When planning doesn't work

Today is a difficult day and the rest of the week isn't looking much better. And not difficult in an aspie sense either, just plain old, anybody's-business difficult.

The problems this week revolve around Jeffrey, one of my cats. He's been ill on and off for weeks and we never seem to get very far. Yesterday it looked as if he might be on his way out, then he rallied again and now I'm waiting to see if I can save him or if I have to make the decision every pet owner dreads.

Considering how hard it can be to get through a normal day, the harder ones are a real kick in the teeth. I don't know if being aspie is sometimes a blessing on these occasions though.

I was thinking about this at 5am, having dragged myself out of bed again to check on Jeffrey. I found myself veering away from obsessing over Jeffrey and onto other things. It was like a force-field was bouncing me off the Jeffers problems and back out into the ether.

I'm sure it was a protective mechanism so that I didn't worry myself down but it made planning anything very difficult. I was trying to sort out in my mind what I would do if...then filling in various scenarios.

It's a coping mechanism to arrange problems this way in my mind and although it means I worry more, it also helps to me to worry less, when the time comes. I dread not doing this, only to find I've then blundered into a situation and made decisions based on the moment which I'll regret afterwards.

It was no good, though. I couldn't think about Jeffrey and ended up going back to sleep - no bad thing. I woke looking like a horror show and dragged myself around the house, getting the teens ready for college.

I tried again to plan ahead and just couldn't. Bounced right off it, just like before, leaving me wondering what on earth I was meant to do now. How does an obsessive planner function when their planning lever is stuck in the Off position?

Well, what this planner did was muddle on. I took the teens to college, called at the shop for Jeffrey-enticing foods and sat in the car park, trying to work out what to say to the vet when she rang.

More bouncing. It wasn't that I was avoiding the subject of Jeffrey. I knew the conversation might end up with her recommending he be put to sleep. Goodness knows, I suffered enough yesterday going over this very point.

I knew she would want to take him into the office to be tested but he was so seriously stressed yesterday I was afraid that it would be the final straw if I took him out again.

I worked my way around the problem and tried to sneak up on planning what I would say to her but it saw me coming and I didn't get close. As soon as I was anywhere near thinking about what I would say, it shoved me off into the street and ran down a side alley.

Funnily enough, I had no problems thinking what the vet would say - that didn't mind being part of the planning. It was when I tried to fill in my responses that I came up blank.

Was it just stress? (Just stress, oh how we could laugh). Was I reacting by shying away from the problem, even though I thought I was trying to resolve it?

I'm not sure, but what I did instead was drive home and offer Jeffrey stinky fish (No) then strips of pork (Yes). I sat there, unable to plan and at a loss as to how the day would go, watching as he worked his way, very slowly, through the pork strips. It was only when he was on the last piece that I realised he had eaten his first proper meal for days.

While I was worrying and anti-planning, he had got on with what he needed to do and eaten. He also had something to drink. We are now at the stage where both these things are blessings. What I am left with is the root concern, that his few steps forward always seem to end in even more coming back.

So, the problem is not resolved. I still sit here with Jeffrey on the floor nearby, looking sad and quiet. But he ate more pork strips for elevenses and will hopefully eat more for a mid-afternoon snack.

Perhaps, by the time I finally talk to the vet (I'm still waiting) and by the end of today, my planning lever will have creaked back into action. I might be able to look again at the whole situation and be clear, in my own mind, of what I need to do next.

Eventually, it may be the same decision I dreaded making when this all came to a head yesterday but at least, with this break in the thinking-planning-worrying, my brain has had a chance to step back and take a breath to steady itself.

I do feel that not being able to plan has meant that future decisions will be made with a better frame of mind, which means I can trust them more. We all know what I'll probably end up having to do, but making a final decision will be easier if I am confident in myself.

So, readers, we sometimes have days which are difficult, which are hard for aspies and non-aspies alike. Like anyone under stress, aspies have to find their own way through and today has shown me that all my usual coping mechanisms can be switched off at what seem like vital moments. However, as this day has gone on, I can now say that I needed them to be switched off, to cope with the rest of the day and the ones to come.

In the end, we don't always have to be empowered or de-stressed. We can simple be ourselves and go on as well as we can, until we get a handle on the situation and are able to respond. It may take more time than we'd like but sometimes things do take their own time and there's nothing we can do about it.

In future, I'll still try to plan and see what comes before it arrives, but I won't panic if that doesn't happen. It shows that even a control freak like me can let things be once in a while and come out the better for it.

