A funny day

I kept waking up last night, and finally got up at 12.35pm, having gone to bed at 1.30am. I had a weird dream; I peeled an onion, and every layer was brown. It was rather like a matryoshka doll, and I could see a whole stack of hollow onions near me.
No fags today, so feeling very odd with withdrawal symptoms. It's no good my going on about it. I'll do what I always do; try and pull myself together and just get on with it.
My life is a bit of a paradox at the moment. I have a strong feeling of inner warmth and love, but an equally strong feeling of fear and disaster. I hope I'm not turning into a skitsofreeniac. I am reminded of a sentence from A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."
When I've had my coffee I'll go and see the lady about my job placement, due to start on Monday.
I am playing at the pub tomorrow.

Another gynaecology lesson

As you already know, our local pub is suffering from a serious infestation of the Common or Garden Cunt (Mingicus Sativus Hortense). There is one further example that I omitted to tell you about the other day, so I will redress the omission now.

Cunt the Fourth (magnitude 2): Here's an interesting cunt. In his natural habitat he is often to be found pogo-sticking down the motorway, or generally annoying people with his tractor in the supermarket. In the pub he is just annoying. He speaks fluently every language ever spoken by man, and has visited all known countries. Topics for light conversation include pictures of aeroplane crashes, and every single variety of bicycle made in 1923.  He whitters on with tales of woe, but doesn't seem to care if his victim is listening. I believe he is just listening out for his own voice bouncing off his victim. This particular cunt managed to ensnare one of my friends last night, the cunt, but my friend managed to break free in a very short time. Where a first magnitude cunt can leave you feeling unbalanced, a second magnitude cunt leaves you feeling very annoyed.

That's enough about cunts.

A cement mixer

I told you in my last blog that I was holding onto the wonderful feeling of inner warmth that I started feeling yesterday. Well I am, but that is not the whole truth. I can't stop my incessant brain activity, not even for a moment. I think my brain is a bit like a cement mixer that is never switched off. Many of my thoughts are abstract and only half-remembered. The picture above (The Shepherd's Dream by Henry Fuseli (1793)) gives some indication of what I am trying to describe. The whole composition is fluid and nebulous. The figures at the top are dreamed and are fleeting, the figures at the bottom are real and are permanent. Most of the picture is in darkness or in half-light. What I am trying to describe if the feeling of inner warmth, mixed with a swirling mass of self-doubt, fear and confusion.
I am taking a two week work placement on Monday. The job doesn't sound exciting and is way beneath my capability, but I will do it for my own self-respect. The work will be unpaid, which doesn't sound fair. I had never realised that unemployed people were being used for free labour. Well there you go.

Trying times

I suppose my life must be quite ordinary, even dull. I don't really know why you bother reading about it. I'm sure I wouldn't.
I had a nice day yesterday. Last night we had a quiz night at the pub. My brother was originally in the same team as myself, and his partner was quizmistress. Cunt the First (1st magnitude) turned up and wasn't in anybody's team, so I was asked to swap sides. My brother, the poor bastard, had the cunt's incessant verbal diarrhoea all fucking night. It was atrocious. It was loud, relentless and incessant. It sounded a bit like the ongoing roadworks on the M6. My brother is very good at switching himself off to cunts like that, but he shouldn't have to do that. Anyway after the quiz, my brother, another odd bunch friend and I had a reunion at the friend's house, where the conviviality continued with generous helpings of my favourite cider. We couldn't be bothered to go home so I slept on the floor, and the other two slept on sofas. It was just like my days at uni! Great fun, and all very nice. I didn't wake up until after 11am and have only just got home.
I am finding life very trying at the moment. I get really stuck with all the everyday things, and have always done so. I don't think my life can be any more difficult than anyone else's, so what is my problem? I simply don't know, if I'm honest about it. I do hope that the psychiatrists will hurry up with my referral. I feel that I'm in limbo, neither here nor there.
 I am desperately holding on to the feeling of inner warmth that I had yesterday, and do not want to give that up. The great love which is generated by my family surrounds me, and is a great source of strength to me.

Another musical interlude

I woke up this morning thinking about music, and in particular, that of a lesser-known but very talented English composer. Charles Avison (1709-70) was born and died in Newcastle, where he was organist of St Nicholas. I first came across him when studying the works of Antonio Soler, who was a pupil of Scarlatti. The Industrial Revolution, which was already underway in the north-east, had started to produce a new industrial middle class, which demanded music with which it could entertain itself and its guests. Avison, in common with the other bright things of the era, went on the Grand Tour, and brought scores of keyboard sonatas by Scarlatti back with him. It was Avison who introduced Scarlatti to the English. He also composed a set of concertos based on Scarlatti's keyboard sonatas, and the video is of a performance of his fifth concerto. (The two pictures are of Charles Avison and St Nicholas, Newcastle).
The past week or so has been very trying for me. I have eaten properly since Sunday, slept a lot on Monday, and slept in my bed, rather than on the sofa, last night. I feel so much better than I have felt for a while. I know that there is still the daily grind to get through, but I think that if you are inwardly happy, this can leave you in a much better place to deal with life.
I went to the pub last night and saw four of my family circle at different times. Lovely. I am so lucky to have the people around me that I do. Cunt the First (magnitude 1) came in and was a right fucking pest. The imbecile isn't discerning enough to recognise when his audience is lapsing into a coma; he mistakes it for a look of keen interest. I took myself into the corner and played pieces by Chopin, Beethoven, Schubert and Haydn, and people said very kind things about my playing.
I'm going to the pub this afternoon to play some harpsichord music while it's quiet. My brother will be on duty there, and he says that he enjoys my playing. Of course this makes me happy too. This evening there will be a pub quiz, and I also expect to see the friends I visited last Sunday. I do look forward to seeing them. Cunt the First (magnitude 1) has already told us that he will be there too. As usual I will do my level best to ignore the cunt.
Hope you enjoy the music.

A point of view

"This is how autism is too often presenting to individuals who are new to it: as a grab bag of deficits and oddities.

But there are a few problems with that. Autism is so central to how I work as a person that defining it in purely negative ways cannot help but hurt my self-esteem. And I can't think of myself as a tangled up mess like this.

I have to have a way of understanding myself that is positive and congruent. I excel when I can find the order and the pattern. I have to find the patterns that help me make sense of me."

I just found the above comments online, together with the picture which I have included. I am always interested in hearing how aspergers/asd impacts upon real people's lives. 

I agree in part with paragaph 1. All human beings have their own individual personalities. To me, therefore, it seems reasonable to suppose that there will be a margin of difference in the ways that asd will manifest itself. 

Re. paragraph 2, autism is also central to who I am. I am only just beginning to realise how my brain has been wired. I am, frankly, a bit of a tangled-up mess, although I do not intend to remain so. My self-esteem has always been low, and this is part of the depression which generally accompanies aspergers. 

Re. paragraph 3, I am trying to understand myself. I note my thoughts and analyse them, and tell my readers all about them in my blog, which is a positive step. I am also drawn to patterns, which my intellect makes good use of when it has the opportunity.

I really don't like having aspergers, but you have to take what you are given. I hope the writer of the above comments will find their path in life.

It is most bewildering

For a change, I thought I might talk about aspergers and its ugly sister, depression. My mind is working lucidly at the moment, but I will try and be as concise as possible.
I slept a lot yesterday; 9-10am, then 12.30pm-4.45pm, then 6.45pm-9.50pm, then 12.30am-8.45am. I realise how exhausted I must have been. One of my recurrent dreams came back, where I am trying to get a (non-existent) bus from the village by where I grew up, to London. I am with other people. We experience problems finding the bus stop, understanding the timetable, are unfamiliar with the route, and don't know where the bus terminates. There is an atmosphere of foreboding. I have never realised it before, but this is describing aspergers, with all its array of uncertainties and misunderstandings. It is hard to make an informed decision or choice (see Archimedes, above), and one lacks foresight.
I will give you an example of this. My current circumstances are a bit tight, but just manageable. Last Friday I had a letter from my landlords, advising me that I was a fortnight late with my rent, and unless you pay.......etc. I was devastated. On top of all my emotional distress, my mind conspired to convince me that I was going to be evicted from my flat. My mental anguish was cruel and unforgiving, and hounded me both day and night. It took me until this morning to realise that all I had to do was to give the landlords what I have, and the balance on Thursday, when I get it.
When I woke up this morning I  had a black coffee, as the milk had run out. Then I went to the supermarket to get some tobacco, which had also run out. Yes, don't laugh, I was standing there gagging for a smoke, and there was a babbling lottery wanker in front of me. After I'd been served I went outside and had a fag (bliss) before going to the post office to get some electricity. It was thronged with Gustave Dore-type shadows of people. I'm sure I recognised some of them from yesterday. I waited in the queue for a bit, but couldn't stand the inability of people to stop yacking and leave the counter, so I went outside for another fag. Outside, three herberts stood uncomfortably close to me. I panicked and legged it down the road, mindful of the rent money I had in my wallet.
After paying the rent I came home, and am now enjoying a nice cup of coffee and a fag while I write.

