I’m in the not organized category then at other times, I hyper-organize to a point that is not necessary.  Most of the time–not organized.

My mum said that as a child, I had stacks of papers and books in my room, and she couldn’t figure out how I could find anything.  I kept and still do keep lists of activities I must remember to do, such as household chores, when children are coming over (the ones that don’t already live here), or when to run errands.

I also keep papers of thoughts or ideas that I don’t want to lose, and in OneNote in my computer, I have pages upon pages for both personal and work.  I end up with repetition, so I have to stop myself sometimes, ignore the lists, and just do.

I often wonder if that is behind the autism inertia some adults have reported online.  Is that analysis paralysis?  I want to know all the details before I begin or the task or project doesn’t make sense to me–this doesn’t fit well in the regular job workplace at all, but that’s another post.

“What is the priority?” I ask myself.  So I get one of my many clipboards and make a new list of only priorities and fill the entire paper.  I now ask hubby to help me set ONE priority to get done, which helps tremendously.  He says I can’t do all things at once, so just do that one thing while ignoring everything else.  It works.

What has helped are online organizational tools and a list of what I am to do each day at work with specific blocks of time for specific activities that I keep on the wall in my office.  Reducing visual distraction helps a lot.  I also have three large whiteboards I use to plan and work through ideas using multiple colors of markers, which is a great visual help for me.

I have learned so much about organization that after my business, maybe I’ll be a professional organizer.  Kidding.

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New!  For parents of autistic children, I started Autism Community Conversations by conference call.  And, it is free.  Join the mailing list and you will be notified of upcoming calls.  Spread the word!

Yes, I am hearing the Beatles tune in my head, “I Wanna Hold Your Hand.”  This is what popped into my head while my daughter and I were at the Verizon store–a place that always creeps me out.

Creepy #1  I am warmly greeted at the store with major eye contact and a handshake.

Creepy #2  The sales rep calls my name then warmly shakes my hand with full eye contact.

I do like the warmly, but shaking hands is way too intimate for me.  Inside I am screaming, “Don’t touch me!”  I want to look at phones and tablets, rather than eyeballs, which are also too intimate and discomfiting.

Minutes after arriving in the store, I am off kilter and anxious from making my way past these touchy people.  Then my auditory processing gets challenged with a barrage of questions from the sales rep, which stressed me because I’m still processing the first question when he is on the third.

Then help arrives!

As has happened so many times over the years, my 22-year-old daughter (much to my relief) took over the hand-shaking and conversing for me.  I compare it to an American-born  child of parents who don’t speak English.  The child translates.

My daughter knows when I start to feel frustrated and threatened, which can turn into curt responses and clipped questions, which can seem rude, even though it’s not my intention.  I just want them to stop, so I can buy a phone!

Even though it’s my daughter who is upgrading her phone, I am the account holder so he directed questions to me then my daughter would step in and answer.  Even I could recognize his growing confusion.  I am guessing that this is outside of the social script so he felt a little lost, but that is ascribing autism traits to him.  I’ll ask my daughter.

Dear daughter’s explanation:

She says he is confused because when a parents brings in the child, the parent directs.  The parent will ask the child, but the parent does the talking because it’s their account, and the parent okays it.

I think both explanations could be true, along with many possibilities.  It comes down to any person not truly knowing what is going on another person’s mind.

We didn’t buy a phone.  At home, we bought a refurbished one online from Verizon and it cost $6.  And even though Verizon’s website is difficult at best for finding the true price, it didn’t talk.  Whew!

I believe I have a high pain threshold.  I have read mentions of this in autism groups, but I don’t know how to gauge what is a high pain threshold since I can’t experience another person’s normal physical pain.  The only direct reference I have received is from a doctor doing a procedure who said I have a high pain threshold.

Due to my issues with proprioception, the awareness of my body in space in relation to other objects, I bump into things a lot.  Hubby will ask me about a big purple, yellow bruise and ask, “Owwww, how did you get that one?”  My usual reply is, “I don’t know.”  Evidently, I should have noticed at the time I hit something.