Amanda

My books and writing blog, with free stuff.
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Sons are not the same as pets

I'm under instructions from IT teen to write about what I did to him yesterday. I think he feels in need of some remote sympathy or literary redress. And all I did was dye his hair for him.

In case you're wondering, I didn't creep into his room at night and dye it against his will. Nor did I fill his shampoo bottle with some beautiful shade of orange (now that I've thought of it, though, it must be done at some stage).

What I did was what he asked me to do: I helped him dye his hair.

He chose a fetching shade of plum-purple. We've used the hair dye before so he trusted me with the instructions. I did tell him to read them as we went along but instructions are really boring and I don't think I was listening properly.

He has very thick hair so I had to work the dye right in, making sure it reached the roots. I'm sure the instructions said something about working it in though there was no warning about turning his scalp purple.

Actually, I lie. His scalp was a deep red, not purple. Frankly, there was nothing plum about that colour before it dried. It was the shade you might find on the battlefield, a dark, resentful red, looking like I had emptied something other than a tube of hair dye all over his head.

I was concentrating so hard on working it into the roots and was then so distracted by his scalp turning red that I forgot to avoid his ears. I only noticed I hadn't avoided his ears when they turned a dark red too.

They looked up at me, those ears. With IT's hair plastered to his red scalp, the blood-red ears stood out, seeming to accuse me, their tormentor, for what I had done to them. Then I noticed his neck. Yes, you guessed it, that lovely shade of red again.

Honestly, it was like we were going to be extras in The Walking Dead. I managed to get it over the whole of his forehead and, mysteriously, down his face under one eye. That patch was particularly redolent of a zombie movie.

His neck was red until it reached the front of him, then his side-burns took over. To be fair, before I started using the hair dye, IT teen didn't really have side-burns, but once I had been round his head a few times, he had really good ones - in red, naturally.

After this, I was faced with the choice of telling him he now looked like Hell Boy's little cousin, or letting him find out for himself. I was also starting to worry about what colour his hair would be when it dried. As his hair started to dry, it was turning towards salmon pink, such an evil colour I'm surprised they still allow it to be used.

Thinking that honesty would be best, especially as teenagers look in mirrors so much, I said,

"Erm, it's covering well."

He immediately stiffened, suspicion flooding him to the core. One hand raised tentatively towards his head as he said, in an unjustifiably suspicious tone of voice,

"What have you done?!"

Yes, I had done something but there was no need to assume I had and definitely no need for his voice to rise at the end, as if to say, 'what have you done now?'

"It's a bit redder than I expected," I said, working some more in.

He leapt from the sofa and looked in the mirror. There was some animated discussion at this point, which I won't trouble you with and then he decamped to the bathroom to try and remove the stain from his skin so that he could still go to college in the morning.

While he was gone, I spent 10 minutes with a damp cloth, scrubbing the patch of the sofa where the hair dye had transferred itself, at head height and made it look like a visitor had come to a sticky end and then been removed, to make way for the next one.

Later, (a bit later than intended as I forgot the time while the dye was setting), we went to the bathroom to wash off the hair dye. This is the dreadful part for me as you have to let the water run over the hair until it runs clear.

Runs clear? Continents clear faster than that hair dye. It's like some physical pain, having to stand there, showering and showering the top of IT teen's head, waiting for there to be no more zombie red going down the plug.

He knelt on the floor, his head over the bath while I attacked him with the shower attachment. Attacked is his word, not mine. All I was doing was rubbing his hair while I showered it, to help the dye leave faster, just like when you shampoo. It's not my fault it's been so long since he had someone wash his hair for him that he's forgotten what it feels like. He was making a big fuss over nothing.

Various comments rose up out of the blood red hair, along the lines of me never going into hairdressing, and if more hairdressers were like me he'd never get his hair cut and hairdressers weren't this rough.

We had a few words about how rough I was being as I couldn't understand why he was fussing so 
much. I was sure I was no rougher than the last time I helped him with the hair dye.

Away I went again, waiting for the interminable hair dye to stop running red into the bath when, after I caught his ear again, he yelped,

"You're washing me like Rupert!"

Now, before anyone gets excited about my private life, Rupert is our dim 4 year old collie. He quite often needs a bath and it takes a bit of effort to work shampoo in and out of a dog's coat.

I stopped and looked at the top of IT teen's head.