Too much thinking

I felt very tired at about 12.30pm, so I went for a nap. I didn't get up until 4.45pm, but had laid there awake for a couple of hours. I watched a sunny day change into nightfall. I felt too tired to move, even though my joints are aching. My mind was running in full throttle, and I became aware that my foot was tapping vigorously.
The kaleidoscope above represents what has been happening in my head. Thoughts come into your head and most are forgotten almost as soon as they were born. There is a constant deluge of  thoughts and images. You sense real things and people, but in the wrong context, which I do find unsettling. The whole thing is very fluid and abstract, and quite exhausting.
I have nothing else to tell you. I just wanted to catch the moment while it was fresh.

An expedition to the post office

Yesterday afternoon I had a surprise invitation from two of my new friends. It caught me rather by surprise, but I was a big brave boy and took them up on their offer. My friends have a high incidence of asd/aspergers in their family, which common thread originally bound us in friendship. I was originally curious about meeting the kids, as I had never knowingly met a young person with the condition. I expected it to be strange for them, too, to meet someone quite as ancient as myself, since people of my age generally go undiagnosed. It was a lovely meeting. We all felt quite at ease together. People who don't know me usually find my humour strange, or don't understand it at all. The kids got it first time, and we laughed about such games as autistic snap, and about harpoon guns. There was so much talking and laughter. Then I was treated to a lovely dinner before my friends and I popped down to the pub. I could write pages about the lovely time I had, but will resist the urge on this occasion.
It was nice at the pub too. A couple of my favourite regulars were there, as well as two of my family circle.
We had a couple of enjoyable games of scrabble. There was a lady who was with one of the regulars, and she was in a very convivial mood on account of the beer that she had been enjoying. She started talking to me about music, which I answered, then she started talking about the church. That is fine, but I explained that I wasn't interested in the church. The woman brought the subject up three times in rapid succession, so I'm afraid the got the rough end of my tongue. If someone talks to you, they might at least try listening to what you have said.
I didn't sleep very well last night, and feel a bit tired and achy. I've just been to the post office, and the queue there reminded me of the above picture (Wentworth St, Whitechapel (1872) by Gustave Dore). They were a motley bunch, and really looked quite pitiful. There was a sense of hopelessness about them. However my sympathy soon ran out when I noticed the lengthy conversations people were having at the counter. They weren't even talking about post office business. They were just as bad as the lottery wankers in the supermarket. For all I know they may even be the same people. I can imagine them spending their entire day queuing up for things, but not wanting to leave the counter afterwards. Ain't it sad.

A mystical experience

I am a devout atheist, and don't usually talk about the gentleman in the picture above (God (aka The Ancient of Days, by William Blake)). Well I've been thinking about this week and, shockingly, the idea of God came to mind.
Last weekend I was very happy. The more superstitious amongst us might say that I must have pleased God, therefore it pleased God to bestow some of his bounty upon Muggins.
From Monday to Saturday I was poorly with a sense of bereavement. So I suppose that I must have been evil, sinful, wicked. I must have given God the right hump, so he started chucking daggers and shit at me. I reckon God must have been bored; after all any job is boring once you know it, even with a title like Supreme Being.
Saturday to today I have regained my happiness. I must, therefore, have been penitent and contrite enough to satisfy God that I was truly sorry for whatever sin I had committed. He then performed what the superstitious would call a miracle. He replaced utter despondency with inner warmth. That really is one of his more remarkable miracles, and so much more useful to the common man that walking on water.
Here endeth the lesson from the Gospel according to St Spastic.

A much nicer day

I am going to enjoy writing this blog, as it has a happy outcome. There are some uncomfortable things that I will need to tell you along the way. I didn't want to talk about them earlier for the sake of any of my loved ones who were reading. I feel more comfortable to tell you with hindsight how I came through.
This week has been fucking awful. Emotionally it has been one of the bleakest weeks of my life. It started off with a high last weekend, followed by a rapid descent into the abyss on Monday. I remained there until yesterday evening. I am pleased to tell you I have regained my happiness, and it tastes very sweet indeed.

I have been so distressed that I've been unable to eat. Well, almost unable; since Monday I've managed a hot cross bun and about an ounce of cheese. My girth has reduced somewhat. I am about to remedy this with some home-made chips.

Bedtime has been an ordeal. I haven't gone to bed this week. I have slept on the sofa with a duvet over me. I have been beside myself with anguish and utterly restless. I will go to bed tonight.

I went up the pub yesterday evening and it was raining heavily. There were two people I'd never seen before and they started talking to me. When I turned round, my phone was missing. I naturally feared the worst. I came home to make sure I hadn't forgotten it, and got drenched in a freak hailstorm. No phone to be found. Although it's only a cheap phone it has all my phone numbers on it. I am very careful not to mislay things and I get very angry with myself if I do. Yesterday it rang unanswered when I tried it. I rang it just now and the police station answered. Someone had found it in the pub and handed it in. I am pleased.

I hadn't seen my brother for a couple of days. I naturally assumed this to be because of my own behaviour and blamed myself. I thought I'd killed something very precious to me. Well yesterday he came in and we had a really good chat. This cleared up a whole pile of misunderstandings. I am so happy.

To begin with there were only the two of us there, so I spent time playing harpsichord music on my keyboard. A little while later a regular came in who we like talking to. He was in a terrible state; his wife was in hospital with meningitis in London. He asked me to play things that his wife would like. He wrote down all the names of the tunes, so he can show her when she's well enough. She's a really lovely lady, and I do hope she pulls through.

Very late yesterday we had an impromptu Odd Bunch reunion at our friend's house. Lovely. I was completely twatted on cider but enjoyed another half pint before sleeping it off. I've only just got home in the pouring rain. It's a lovely day. Lovely.

This fucking aspergers lark really does get on your nerves. You are entirely at the mercy of a hyperactive mind and its unpredictable moods. I am really glad that, emotionally, I am in a much better place today.

The rack

The feelings that I am about to tell you are not new. They have always been with me, but I never acknowledged them. I apologise unreservedly for what is going to be another bleedin' cheerful read.
Last night I played at the pub. It was very busy, lots of people coming in and out, so I played my routine four times in as many hours. I didn't recognise most of the people. I had a nice chat with a few of my favourite regulars afterwards. The music went down very well.
I couldn't settle down when I got back, and ended up going to bed at 2.30am. Last night I kept dreaming of people who matter to me. Every time I did so, I woke up. I remember waking up many times, but not staying awake. I finally woke up with a start at 1.20pm. My foot was tapping and my mind was in full throttle with indistinct, unclear, abstract thoughts. At the time I didn't know what I was thinking about, and I still don't. All I know is that I was thinking. I am tired. I ache. I am exhausted. My neck and shoulders hurt. I fell like I've been on the rack all night.
I am sorry to say that my aspergers mood hasn't shifted yet. Inside I have the same feeling I get when someone close to me dies. I don't know why. It hurts and leaves you feeling wretched. When I wrote yesterday, I came to the realisation that most of my internal suffering is inflicted by myself upon myself. That's a bit like the rack, too, I suppose. For me, the two guards represent aspergers, only they are punishing the mind rather than the body. They have complete control over the object of their attentions. They are unyielding and unemotional. They are cruel. Aspergers is cruel to. I hate it. What I also realise is that the two guards are just as much a part of myself, as is the man on the rack. For me, the picture symbolises what my mind is doing to itself.
I have had the 'bereaved' feeling many times in my life, but have never looked at it or tried to analyse it. I always ignored it, swept it under the carpet, and told myself to just get on with it. I can remember many occasions where I went to work feeling as I do now. I know I will get through, but I do hope this mood will shift itself soon.