I know if something is serious because I am in pain right now.  This is the story:

One of our daughters came to stay with us for a while with her cat, named “Cat.”  Syracuse, our huge 20 lb+ Maine Coon cat, hates Cat with a fury.  He will stop at nothing to attack her.  Cat stays in our daughter’s room, but daughter left the door open last night, and the fight started.  I jumped out of bed to stop the fight.  I couldn’t find the water spray bottle, so I did like I usually do with Syracuse, I picked him up.

What was I thinking!?

Picking up a cat in a rage is a bad idea.  He bit into my arm so hard that he tore a piece of my wrist open on the soft underside.  Daughter got him out of her room with a broom.  He bit into that broom and wouldn’t let go of it as daughter pulled him out.

In the bathroom some yellow fat drops were oozing out of the inch-long rip in my skin, which I was quite fascinated with.  It hurt, but it should have hurt a lot.  Hubby cleaned it up and pulled the skin together with band-aids.  I wanted to look at the cut.

Today it hurts like hell.  I thought at the time I should have gotten stitches, but I don’t think that is the problem.  It’s swelling and getting red on the whole bottom side of my wrist, and the veins leading to the cut are throbbing, so I suppose I have an infection.

After I’m done writing, hubby is going remove the band-aids, clean the area, and put hydrogen peroxide on it to kill some infection.  It’s quite fascinating to watch hydrogen peroxide foam up on a cut.  Maybe you think I’m morbid for being interested in big cuts and hydrogen peroxide, but I get fascinated with the littlest things.  I have seen this as a regular thing in children, but perhaps the autistic ones don’t want to be robbed of their fascination by a band-aid.

Knowing that I sometimes don’t feel pain that I should prompts me to be more aware of even a twinge of pain somewhere because it could be something a little more wrong.  That does not mean living as a hypochondriac, as you can tell because I didn’t go get stitches, but it means that I have to be more aware.

I must mention that Syracuse is the cuddliest cat, so much so, that I call him “my baby.”

I recommend that you watch this.  Best Autism Video: autism reality by Alex Plank of WrongPlanet.net

“I was being metaphorical about the heart and you just got all confused and just couldn’t relate,” John smiled as he said it.  We were talking about Saturday night after we got home from an evening out.  I remember I had started explaining why the heart and mind act that way because of chemical processes that go on in the mind and body.

Then he started laughing so hard!  I wasn’t offended because he never laughs AT me, just with me.  But, I had no clue what was so funny.  He just reached over and cupped my cheek in his hand and kissed me.  He said, “Yup.  I’m Captain Kirk and you’re Mr. Spock,” still chuckling.

Then I continued, “Yes, I suppose I’m a combination of Mr. Spock and Data.”

“Who?”

“Data, from The Next Generation.”

He laughed again, “Sorry, love, I am not up on my sci-fi like you are.”  I realized what he was talking about and I thought, “OMG, am I the stereotype of a geek where from a lot of these Asperger’s online tests came from?”

I said, “You know, love, I’ve actually had a secret desire to go to a Star Trek convention and dress up and the whole bit, but there are too many people there.”

He started laughing even harder.  Again, he was NOT laughing at me.  It’s a common joke between us that I do NOT want to go to the Minnesota State Fair every year like he does with the kids because the sheer dizzying cacophony and visual flashes just kill me to the point that I have to leave, and NOW.  It’s an extremely serious issue for me, but we laugh about it to take the edge off and to show that he accepts me the way I am.  We laugh because he knows never to ask me to go to the State Fair or any other super-crowded venues.

He loves me the way I am and does NOT see me as flawed, nor do I.  We are the complete opposites, which is something we both have respect for because we think it is so cool that one can think or do in ways the other can’t.  We’re the perfect complement.  We even scored almost exactly the opposite on our Myers-Briggs tests, me, an INTJ, as you may have suspected if you are familiar with the test.

I like being logical.  It’s relaxing.  Yes, I sometimes often to do not know what’s “going on” with other people, but if I understood their drama, I’d be very upset all the time.  So, I have Asperger’s and I’m a happy camper being the logical, cool, calm island who people run to when they are emotionally distressed.

I give big hugs and I’m a great listener.

Oh, and about the heart, John was being romantic and saying sweet nothings about how his heart feels for me.  It was a little subtle for me, but I always understand and feel it wholeheartedly when he says, “I love you.”

