often happen, and usually results in pacing until exhaustion.  Coding marathons used to trigger it as well.  I’ve always been this way.  It used to frustrate my mom when I was a teenager.  My days and nights were backward until basic training.  I was glued to my computer every night.  The rest of the time, I was on autopilot.  I guess it’s all that interested me at the time.

I also missed school more often than I missed a run as a teenager.  It’s always been my favorite stim.  I was training for the Army, so my mom never interfered.  The funny thing is, when I was on active duty, I ran PT in the mornings with my unit, then ran again at night on my own time.  I started doing this in El Paso because of the heat.  Then it just stuck.  It only backfired once when I had a surprise PT test after running seven hours prior.  I still managed to pass, but my legs were sore after.  I’m off to read.

p.s.  Stevie Nicks is on the above puzzle twice!  (And Michael Jackson looks like someone just told him Tito killed his rat, eh?)


I don’t even really work here!

I had an awesome day, and it’s not only because my Star Wars: The Force Awakens pillowcases arrived from pottery barn kids.  My new mattress arrived too and was fun to unbox.  The second I cut the plastic it was wrapped in, it began expanding.  It’s a hybrid with spring coils and memory foam combined into what I hope will be the ultimate sleeping experience.  I’ll settle for good enough, however.  I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed springs until I started bouncing on it a bit ago.  It’s currently -11°F windchill with a 9°F actual temperature.  I like to look at the night sky and identify constellations, but tonight I didn’t bother.

My cat has me trained so well.  Amelia Bedelia stands in front of her bowl and looks at me when she wants a treat.  I would say it’s cute, but part of me suspects that’s what she thinks when I give her the snack.  I rescheduled with the same guy to come back and help me with the Jenga tower of spider web laced boxes in my parking space.  I told him why I want him to do it, in case he also has arachnophobia, but he doesn’t.  I’ve killed a spider this year already.  That’s enough progress for now.

I saw the Lego Ewok Village on Amazon today for $249, (it’s huge).  The Lego Ewoks are adorable.  I love putting the kits together, but I won’t be getting it.  I think what I love is following the pictographic instructions.  It reminds me of when I was first learning to write code.  I copied lots of code from magazine subscriptions to my Apple IIe.  Completing a Lego kit feels as good as building a PC.  Something about building in a manner simple enough to allow my mind to wander at the same time appeals to me.  It’s right up there with repetitive motion.  I realized I stim in my sleep.  That amuses me on many levels and makes me feel proud of myself for using self-care, even when I’m completely vulnerable in a dream.  I’m off to read.

Stoned entry #1

I’m stoned.  I probably shouldn’t try to write a blog post in this condition, but oh well.  Here goes.  I’ve been partaking of recreational weed while on my Christmas vacation in Denver.  I purchased way too much, as I had no idea it lasted so long.  I’m a lightweight for sure, but I’ve tried a sativa, an indica, and a hybrid so far.  I like the indica.  The hybrid messed with my off switch.  I felt like I was glitching while on automatic pilot.  It was too far back for my comfort level.  It felt too autistic.  Too cut off.  The indica was perfect.  It allowed me to exist without anxiety for about 6 hours.  I was in tears.  It shocked me how wonderful it feels to be without anxiety.  I kept telling my nephew I was crying because I’m happy.  He was worried it was having an unpleasant affect on me.  The opposite was true.

I’ll admit, I’m very much pro weed for medical usage.  That’s just logic.  I’m also pro weed as a recreational drug for those 21 and older.  With the same laws as those surrounding alcohol.  I think anyone who says they drive better when high is lying, regardless of how they got high.  I absolutely feel differently than what’s normal for me.  It’s a pleasant feeling because of the break from anxiety.  It’s easy to only notice anxiety when it interrupts me, and forget about the low levels that never fully go away.  I understand that this has at least as much to do with my autism as it does my PTSD.  PTSD comes and goes, and is an often, but not constant bother.  Autism is 24/7.  However, right now while I’m high, I feel less autistic.  I can only explain this by relating that the background struggle constantly going on within me regarding unavoidable interruptions and sensory disturbances becomes less.  I’m basking in the less.  It’s a nice rest.