Como es la vida

A este momento soy desconsolable. He pasdao un dia lleno de dolores, miserias y dudos. No soy cierto ?quien soy? Esculpeme, leidor muy querido, que no tengo la sapienza technologica, para espreserme en la ortoggrafia propria. Hay cosa que no quiero decir a mis amigos mas queridos, dicho mi familia nueva. Tengo que decir que soy absolumente roto. Hace tres dias el chico lo mas feliz en el mundo era yo. ?Pues que paso? ?Como es que me encuentro in este lugar tan horroroso? Todo eso tiene nada a hacer con mis mas querinos. Mia culpa. Todo es mi falto. Es nada mas que mi miento autistico que me pune. Me falta a mi hermano. No meriscolo que me perdone. Que soy estupido. Gillipollas. A mi hermano, le espero una vida muy felia. Espero tambien que un dia, sera possible que nos vemos. Mi hermano, espero que no me odias, sino entiendo yo que no tengo el derecho de pedirlo.

The best of the bunch

Since I finished writing just now, after a particularly horrible night, I've finished the coffee & fags routine, and have carried out the trooping of the tablets ceremony. I'm trying to think of all the beautiful things in life, and find myself thinking about the most beautiful of all; that is, that wonderful group of people who, to me at any rate, are family. I am very lucky to have such wonderful people around me, a mixed bag, and all of them so talented.

To my family: I always wonder about what I have said and what I haven't said, or how I've behaved. I am sure now that you all know and understand that I misunderstand. Do you know that I find it hard to maintain contact? Did you know that I am afraid when the phone rings? These are aspergers traits. In my case its also because I'm a fucking weirdo. Sometimes I have become so conscious of the keeping in contact bit that I've gone to the other extreme, and made more contact than is proper. I want you all to know how close I feel to you, and how much you matter to me. I know I get it wrong but please don't misunderstand me. You are all so special to me, and the best of the bunch.

By the way, isn't a fragrant garden the result of using the subject of my previous blog?

Let's talk shit

The above picture shows Common or Garden Shit (Faeces Sativus var. Communis). This morning, I'm afraid to say I both look like and feel like that by-product of daily existence. I went to bed at 1.30am and remember that I kept waking up. I woke up very early and lay there thinking and thinking, during which I noticed night turning into day, and the day grow brighter. I listened to the seagulls nagging both each other and the world in general. I got up at 8.10am. While I was thinking, I became aware that I was mouthing some of the words without voicing them. I don't know if I've ever done that before.

While I was thinking a couple of ideas came my way. I remembered the Goya picture shown in one of my earlier blogs (The Dream of Reason Produces Monsters). I have come to the realisation that the most of my inner suffering is entirely of my own making. Self-harm is not uncommon amongst aspergic people. I wonder if I am doing the same thing to myself, only with spiteful and cruel thoughts rather than a sharp implement.

I do not like my own company and am intolerant of myself. I am becoming increasingly aware of my own shortcomings. I hate it when I misunderstand things. I feel a complete imbecile and duff myself up for it. The thing I absolutely hate the most is that I don't understand body language, gesture and nuance. This has put me in situations where I have unintentionally hurt those closest to me, by inappropriate behaviour or an ill-chosen word. In spite of reassuring and kind words, I still believe that I did hurt by brother the other day. As usual my brain's retribution has been swift and excessive. For the past few days a few moments have been going round and round in my head, each time confronting me with a feeling of spiteful indignation. The hurt. The hurt weighs so heavily with me. Serves me right.

Today I'm meant to be meeting three of the odd bunch at lunchtime. I feel a bit edgy about it but long to see them. I hope none of them will be too poorly to come.

Yesterday the pub landlord asked me if I would play this evening for a party of visitors. Of course I said yes, so will spend the rest of today trying to pull myself together.

Dear reader, please understand these feelings are not new. They have always been with me. What is different now is that I am starting to acknowledge how I feel, rather than just covering it all up. I am really quite used to these moods, as awful as they are. What is different now is that I know that I am surrounded by love. I feel that love. God help me when I try to express it though. As they might have said in my last job 'a major development need'.

I hope, if any reader is affected by similar issues to mine, that they may be reassured that they are not alone in the difficulties they face. I urge them to seek diagnosis and treatment, if they have not already done so. I also urge them to talk about it to someone they can trust. I hope this shitty fucking aspergers mood will have shifted by tomorrow so I can have a decent night's sleep and get on with my life.

Another ordinary day in the life of a spastic

The painting is "The Lady of Shallott" by Waterhouse (1888). I used to love this picture when I was a teenager, and had a cheap poster of it on my wall. I don't know why I liked it. The miserable bint has a face like a slapped arse. Nowadays I try to imagine her out of the picture, as it's such a lovely landscape painting. When I write my blogs it's as though I'm looking at my mind as if it were a jigsaw puzzle. I examine each piece in great detail before deciding on its significance, and then trying to work out where it actually belongs. There seems to be quite a number of pieces missing in the puzzle shown above. I wonder if I too have a number of important pieces missing. In real life I have an above-average intellect, but not much else that could possibly be mistaken for intelligence. In reality I'm not much use to man or beast, when I think about it. I also wonder if the kids at school were right when they used to call me a spastic.
Nothing in my life has changed significantly in the last week, or the last month, yet my moods have been all over the place. The whirlwind that has been going round in my head now seems to have sucked up my physical body too, and I feel as if I'm being whirled round and round together with all the psychological debris.
My sleep was chaotic last night. I kept waking up for short periods. I woke up finally (or so I thought) at whatever time, and watched it get light. The next thing I remember is waking up to a beautiful, sunny day. The final time I woke up finally was to a heavy shower. After quite some time I got up at 12.40pm. My brain was thinking intensely and lucidly throughout, but I was too tired to move. Unusually my foot didn't start tapping (I think I was too exhausted), and I am aching from wherever my body made contact with the mattress. I didn't really want to get up today, but I wanted me coffee and fags, and I have only myself to make them.
My mood isn't very good today, but I don't hurt as intensely as I did yesterday. Fucking aspergers again. You get these moods and it can take ages to shift them.
I don't know how I managed it but I did play at the pub yesterday evening, and it was a success. The two new friends I've made (the couple who have two aspergic children) came along, and I was delighted to see them. Unfortunately Cunt the First (magnitude 1) turned up afterwards and cornered my brother and his partner, as usual. Sir, if perchance you've stumbled across my blog, let me tell you here and now that you're one of the most disagreeable cunts it's ever been my misfortune to encounter. You would be much more acceptable if you were to keep your gob shut for a few seconds here and there, although I realise what a terrible strain this would be for you. In short, kindly desist from any intercourse with us on this occasion ( or, shut the fuck up).
Aspergers poses real problems in forming relationships and friendships. It's all about communication and miscommunication. It's also about understanding and misunderstanding. There is also the issue of needing to be on one's own, which can be isolating. My dilemma is as follows. I need time on my own but don't like my own company. I need time with other people, but not too much time. I would really like to spend more time with the people I'm closest to, but I can never work out what the boundaries are. At my age, you'd think I should know these things. I honestly don't.