Side thought:

Isn’t the stereotype of a geek, a man?  Not so, say I, because I personify geek.  Fortunately, “geek” is in style, so I am so de rigueur.  I am the brilliant, clueless epitome of cool.  Yes, I’m smart and logical, and my kids often say, “You’re going to wear that?”

Thinking in Pictures and Making Connections

This is how a little on how my autistic mind thinks…

I just had a talk with my daughter about how she grew up with a parent with Asperger’s Syndrome (on the autism spectrum).  After looking at her like she was an alien (fascinated) and saying, “I don’t get it” and asking pointed questions until she would inevitably say, “Other people just know,” I thought of toddlers.

Toddlers do parallel play.  The play happily beside each other, not solo, and not group play.  I’m like that with John, my partner of many years; we’re never physically far apart, yet our minds will be preoccupied with something that we’re intent on, and he’s not even an Aspie (person with Asperger’s), just the self-assured, focused, independent type.  We even both work from home, but in separate offices.

I looked up “parallel play” while my daughter was downstairs on the computer and I ran across this The New Yorker article, by Tim Page, named, surprise, surprise, “Parallel Play.”  I was slightly miffed, yet not surprised that someone else thought of it first.  That happens a lot.  I suppose an idea is only considered brilliant if you think of it first.  Maybe I’m just slow compared to the people who think of things first?  Maybe every person thinks of things that have already been thought of?  Is this a generational thing where future generations are doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past?

I went on in this line of thought for a while then started reading the article.  Yes, an article about the author’s Asperger’s Syndrome.  I decided that it would spur a great deal of blog posts based on the clarity of the article.  I could personalize his personalizations of Asperger’s.  I suppose that is hardly a unique idea either.

As I went on this tangent, I forgot to tell my daughter about parallel play.  When she was ready to leave, she said, “You should come to the door and say goodbye, Mummy.”  I did.  I hugged her and kissed her because she is my amazing, darling daughter, and I wanted to.  She said, “Yes, that is what you’re supposed to do.”  She was smiling.

So, here I sit confused.  In some year past, she (my neurotypical kid) had told me that I should see people to the door and say goodbye, and I should show emotion.  I did, and from what I could tell, people liked it.

Now, she tells me that I should actually come to the door, not stand at the top of the stairs making repetitive hand movements.  This makes no sense to me so I ask, “Why?”  She says, “I don’t know why; it’s just what people do.”  To me, that wasn’t an answer.

I often come up with ideas because I ask, “Why?”  I veer from “what is normal” in a very linear way, yet they all come together to form connections.  Like in the writer of the New Yorker article, I’ve been dubbed “brilliant” and “creative” time and again, yet I don’t feel brilliant.  I feel like I ask dumb questions, but as the saying goes, “There is no such thing as a dumb question.”

I hadn’t finished reading the article, and I have so many more questions to ask my daughter about how she thinks.  I also haven’t written a blog post yet based on the New Yorker article, but that will come along with a flurry of new connections.

Back to how my mind works:  It’s much like following links on the internet (a linear activity) and finding the new that connects back to previous ideas on pages.  Perhaps that is why we hit the “back” button on the browser to check back to earlier connections.

The connections always lead back to self-knowledge, which for anyone, Aspie or not, are the most difficult.  That is why it is so easy to give advice to others, but occasionally feel lost ourselves, but that is for another blog post.

If you are not on the autism spectrum maybe I can help you understand your loved one’s visual detail that brings such delight, but others may not understand. It’s this detail that can bring a difficulty with understanding context, like in social situations.

I have a fascination with twinkling light that draws me and pulls me into my mind so I notice little else.  I walk to them when I see them, I stare, and I watch over and over.

Try this exercise:

With the speakers off, play the above commercial, while focusing really hard on each twinkling light.  Focus only on every detail of each light, so the objects and the background disappear.  Notice as many lights as you can.  Then play it over and over focusing ever more on each light as it unfolds.  Observe the light growing and disappearing.  As each light moves, notice the trail of light it leaves behind.

