Probably the whole point of language is to give us things to say when there’s nothing to say. Words as bookends for silence.
I wake up mid-conversation. I seem to be chatting.
I’m escorted into a small, dark room. A medical sort of person presses a techno-wand around my body. She monitors a computer screen, where my inner-systems are projected. She clicks buttons, takes a series of pictures.
A day from 2008:
I wanted to put together a list of Frequently Asked Questions. The problem is that no one really asks me anything. Mostly when people ask things, it’s the same question, usually from depressives who want to know how I survived depression. Since the honest answer is “therapy”, it makes for an abrupt and disappointing back and forth.
That just leaves me with questions I either get infrequently or not at all. Mostly the latter. Anyway, here’s my mostly-fraudulent version of a FAQ post.
“All the world’s a stage.”- let’s use that. For the sake of convenience (and the fun kind of negligent over-simplification), let’s call human reality The Stage.
This is a sleep history.
I recently guest-posted two interviews at Thinking Person’s Guide to Autism. I thought I would share links to those here, along with every interview/conversation I’ve been part of over the years. The topics all converge around autism, but I’m grateful for the huge variety of insights and perspectives these discussions made possible.
I worked graveyard shifts for a long time. It helped my senses avoid painful daylight hours. And it helped me avoid…you know, social stuff. Daylight people.