Black Wednesday, a glimmer of hope

Fucking aspergers. I hate it. I know you shouldn't wish ill upon yourself, but I sometimes wonder if it might be better to have a physical condition than aspergers. With physical conditions you realise your limitations and can plan your life accordingly. With aspergers it's all so random. You never know where it's going to drop you. Two days ago I was the happiest bunny alive. Within two days my autistic mind had turned it into a whirlwind of negativity. I felt wretched and broken, so desperately sad. O city of dreadful night.
I spoke to my brother today and I'm glad that I did. Yes, fucking aspergers again. Shitty fucking aspergers. As usual I was the one who had misunderstood. I'm very good at that, and sometimes think I should be awarded a degree in it. As my friend who texted me yesterday rightly pointed out, he had understood my aspergers behaviour. I am so happy, as I was convinced I had killed our friendship.
To any of my close friends who are reading this, I am so sorry for what I have to write next. You see I couldn't possibly talk about it, so feel compelled to write.
I attempted suicide when I was 17. I was still living at home with my mum and the bastard she'd married. I'd had untold quantities of emotional cruelty heaped upon me for:
1) Being in the way (they'd only just married, and they wanted me out of the way)
2) My sexuality (They hated it and tried to get it 'cured' by a psychiatrist, with whom I naturally didn't co-operate. My mum worked out for herself that I was 'gay' when I was sixteen, so she made me go to school in girl's trousers).
By the age of seventeen years and four months I was no longer able to cope. I could never initiate a conversation so could'n form any friendships or relationships. I used to pick blokes up just so I wouldn't have to go home. Anyway I couldn't take any more of it so took a load of tablets from the first aid box in the kitchen. Being the coward I am I got frightened so drank loads of salty water to make myself vomit. My retching and puking woke up my mum's husband and he stood there with a face like thunder. I went to bed and went to work as normal the next day. When I got home my mum accused me of trying to wreck her new marriage, and told me to get out if I didn't like it. Within a fortnight I picked up someone and had moved in with him, just to get away from them.
My mum died when I was forty-and-a-half years old. That hit me hard. My biological family were true to type and were like a pack of grave robbers. I had a breakdown and  became homeless. I wasn't destitute though because I had two different sofas and a floor to sleep on. About a year or so later I was settled in a flat  and had landed the job that I've just been made redundant from. I hated it. I was still poorly with depression, and this was exacerbated by the fact that I was unable to take my place on a higher degree course. On that occasion I had the funding, but was mentally incapable. Anyway I went to the works christmas 'do'. It was awful. The people were awful. I hated it so much that I drank three bottles of wine just to get myself through it. When I got home I took about ten paracetamol tablets. I couldn't even get that right. I went to work the next day feeling like shit.
You will gather that I found yesterday very distressing. Candidly I did feel suicidal, but have spoken to my brother about it and no longer do. It's a horrible feeling because you see everyone you love in your mind's eye, but the feeling of utter despair and hopelessness is overwhelming.
Yes I have got over it now. I feel a bit odd but am starting to pull myself together now. I must, because I'm playing at the pub at 6pm. I wonder where the aspergers will dump me tomorrow.

And so it continues

I wish I could be humorous, but I don't feel able to. I have been distraught all day. Yesterday we had a very convivial evening at the pub. I had a lot on my mind when I got there, and decided I wanted to get shitfaced. I drank five pints when I normally have no more than three. I can't remember all the evening, and that's never happened to me before. I woke up this morning feeling very, very sad. I have a vague recollection of having hurt my new brother, but I'm not sure. I've tried contacting him but have had no reply, so I fear the worst. Ain't I clever. I've shot myself in the foot again, and it's all my own fault. I have only myself to blame.  To think that I have hurt such a good person has rocked me to the core. I fuckingwell hate this aspergers lark. It's horrible.

What a day

The tornado has continued its progress. I feel bewildered and desperately sad. I have a lot of thinking to do, and don't expect I'll be going out today. I will write again tomorrow.

Fucking aspergers

When I wrote a couple of hours ago, I told you how very happy I felt, and how busy my mind was. Since then the mental activity hasn't stopped all bloody day. Well look at the picture of a tornado. This is how my mind feels now. It may even be destroying the flower meadow I imagined earlier. I still have all the cherished memories of this morning, but all the other mental activity is very uncomfortable and distracting. I will be fine, but this is how my brain treats me. It takes everything it has ever thought, mixes it all up, combines it all with any new thoughts, and spits it all out.
No, reader, I am not being cynical or pessimistic, but realistic. The picture represents how I think, twenty-four hours a day. I can see the blue sky approaching, and long for this. The blue sky symbolises all the good people, the better life and all the goodness I am surrounded with.
It is all completely exhausting and I haven't managed to do anything at all today, except for a walk to the madhouse to buy my tobacco. As usual I got stuck behind two lottery wankers. I felt quite tingly when I arrived, and had to bite my tongue to stop me exploding at the imbeciles. They really shouldn't be allowed to wander abroad unless supervised by a responsible adult.
I'll go to the pub after dinner. That will be nice because I'll see my friends. My brother will be there and he always manages to calm me down. It is a new and wonderful thing for me that he actually knows the way my mind works, without my having to explain. On the other hand It saddens me greatly to think he goes through it all too. Fucking aspergers.

All things bright and beautiful

Good morning reader! I do feel happy this morning, although I'm not sure that I should. I t took me ages to get to sleep last night and my right foot is aching a bit from all the tapping. My mind has been going in warp drive. What is different from usual is that most of my mental debris is of a happy nature. I feel that things are re-positioning in my mind. All the flotsam and jetsam seems to be re-grouping and crystallising into things of beauty. Look at the picture of a flower meadow. Isn't it gorgeous. My friend who passed away last year would have loved this picture, and she would have been overjoyed to hear me expressing these thoughts.
Of course there is an undercurrent of menace and uncertainty (all the creepy-crawlies and stinging things lurking in the undergrowth) as usual, but I am living for this moment. I want to hold on to this wonderful feeling.

I've had a lovely weekend. I spent most of yesterday at the pub, with some of my inner family circle. Before I detect any raised eyebrows, I had only three pints between 3pm and 11pm, so now then. We had a lovely meal. One couple did all the roasts. Other people saw to the meat, and I made the afters. After that I started a game of pegging; the idea was to clip a clothes peg to someone without them noticing it. It was hilarious, and before long everyone was at it. The landlady was walking round with a clothes peg hanging from her hair. The couple who did the veg had pegs all round the outside of their van. I found loads of pegs inside my coat sleeves when I went to leave. The pegging didn't actually stop until about 10pm. What a laugh!

Of course I have always known that the people I love love me as much as I love them. During the last few days something has changed, where I now have had the feeling of it, rather than just the knowledge of it. It has been quite overwhelming and humbling, and quite distracting, if I am honest about it. It has been a revelation. I am still trying to organise my thoughts and can't yet articulate how I feel. The whole thing seems very abstract yet very real.

I am very lucky to have so much happiness all at once. I feel a bit uncomfortable with it. Something inside me thinks that I'm not entitled to feel like this. Well this is how I feel, and it has been nice for me to try and tell you about it.

Another musical interlude

The Odd Bunch reunion yesterday went very well. We had a roast chicken dinner with a few different trimmings. It was so simple to make but my guests kept saying how much they were enjoying what I had cooked. I know that food does taste different according to the circumstances it is eaten in. When I eat alone I tend to wolf my food down without really tasting it, just to get the meal over and done with. Yesterday the obvious enjoyment felt by my guests rubbed off on me, I ate much more calmly, and each morsel tasted exquisitely delicious. After dinner we spent some time listening to music, which I selected from a variety of genres. My new brother played some of his own work, which has been recorded. I did enjoy hearing it. Yes, he writes his own music, the clever sod. I can't do that.
Afterwards my brother, his partner and I went down the pub. The people I met for the first time the other day, who have two aspergic children, were there and I was delighted to see them. It was a cunt-free zone. Cunt the First was out of the area exhibiting toy cars or some other miskellaneous shite. Cunt the Second hasn't been back since we had to mop up after him. There wasn't a cunt of any description to be found. In fact one thing the pub was totally bereft of was a cunt. BLISS!!!!!!!!!!!! Two regulars came in shortly afterwards, and it is always a joy to see them. We ended up having a sing-song with Yours Truly at the pianofort'. Afterwards I carried on with my pint and one or two more.
Eventually closing time came round, and my brother and I stayed behind for a chat. Contrary to popular misconception, we aspergic types do have feelings, just like 'normal' folk. However we do have real difficulties in communicating. I communicate with my readers by putting my feelings into writing. If I were to try and utter what I am feeling, the words I use don't usually express exactly what I want to say. My brother and I have now come to the point where we now feel more comfortable about expressing feelings, although this is still not at all easy. He also told me about what he wants to do musically. He wants to write songs again and would like me to make music with him. He has been practicing on the ukelele the old-time songs I play at the pub. A result! I am really thrilled that he told me all this of his own volition.
Were it not for my brother, I would not be writing to you now. Let me see what the psychiatric profession can offer an old 'un like me. Brother take my hand and come with me too, for yourself. Let us continue to support one another by doing nothing, apart from being ourselves and being there. Let's see what we can do to make our lives a bit easier.
I digressed. When I got home I picked the chicken carcass dry. Do you know what, a bessarabian shitehawk couldn't have picked more off those bones than I did. It was fun though.
I should have been on duty at the museum at 11am today, but didn't wake up until 11.40am. I felt embarrassed and worried for a bit, but now I don't. When I've finished my coffee and fags I'll take a leisurely stroll down there and let them know.
We're having a meal at the pub this afternoon, and I've made a plum duff for afters. I do feel happy today.
PS new couple, we are looking forward to meeting your son.