With each playing of the commercial, you will notice that you start to have less recall of the shapes and the background but your mind will fill up the lines of light as the twinkling unfolds.  It may be difficult at first, since neurotypical people think in context.  Your mind may at first jump to the objects and the entire picture.  Try your hardest to focus on the lights so you can understand your loved one’s mind a little better.

My visual thinking enables me to see every detail of light automatically.  If you are not on the spectrum, you may have to work at it over a longer period of time to learn how to achieve it.  Or, you could train your brain to learn certain techniques, but without ever learning to do it automatically or properly.

Such Detail in Social Situations

Now, when I try to behave like a neurotypical person in social situations, I have to really work at it.  Over the years, I have learned one social rule at a time.  I rarely learn by “figuring it out” because that would require that my mind can understand social situations in context, much like seeing the bird, flower, tree, and background in the twinkling bird commercial before noticing every little light.

The concept of “making a first impression” mystifies me.  When I meet someone, I know nothing about them so if 30 seconds later, someone asks me what I think of the person, I would have to say, “I don’t know.”  I would also not understand the purpose of asking what I think of the person.

Evidently, neurotypical people get an “impression” of a person in the first 30 seconds.  They have summed up the person into a whole impression that they can talk about.  They have also made decisions about their continued interaction with this person.  They have decided if this person is safe or not.  I don’t know what this person is “like,” whatever that means.

Me?  I usually don’t remember faces and haven’t picked up on the non-verbal facial cues.  I’ll notice and remember details of jewelry (especially if they are twinkly!), clothing, physical size, etc.  Based on these details, I don’t know how I’m supposed to interact with this person.  I don’t know what to say or not to say.  I don’t know if I should walk away or continue to talk.  Also, in how many seconds or minutes am I supposed to walk away?  How long am I supposed to interact?

My brain is running through every social rule I know trying to figure out what to do.  If I don’t know what to do, I talk incessantly or say nothing and walk away.

I am still going through what I call “Social Training University” and learning the rules that create social interactions.  I’ve learned so many I can apply almost consistently.  Hey, I’m not necessarily using the rule in the right situation with the right people, but at least I have learned the rule.

The Science Behind It

This blog was sparked by the paragraphs below from this article in Science Daily.

“Autistic people usually can’t grasp the full meaning, or context, of a situation,” she said. “This often leads to difficulties in social settings, as making inferences from what someone else says or thinks is extremely difficult for an autistic person.”

“Our studies strongly suggest that autistic people need more emphasis on and explanation about the context of different situations,” said Hillier, who leads a social skills support group for people with milder forms of autism. “We can teach them how to interpret different situations.”

I love fixations, and I revel in them.  The world may say, “Do something useful,” “Talk,” or “We’re doing this now,” but it is deliriously heavenly to fixate.

I fixated on a draping palm tree when I was in San Francisco with my mum last year.  Staring up into that tree was wondrous.  The randomness and symmetry at the same time fascinated me.  I stared.  I made myself dizzy by walking around and around underneath it.

Of course, by walking without looking down, I tripped, which is typical of me.  Just today, I have a bruise on my collar bone from a door jamb I walked into this morning, and this was after coffee.

This tree was truly amazing.  After tripping twice, I sat on the bench under the tree and stared in one spot.  I could see how the fronds worked in a pattern.  Between two fronds, was one frond higher up and again and again.  I sat there making sense of it, just enthralled.

I heard the people at the pool talking about me staring at this tree.  I have learned embarrassment, so I left.  Maybe fortunately, because I was on the way to get a coffee for my Mum, and I got distracted by the tree, so of course, I forgot why I was even outside.

Distraction.  I do it to this day.  I’m doing it right now.  I’m focused on blog posts, not because they have to be done, but because I can’t stop thinking of things about my autism for the blog.  I love writing to you.  You’re a great listener.

I’ve had to get over embarrassment to even write in this blog.  “Hey, I have High-Functioning Autism!” is not something I would have screamed from a mountain, let alone tell the world and you.

I learned some about embarrassment from my fixations.  I remember hearing with a sneer, “What are you doing?” “What are you staring at?  I don’t see anything,” or worse, someone would say, “Hellooo” as they waved a hand in front of my eyes.

But, I’m 43 now, so I have learned to be more confident and stare up into trees, like a blissfully oblivious child.