I also noticed that Blended, with Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore is hilarious when you’re stoned.  I think I was more able to pay attention, because I noticed all kinds of funny things I missed when I watched it before.  I could tell there was some ad libbing.  It also seemed like everyone in it was having a great time.  This made it even more enjoyable.  I haven’t gotten the munchies.  I’m a little bit disappointed about that.  I was looking forward to feeling strong hunger.  I think it might really be a decreased ability to stop doing an activity.  The repetitive motion of putting food in your mouth is a stim.  (Non-autistic people are unaware that they also stim when their inhibitions are lowered enough.)  The behavior is stimulating, so you continue to do it.   The high feeling from THC is probably the best way for a neurotypical person to experience neurodiversity on a low, temporary level.

It’s ironic to me that we’re considered frigid in our thinking, when in reality, we’re far more fluid than the neurotypical mind can easily grasp.  I suppose any extreme can have an opposite.  We spend a lot of our early life building bridges of thought in order to connect and communicate.  The motivation to do such a thing comes from many factors and are varied.  Feeling motivated to connect with my Mom was natural.  My brother, Steve, too.  He could always make me laugh.  Laughing has always been one of my favorite things to do.  Laughing and flapping is heavenly.  Try it sometime when nobody is looking.

PTSD Sucks

Anxiety is kicking my ass.  I’m trying to ignore it because I know it’s from pre-trip jitters.  I didn’t sleep well last night.  I got 2 hours, but after my cat stepped on me to change positions, I awoke and spent a good hour imagining all the things that could go wrong tomorrow.  It’s semi-productive in that I brainstorm ideas to cope with potential disasters.  But it also makes my anxiety skyrocket, and if I entertain it for too long, I’ll chicken out and stay home.  I’ll be bringing my Apple Watch, even though I rarely remember I have it.  It has a feature that makes it vibrate briefly to remind you to stand up if you’re seated for too long.  It annoyed me at first, but now I see that it might be the best feature for me to avoid getting too focused.

I’ll be sure to set some alarms on it while waiting for my return flight.  The 1 hour early rule for security is a bother.  I worry I’ll get too absorbed in a game and lose track of time.  When I was half asleep, this was a potential disaster.  Now that I’m awake, I recognize the fact that it wouldn’t be a big deal.  I could just purchase another ticket and go home later or the next day.  Probably the next day, as there aren’t  a lot of non-stop flights between here and Denver.  If this happens, I’ll go back to the hotel and get a room, run on the treadmill until the pending meltdown goes away, and then carry on like it’s not a life and death situation regardless of my fight or flight kicking in.

That’s probably the worst part of PTSD.  Having minor situations turn into fight or flight physiologically when it’s not at all a reasonable reaction.  A sudden loud noise.  Someone bumping into me.  No reason I can decipher.  It sucks.  It feels like I’m about to be pushed off the top of a skyscraper, and I can’t do anything to prevent it.  This is not how a person should feel when someone coughs loudly.  It makes you want to curl into a ball and cry.  I’m past telling myself I should be “over it” by now.  I’ve accepted that this is life for me.  I do what I can to avoid situations I know will cause this reaction.  But I also know it will still happen sometimes, and that even though it feels like I’m dying, I’m not.  It’s just my body being out of sync with reality to due to trauma that my mind couldn’t process in real time.

When I break it down like that, it makes it less overwhelming.  I’m tired and wired, but that’s okay.  I’ve mastered functioning with sleep deprivation and anxiety.  Yes, I rock in public like I’m listening to hip hop on steroids.  Yes, I walk around like I’m trying to physically escape anxiety.  It makes me feel like I have some control.  So I do what I have to do to be okay, and am okay because of it.  Fair trade.  The occasional person asking me if I’m lost, or need help finding a bathroom, are people who probably recognize that I’m autistic and alone, and just want to help.  They don’t know that their attempted assistance makes it many times more anxious for me, and mean well.  Headphones help with that.

Yesterday, when I was at the county clerks office to re-register as a Democrat, some asshole sitting across from me in the waiting area started rocking with me and laughing.  I flipped him off.  I was so not amused.  He’s probably a Trump chump, who figured it’s funny to make fun of other people who are different, because their chosen idol behaves this way, and gets lots of attention for it.   And *I’m* the one considered socially awkward.  Go figure.