A touch of the giggles

My brain is overworking itself at the moment. This time I am both deluged and overwhelmed with a whirlwind of nice thoughts, happy feelings, optimism, love, and lots and lots of fun. LOVELY!!!

I am reading my friend's emails over and oner and over again in my mind. Some friends apparently had a good laugh at my written outburst this morning. GOOD! That is what I really want, and I like to include a humorous note wherever possible, even when the subject itself is bitter and unpalatable. 

I would like to thank everyone who reads what I write. It is essentially the diary of a nobody, a very ordinary person. I hope that for the older reader who has asd (I hope there are some of you out there), you may be reassured by the experiences in my life. No, you are not going mad. These are things we experience because of our psychological makeup. The number of pageviews has now exceeded 840, which is phenomenal.I would never have expected anyone to find my life even remotely interesting.

The picture at the top is someone called Giggles the Clown, and I found the picture online. I have been getting attacks of the giggles all afternoon, even when I was doing the washing up. Ain't I daft. 

A stately repast

We're having an Odd Bunch reunion today, round at mine. Unfortunately the youngest member is away on business in the metropolis, so he won't be able to make it. We won't be dining as lavishly as the revellers in the above picture by Jean-Francois du Troy, but I think a nice roast chicken might sort us out. I am looking forward to it.

A gynaecology lesson (Please let me explete)

Dear reader, if you are offended by bad language, please stop reading now. If you decide to read on but are subsequently mortified, you will have no option but to report me to either the Archbishop, the Daily Sport, or both. I want to be entirely candid in my blogs.
Today's lesson is all about cunts. There is a rare and very annoying species of person that frequents my favourite pub, namely the Common or Garden Cunt. Their characteristics are as follows: hyper-loquaciousness, boring and inane subject matters, the inability to come to a point, the inability to detect when the listener is drifting into a coma, complete unawareness of the fact that one is totally hacked off with the monologue, and they have delusions of intellectual greatness, having achieved at least one cse, the 25 yard certificate, or having no qualifications at all. They only speak one sentence all night, and sentences range from twenty minutes (Novice Cunts) to eight hours (1st Magnitude Cunts). In appearance they are slovenly and uninspiring. In fact they generally look like they have been knitted. They have a sallow complexion coupled with a fixed and manic gaze.
Cunt the First (Magnitude 1): I have come to dread this cunt. He always latches onto my new brother and I. My brother and I spend time both talking and being quiet. We are comfortable and content being autistic together. Well this cunt always sits himself where we are. He talks over us (he is very loud) and doesn't even stop for breath. He is atrocious. His favourite subjects are toy train sets and railway timetables. He has sometimes left my brother and I feeling quite traumatised, one example of which is when he started talking at 6pm and still hadn't finished at 2am. He even followed my brother to the toilet to carry on talking; my brother was in the cubicle and the cunt stood outside. YUGH. I lost my temper with this cunt. I said "You are a cunt". Do you know what, he just carried on talking.
Cunt the Second (Magitude 1-2): He is not such an advanced cunt as Cunt the First, despite many decades' experience. Don't be deceived, though, as he is quite pernicious. He arrives in a terrible state, having got himself completely wankered on cider at another establishment. He stands in the middle of whoever is present, just to make sure he has a captive audience. He draws everyone who is present into his conversation. I don't make any eye contact and don't respond to him, even when he keeps addressing me. He gets so drunk that he pisses himself without knowing it. The other day the landlord and I had to mop up after him. His monologues are so strange and hare-brained that we generally have a good laugh. On one occasion I heard this cunt taking the mickey out of my younger friend from the Odd Bunch, and I completely lost it. I gave him a right mouthful.
Cunt the Third (Novice): I saw this person yesterday for the first time. He's obviously just started out on the path to cuntdom, as he only lectured me for twenty minutes before leaving. He went on and on for over twenty minutes about things I wasn't even remotely interested in. In fact I wasn't even listening. My foot was tapping and I remember looking at the floor. He just wouldn't shut up.
The cunts always latch onto my brother and I. They are like psychological vampires and completely sap your energy and confidence. You feel like you have been psychologically raped. I made a suggestion to my brother that we both found amusing. Why don't I make two placards to wear round our necks with the words "If you are a cunt, please come and talk to me".
Here endeth the gospel according to St Cunt.

L'aurore (dawn)

Today has been momentous. I received an email from a very dear and kind friend, in which he discussed my blog. He is a very perceptive and intuitive person, and his words were kind, heart-warming and supportive. He has told his daughter about my blog. She teaches children with similar issues to mine, and I am told she finds them useful. I am absolutely delighted to have played a part in this, and sincere thanks, dear friend, for telling her. I want to do whatever I can to stop others from going through what I went through.
My other earth-shattering news is that my friend who has aspergers told me today that he has started reading my blog. I am so happy, as I really wasn't sure whether he would read it.  My friend and I have become very close, and to me he has become a brother. If it weren't for my friend's example, I would never have sought a diagnosis. He gave me something really huge and life-changing without even realising it. Thank you, brother, for such a wonderful gift. You are a wonderful person. When my referral finally comes through, I will tell you what I am offered. If it is good I will do my utmost to persuade you. Don't go on your own; take my hand and come together with me. Don't ever face things on your own when you don't have to. I feel as if it's a new dawn. Try and embrace the opportunity.

A madhouse

I didn't have a very good night again, so I'm feeling more tired than I did yesterday. I stubbed my big toe on the foot of the bed as I turned round during the night, and that hurt a bit for a while. There are things I really should be doing today, but they will have to wait until Monday now. I also want to give myself a break from playing at the historic building for a while. The museum and historic building are staffed entirely by volunteers. They already get quite a lot from me, and I really need to do something to help myself, given my present circumstances.
I feel like having a bit of a moan this morning, and I hope that you will indulge me. The picture above is Casa de Locos (Madhouse) by Goya. I've just got back from the supermarket, and it reminds me of a madhouse. My friend who has aspergers finds the place so appalling that he refuses to shop there. I find it appalling too, but I like the things they sell. There are things that they don't sell but the shop is full of, such as imbecility, moronic gestures, plankton-like behaviour, vacant expressions, dithering, morbid obesity, slovenliness, atrocious bodily odours and rank stupidity. I wonder if they ought to sell lobotomies. People do the weirdest things there, like stopping directly in front of you to go through their handbag, without even bothering to check who is around. There is always the danger of being run over by a tractor hurtling towards you at forty miles an hour. The place is full of them, going in all directions. And then it takes you a quarter of an hour or so to move two places up the queue at the fag counter; either you have to wait for some needy person to make their mind up about their purchase (I use the word 'mind' loosely), or to finish a lengthy conversation about crap, or you're stuck behind the lottery wankers. The lottery wankers are the worst, because the transaction always involves three or four separate purchases, plus the ten-minute chat that accompanies each ticket. Worst of all the shop is always, always crowded. I fly round as quickly as possible, just to get away from it all as soon as I can. I find it extremely difficult having these people so close to me, and I always feel edgy and irritable when I shop there.
If you are still reading this, thank you for hearing me out. I've got it orf me chest now.

Three different me's

I thought I might look at the music I play, and how I relate to it. The top picture shows a young man playing the harpsichord. Contrary to popular belief I was also young once!!! I love harpsichord music with all its tables of ornaments, nuances, and expressive techniques. Yes the harpsichord is a beautifully expressive instrument. Its repertoire was written at a time when emotional content was not part of the style. For me it is wonderfully meditative to play it.  I play this music with complete emotional detachment, and focus on making each phrase expressive and beautiful, whilst balancing all this with the architecture of the piece as a whole.
The picture in the middle shows a good old cockney knees-up in a pub. I love playing these songs because they are very dear to the people who enjoy singing them. At my local pub I sit in the corner facing the wall, so that I won't get freaked-out by the people around me. I look sideways fairly frequently so that I can interact with the singers. I enjoy the wonderful atmosphere, and the enjoyment felt by the singers is a source of joy to me. In the pub, people now ask me to play so that they can sing. One lady with a beautiful voice asked me yesterday if she can sing with me. Of course! My friend who has aspergers wants to play the ukelele at the same time. Yes please! I love these sing-songs. It's lovely to see all the pleasure they bring, and it's such a great shame that this sort of communal singing has almost died out. I will do my bit to ensure that it doesn't die out completely, not just yet at any rate.
The picture at the bottom represents romantic piano music. The lady is Clara Wieck, the sister of Robert Schumann. Schumann is one of my favourite composers. The poor man had terrible mental health problems, and I wonder if his depression was aspergers-related. I feel a complete emotional involvement with his music and completely throw myself at it. Emotionally this can be quite draining. There can be undertones and shapes in his music that I empathise with; they remind me very much of my own thought processes and moods.
When I perform, I feel in a way as if I am these three different musicians. I wonder if I can approach all three styles from the same mental starting point, or indeed, whether I should. I have been toying with this idea in the following way: when I am better off, I might get or hire some eighteenth-century style togs for playing at the local historical building, a cloth cap for playing at the pub, and a frock coat for playing Schumann. O blimey, I hope I'm not turning into a skitsofreeniac.

Another exhausting night

I've had a terrible night's sleep. My brain was more than usually hyperactive and I kept waking up to turn over. I feel like I've been turning round and round all night. That's all I can remember about it. I don't know if I actually slept at all. My foot was tapping when I eventually came round at 9.40am. I'm exhausted.
I feel a bit like the person in the engraving by Goya (above). Incidentally Goya's meaning was different from mine. The text "The dream of reason produces monsters" relates to the dictators who came to restore rationality and order after the defeat of Napoleon. However my own brain is very clever at creating its own monsters out of rational things. I wish it weren't. To me, the nasties that lurk behind the man correspond with the nasties that swirl round in my mind, along with all the other flotsam of my imagination. Although I'm nearly wide awake, the monsters don't seem to have gone very far away yet. I expect another mug of coffee and a few more fags might sort that out.
Although I feel exactly as I have tried to describe, I am quite used to it. It has always been with me, and has never been otherwise. I really can't imagine what it would be like not to have these feelings. Of course I don't want to feel like this, but the way that "normal" minds work is quite outside my own experience. I'd love for someone who is not on the spectrum to describe their own thought processes to me, in the same way that I try to describe my own thought processes to you. I should imagine that it wouldn't be easy. I've almost had to sit outside myself and look back in, so as to remain detached and objective, in order to try and analyse the inner workings of my hyper-creative mind.
I had a really nice natter with my friend who has aspergers. I have already told you a bit about his artwork. He's also very clever with electronics, and managed to get my stereo up and running. Well he's also a very talented musician. He plays the guitar, ukelele and banjo, and makes a fair fist of playing my keyboard, all of which without any formal training. He also plays a variety of other instruments. Clever, eh? In common with other people who have aspergers, he didn't do very well with his education. I suppose I'm a cuckoo in the aspergers nest. I did well at school for reasons I have already told you. He hasn't managed to read my blog yet (although his partner has), but I would like to write him something for when he does feel able to read it:
Please listen to me brother. You are a highly intelligent and highly talented person. Your skills and abilities put me to shame. You really come alive when you play, so play. PLAY. Do it. Try and acknowledge and then accept how talented you are. You are not second best, just because you weren't taught. You taught yourself, which is harder. Please do it.
As a footnote, I was in the same mindset when I was the same age as my friend. I was self-taught and gave piano lessons. I was teaching children for higher qualifications than I had myself, yet I wasn't confident. The special lady who was my friend when she was alive nagged me. I would protest. "Of course you're good enough dear", she would argue. It was she who got me into university. I would never have considered it, if left to my own devices.  Fucking aspergers.

An outbreak of Aspergers at the pub

The picture is a tavern scene (1658) by David Teniers the younger. I have chosen it because it is rather like the little pub I go to, both in appearance and in mood. The pub has very plain walls and floors, but the landlord and landlady have put various trinkets and simple decorations around the place which create a lovely mood. The group on the left reminds me of my friends and I, chatting, laughing and playing scrabble while we enjoy our pints. The person in the middle also reminds me of someone. I have already told you about a very aggravating alcoholic who drives me mad with his pissed and relentless verbal diarrhoea. Well, he did fall asleep once and needed to be woken up. It was only once though. I actually preferred him when he was asleep, because it was nice and quiet, and one could talk quite normally without the conversation being taken over.
A couple came to the pub yesterday that I hadn't seen before. We got talking, and they told me that ten days ago they'd moved here from London. They also told me that they had two children who have aspergers. I called my friend over and introduced him as follows: "My name is Cliff and I have aspergers. This is my friend X and he has aspergers too". We had a really good natter. I suggested that the couple bring their kids with them next time "so the poor buggers will know what they'll look like when they get older". We did laugh.
The couple said how much they had enjoyed themselves, and that they would be back.
A couple of weeks ago a lady I didn't know came in with one of the regulars. She was a little merry on account of the wine she'd evidently been enjoying prior to her arrival. She was in the mood for character analysis, and so it was my turn. She completely misread me. I explained to her that she had misunderstood my autistic traits, and then she talked at length about her only son, a teenager she suspects has aspergers but doesn't want to be diagnosed. During the evening she kept paying me compliments and cuddled me a couple of times. I put it down to the drink. The next time I saw the person she was with, he tried to arrange a date, saying how much she had liked me. I had to explain at that point that I would be quite unsuitable, since I am attracted to blokes. The person looked quite floored by my statement. He had no problem at all with what I had said, but it obviously had never occurred to him.
Reader, I have three questions for you:

1) What does someone who has aspergers look like?
2) What does a bloke who is attracted to other blokes look like?
3) Does someone who does not have aspergers and who is not attracted to the same sex have to keep    
    explaining themselves?

By the way I don't mind any of this in the least.

Dear little dickybirds

Since moving from London I have noticed the interesting bird life in my new habitat. I often see goldfinches and sand martins flying past my window. On the seafront there are sandpipers and redshanks. Once I saw a small egret. Lovely. Then we come to the vermin; pigeons and seagulls. We commonly get three types of gull here, namely the (misnamed) common gull, the herring gull and the great black-backed gull. The common gulls are alright, but the other two types are a right pest. Once upon a time the council used to carry out an annual cull to control the populations. It is to be deplored that they no longer do so. I know that the seaside wouldn't really be the seaside if there were no gulls, but couldn't they keep just enough to stop them going extinct?

An extremely busy night

I went to bed at 2.30am this morning, I soon fell asleep but was kept awake by lucid dreams. I was with various friends and people I didn't know, in places that I'd never seen before. At one point we were all speaking Spanish. My night consisted of falling asleep, waking up and staying awake for long periods and then falling asleep again. I woke up at 8am to switch off my alarm. The pattern continued until 10.50am when I got up. I am psychologically exhausted today. My right shin and toes are aching; my foot had been tapping a lot during the night, what with all the mental activity, and was tapping when I woke up this morning. I should have been at the museum at 9.30am today. They all finished at 12.30pm, so I'm too late to contact them. I'll have to email them later. My mood is a bit like that of the Goya painting above. I don't know what it's called. My mind is full of half-forgotten memories of people, most of whom I imagined in the first place. The memories are blurred and indistinct, just like the faces in the picture. There are things I really must do today, so I must try and pull myself together. To my close friends who are reading this, please don't be unduly worried. I am used to having these days but have never said anything before. I had always put it down to depression, but hadn't thought about why I felt miserable. I don't know for the life of me how I managed to go into work like this, manage those awful people, and then spend the day being shouted at, abused and generally got at by a very angry and volatile customer base. I'm so glad I haven't got to go back to that.
I went up the pub yesterday evening. Some close friends of mine were there, but didn't stay long. It was very quiet so the landlord and I spent the evening playing scrabble. Later on my friend who has aspergers came with his partner, so we had a good laugh answering questions from a pub quiz book. I like the pot luck and geography questions. I dislike the questions on pop music, telly, films and sport, as I don't know anything about them. I don't really want to know anything about them; if I wanted to know, I would know. The truth is that I find these subjects very annoying.
Blimey, ain't I cheerful today. I think I must have got what is commonly called "the hump". I think I'll have another fag or two. Then I'd better try and look a bit livelier.

And so the obsession continues

On Saturday my Youtube listening lists had accumulated about two hundred items, and I expected this to double by the end of the weekend. Needless to say I'm still at it, and my lists now comprise 678 items. I can't see my "curiosity" abating for the forseeable future, and will probably have their entire collection in my lists by the end of the month, by which time I will probably have become bored.
Above is a painting by William Blake. I do not know its title. Blake's paintings are so full of energy, and I wonder if he was "on the spectrum". I have very sound reasons for wondering this, but don't feel like discussing it just now. The picture looks just how I feel at the moment. I am the figures at the bottom of the picture, although I am wide awake. The swirling mass of people, light and energy are very like the ideas and thoughts that populate my mental world; vibrant, vivid, simultaneous, omnipresent, real, imagined, connected and not. I could easily write a whole chapter on the connections, but I hope I've given you at least a hint of how I am feeling. The feeling is always there, but is rather heightened at the moment. For those of you who don't have asd, can you imagine going through your daily lives with all this mental activity going on 24/7? Actually I cannot imagine going through life without it.
At the weekend I had a very kind and thoughtful email from a close friend. It was probably not clear from my reply that I was very moved by what was communicated in it. My friend made some very perceptive observations. My nerves have been a bit of a jangle lately, and the email was very welcome. Thank you so much dear friend. I hope you will not be offended if I show it to my friend who has aspergers, at some future date. We are very alike; rather he is like the person I was twenty years ago. Incidentally he would neither accept nor admit that he is a very talented artist. However he has shown me some of his own drawings; there is considerable virtuosity and fluency of imagination in their creation, combined with a very highly developed sense of draughtsmanship and composition. I wish he would realise how fucking clever he is. What a waste, and a terrible shame. By the way, there is something in the energy of my friend's drawings that strongly remind me of Blake.
I have to go now, as I am seeing someone who wants to help me get a job.

a bit obsessive

When I was in my late teens I heard some keyboard sonatas be Padre Antonio Soler (above), performed on the radio by Virginia Black. I found them both startling and beautiful and sought out the scores of the ones I had heard. Having those few wasn't enough though. I needed to have them all, and managed to source the spanish publisher's retailer in London. I bought the full set. Each volume was more expensive than I could really afford, but I bought them nevertheless. I became obsessed with the composer. I taught myself Spanish. I bought a facsimile his treatise on harmony. That cost me nearly fifty quid, which was well beyond my means.The eighteenth-century Spanish is so strange that to me it is almost unintelligable, and I've still not been able to read the book. At Uni I put my obsession to good use; I wrote two research papers which comprised a study of his keyboard works. I immersed myself in the history and culture of Soler's world and compared these with other European cultures of the time. I set Soler's sonatas in the context of the wider genre, and looked at their origins. For me it was all-engrossing and fascinating.
Genealogy became another of my obsessions. My family was such a picture of fucked-up-ness that it's difficult to describe. We didn't seem to have any relations. I wanted to know why. Initially I would trawl the archives every other Saturday or so. I became obsessed to the point that I went every evening after work, and every Saturday, for about eighteen months. Imaginary images of the family fossils would preoccupy my mind, and these would be flying round in my brain together with all the other thoughts that have always inhabited it. Now I know everything I want to about my antecedents, and will probably never look again.
Earlier this week I discovered youtube. Eureka. I found all sorts of things I used to have recordings of, and other things that I'd intended to listen to. So no, not content with half a dozen pieces, I have accumulated a listening list of over four hundred pieces in the few days that I've been looking. I expect the list will more than double over the weekend.
This sort of behaviour is apparently typical of aspergers. I expect it's the product of an active mind.

An old tune

Yesterday I discovered Youtube. What a revelation. I found all sorts of things I used to listen to in my teens and twenties, but no longer have recordings of. I am so pleased to have found them. Well I was to start with. I have been flooded with memories, thoughts, emotions, people, moods and associations of the time when I used to listen to those pieces. I'll talk about when I was seventeen.
I really struggled with life in those days, and I mean struggled. History had repeated itself; I had moved in with somebody just to get away from home. (My parents had got married just to get away from their own parents). My life in the family home had been terrifying and I felt completely worthless. I was completely off the rails. I couldn't understand life. Everything that I experienced felt strange and I felt strange about myself. There was always a sense of impending doom. I didn't know how to behave. With hindsight I was probably having some sort of breakdown. The pieces that I rediscovered yesterday were a source of great comfort to me at that time.
At the moment I am experiencing all these thoughts extremely vividly. They have been with me all day and all night, and I was awake a lot during the night. If it weren't for the aspergers I think I should have dealt with it all decades ago. Ah well, c'est la vie.
You may rightly assume that I'm feeling a bit depressed. However I'm trying to stay focused on all that is good about my new life.
I have heard that vegetable pickers are required in the area, and I'm just about to contact someone about it. I am blessed with neither a herculean frame nor a herculean constitution, but I want to try.

An active mind

I went to bed at midnight and fell asleep very quickly. I do remember waking up several times before finally getting up at 7.30am. I am tired. Since I woke up I've done a lot of thinking. Let me tell you the things I've been thinking about: various friends (individually), the museum, the historic building where I play, the pub, music I've listened to. music I've played, the bedsit I lived in when I was 18 and all the people connected with it, the flat I shared when I was 20, the weather, the rent, jobhunting and other thoughts which have been and gone. Sometimes I thought in both Spanish and French, which I've always done. I've also been experiencing the emotions connected with each thought, memory or person. The picture by William Blake (The Sun at his Eastern Gate, 1820), above, resonates with me this morning. It is busy & overcrowded yet the central figure (the sun) remains calm and peaceful. I do not radiate light though, and always appear fully clothed in public.
The museum has been closed for its christmas break, and will re-open to the public on Saturday. I am involved in the internal audit, and will spend a couple of hours there today.
I must get a job now. When I finish at the museum, I will contact someone who I hope can help me.

How does aspergers feel?

In my blogs I have talked honestly about how I am, and have tried to describe the feelings as accurately as possible. I woke up this morning feeling completely shattered, and my brain is being more than usually active. It is as if I am caught in a vortex of everything I've ever thought, said, experienced, heard, seen, and everything else. I am quite fine in myself, but this is in truth how I feel inside. I haven't suddenly caught some terrible 'illness' (aspergers), but the realisation that I have the condition has offered me many explanations for the way I've always felt.
This morning I thought I'd try and find some images to show you what I mean. I will talk about them very briefly, because they speak for themselves.
The picture at the top indicates different mental activities all happening simultaneously. There is a sense of both enlightenment and bewilderment.
In the middle picture, the colours indicate an even wider range of activities, all at the same time. To me it suggests constant activity both day and night, with colours endlessly flashing on and off.
The acronym at the bottom is self-explanatory. I don't think I talk endlessly now (at least I hope not), but I certainly did when I was younger. My mum used to be annoyed with my talking to the point of anger.
I'll finish my second mug of coffee now, and have another fag.

A nice song

My friend's visit went very well yesterday. We went to see an exhibition at the art gallery and went out for a really nice meal at the local carvery. We talked a lot, since we haven't seen each other for quite a while.

When my friend left, I took myself down the pub. I don't know if I told you this, but my keyboard currently lives there; I seem to play much more frequently now and I'm getting fed up with carrying it backwards and forwards. Now then, there were only two people at the pub when I arrived, so I had a little play-through to myself. In the meanwhile the pub filled up, and people started to join in with the songs. We handed out some song sheets, and there was loud singing and lots of laughs until 11pm. What a lovely way to spend a Saturday evening. I do enjoy playing those old-time pub songs, and it is evident that the people in the pub greatly enjoyed singing them. Until quite recently communal singing was very much a part of pub life at weekends. Nowadays that tradition is practically dead. What a shame.

My friends round the corner didn't come down yesterday, and I missed them. They are coming to me for dinner later on, which I'm really looking forward to.

I went to bed at 2am and woke up around 7.30am. I don't remember waking up during the night, but I do feel tired today.My mind is overactive, as usual; I hope another fag or two will help me settle down.

This morning is beautifully sunny. What a nice change from the weather we've been having of late. The seagulls have been particularly noisy today.

A visit

The weather hasn't been brilliant lately. First of all came the tidal surge, apparently worse than 1953. Luckily we weren't flooded. Then came the gales and the rain. Sometimes gales, sometimes rain, sometimes both together, with the occasional bright spell in between. It rained a fair bit yesterday, stopped, then started last night. It is still raining, and the sky is rather like the one in the picture. I don't like all the darkness. It's miserable. Horrible.
I spent yesterday evening at the pub. I saw all the odd bunch, and had a few games of scrabble as well as a lot of laughs.
I slept quite badly last night. It took me a long time to settle down and I kept waking up. I now realise that I've always slept badly. It's only since writing my blog that I've actually kept a record of how I sleep. I'm in the middle of the coffee and fags routine and need to pull myself together fairly sharpish. My friend from London is coming down for the day. What with my general state of tiredness, and what with getting used to the antidepressants, it takes me a long time to come round in the morning. The flat is very untidy and there is a mountain of washing-up to do before she gets here.
Since I started writing, the sky has brightened up slightly. I hope it continues to do so.
My friend and his partner are coming round for dinner tomorrow, and I'm looking forward to that. We're having the christmas dinner that we were going to have last Saturday, until he fell ill. I haven't been able to get another pudden because the supermarket has sold out. Never mind, I'll make something instead.
I am astonished at the number of hits that my blog has received. I am a very ordinary person with quite an ordinary sort of existence, who is struggling to make sense of the world and of his life. Thank you, readers, for taking the time and trouble to read what I write.

Rhododendrons and azaleas

The rhododendrons and azaleas in Greenwich Park, London, are spectacularly beautiful. I have already told you a few things about the special lady that I became very close to, who is tragically no longer with us. Well some years ago she and I used to go out and about on London buses. She was in her wheelchair and I was her minder. Greenwich Park became a special place for the two of us. The first time we went, all the rhododendrons and azaleas were in bloom. My friend's mouth dropped open and she was speechless. This was a rare occurrence (sorry, old girl) so I take it the scene had made an impact on her. She did nothing but talk about it for a month or so afterwards. I took the above photo last year, and it represents very happy memories for me. I only wish that we could go there again, just once more.
Now for boring old me. I went to bed at 1.30 am and slept extremely badly. My dreams were lucid and grotesque. I spent much of the night awake being bombarded with memories of the dreams, before finally getting up totally shattered at 10am. My mood is odd today. I'm flooded with a whole gamut of emotions, both good and bad. I'm halfway through my second mug of coffee and am about to have another fag. It is probably tiredness which is the main issue for me today. I'm aching with it and feel like I've just stepped off a long-haul flight. Never mind, I'll ride it out.
The landlord and landlady of the pub I go to came and spoke to me yesterday. They told me how much they and their customers had enjoyed my playing over the holiday period. They have asked me back to play on 22nd January and 1st February. Lovely. They really are such good and kind people. Every Saturday from Saturday week I will be playing harpsichord music at the local historic building. This is the music I studied and I thoroughly enjoy playing it. Since I started writing my blog I've thought long and hard to try and make sense of my life. I now know why I so enjoy playing the harpsichord. It is aspergers music. One plays it in a very controlled manner without expressing any real emotions. It is full of patterns and formulas, tables of ornaments, textures and a whole catalogue of expressive techniques. Yes, the music is very expressive  indeed, but I try to represent the intentions of the composer as authentically as possible, without any kind of romantic involvement. I am totally focused on the music, but maintain a certain detachment from it.
Dear old Greenwich.

A footnote

Although I try to remain positive, the truth is I'm feeling very edgy and my mood is a bit low. So much has happened in my life lately. It is all for the better, but is unsettling nonetheless. I'm aware that being in close confinement with a very annoying alcoholic the other day didn't do a great deal for my peace of mind. I'm also aware of the intense embarrassment and the feeling of being stupid that I've been carrying since yesterday.

It is really very tiring when one's brain bombards itself with so many thoughts, ideas, moods, conversations, memories, faces, and everything else. Reader, there is no cause for alarm. I'm just trying to describe how the condition affects me. Your brain feels like it's in a loop from the time you wake up till the time you go to bed. When you're asleep bits of things throw themselves at you in the form of dreams.

I'm not very good at the self-esteem stuff, so it's hard to give an image of confidence to others. I don't like having people round me all day, yet I don't really like my own company. This paradoxical lifestyle is shared by many people with aspergers.

I'm determined to remain focused and to look ahead, but the constant mental activity does wear you out sometimes. It seems quite strange to me that I've always been the way I am, but never thought anything of it. Until now I had taken it all to be part of depression, to be ignored and ridden out. I've always been deeply ashamed of the depression. The feeling is that one is completely "lacking in moral fibre", can't cope as well as "normal" people with everyday things, makes impaired judgements and is a failure. I don't feel these things quite so keenly as I used to, but the feelings are still there.

However even at my fairly advanced age, I am hell-bent on making something of my life. I know inside that I can do it. I just need a bit of help with the "how", and am looking forward to my ASD referral at such time as they are able to see me.

A slight misunderstanding

I am prone to misunderstanding things. Of course I understand what is being said, but misinterpret what has been said. It happened twice yesterday at the pub. One instance happened near closing time when there were just four of us left, the others being my friend and his partner and the landlord. The wind had been gusting ferociously since mid-afternoon, and we were talking about the weather. That was fine, since what was happening with the weather was patently obvious. The landlord then said something which completely floored me; he mentioned that he'd once done a new year's dip, which he would never do again because he'd found it exhausting. I'd misunderstood this to be some sort of raffle, and asked him what was so tiring about it. The other three burst out laughing, because they had all correctly understood it to be a local swimming event. I felt quite stupid and embarrassed.

I have been thinking about this since I woke up this morning, and remembered the Hogarth print of a theatre audience laughing at a performance. On the face of it the people are thoroughly enjoying a good performance. For me there is also the possibility that the performance is so bad that the people are laughing scornfully. This is my dilemma in life, I am never quite sure.

My local friends have rescued me from situations where I thought the person I was talking to was having a joke. I had misunderstood; the person was being nasty, and on one occasion aggressive.

I find it hard to speak to more than one person at a time. For example when a group of people are talking round a dinner-table, I tend to focus on one person so that I've got some sort of foothold in the discussion. The problem there is that can easily lose track and be fifteen conversations behind everyone else. Another problem is that I don't always get whether someone has finished speaking, and can find myself talking at the same time as someone else.

I enjoy reading, but usually textbooks and other material of an academic nature. I can't get the hang of fiction. Of course I understand what I am reading but have no capacity to remember the plot or characters. I haven't watched the tv since august. I am not interested in practically everything that is broadcast.

One good thing about my new life is that I have become close friends with someone who also has aspergers. Of course it's absolutely horrible that he has it, but we are both in the same predicament. We understand each other and can talk about, or laugh about, the issues we face. We are able to support each other without actually doing anything, except for being ourselves, and for being there. I am so lucky.