"No..." I said, carrying on, but then I watched what I was doing.

Oh dear, you know, I was washing him like Rupert. Without even realising it I'd been working in the water just like I do into Rupert's coat, then using my fingers to roughly scurry through the fur to get rid of any soap. Rupert likes that as it feels like he's getting a massage. For IT teen, however, it must have felt like I had brillo-pad fingers.

"It's just your imagination," I said to IT, trying to be a bit gentler. Then, as if I was watching from outside, I saw my fingers work the water from behind his ears and actually bend his hair as if it was ears.

Double oh dear! I was treating my teenage son like the family dog! This was harsh indeed as Rupert needs this sort of wash, whereas IT teen only wanted his hair dye rinsing out and is not generally in need of fumigating.

Luckily, the water finally ran clear (or was such a pale pink that IT teen didn't notice it wasn't running clear). We departed the bathroom with IT's hair glowing the red of distant furnaces and with me wondering how often I treated people like they were my pets.

Later, once the hair dried, it turned purple. I'm not sure how this magical transformation took place and I was kind of disappointed that the red became subdued into a rich plum-purple. However, we still have IT teen's ears, neck and the patch under his left eye to remind us of what might have been.

Next time he can maybe do it himself or get one of his college friends to help. I expect a group of teenage IT students will be at least as good at dyeing hair as I am. Or maybe he can let RT teen do it and hope that years of small resentments don't crop up at any important moments in the dyeing process.

I'm sure in the end it's a valuable life lesson to him, allowing other people control over his person and trusting them not to make a hash of it. Ahem. Well, maybe the life lesson is to plan things more carefully and give your aspie mother specific, short, interesting instructions at each stage of the process, so you don't end up with more than you bargained for.

Amanda

My books and writing blog, with free stuff.
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Little worry, big worry and what's the difference?

It's so hard to know if you're doing the right thing. How can you tell if you're avoiding stress or ducking out? What's the difference, really?

None, as far as some people are concerned and no difference to me either, if I'm in the mood for making myself suffer or feeling like some good, honest, self-criticism.

I am aware that it is sometimes easy and comfortable to say to myself, 'Oh, this is too much stress for me, at least today. I'll put it off.' Or worse, that I won't ever intend to act, so as to avoid the perceived stress.

Sometimes the stress is imaginary, built up when I look into the future and see where I'm headed. Then the big temptation is to duck out straight away, avoiding the upcoming stress while completely ignoring the fact things might have worked out differently and it would all have been okay.

You can tell yourself any day of the week that you did it as a safety measure, to keep yourself from a difficult experience, to protect yourself from awkward feelings which might have coloured your whole life for the next few days. There is nothing like an aspie for a bit of added drama.

It could be a small thing, made to look big or a big thing which fills the whole inner screen of your mind. The thing itself doesn't matter, it is practically irrelevant - it's our reaction that counts.

My reactions, last week, were mellow and considered. I had a lot to do and needed to be as calm and organised as possible. When things went a bit wobbly in the middle, I was able to go on smoothly, almost in a haze of nonchalance.

I wasn't fooled, even then. I remember thinking, as I drove round a nearby town for half an hour, totally lost on my way to a lesson, 'This won't last, this calm feeling. It isn't natural to be lost like this and so late and not mind.'

It was nice, though, while it lasted. Now, this week, faced with a smallish difficulty that I've avoided for almost a fortnight, I find myself almost unable to act. I say almost because I'm being honest with you, readers.

I could act: I know what I could do to help things along and perhaps bring a resolution. But I don't want to. I'm shying away from the action and feeling like I need to hunker down until it all goes away. Or take the easy option and make it go away, but in an unsatisfactory manner.

After all, what is easy now and what makes life simple for the moment, often comes back to us as a niggle in the future. Even when you know it's all done with and there's no going back, and even if it didn't really matter in the first place, you still feel annoyed with yourself for giving in and letting life win this one.

Does that mean I'll be brave, then? Will I face up to it and do the smallish thing which might turn into a niggle? Or do I consign it to the (enormous, heaving, grandiose) heap of avoidances that lie in their own special room in my mind?

The problem with these little things, pushed aside in favour of less stress, is that they still exist and carry on exerting a small pressure after they've gone. That pressure translates as a little beep of Failure on the radar, signalling my inability to sort out a problem which other people would have barely noticed.

And once you have a great big heap of avoidances, it doesn't matter how small they are, with each one giving off its own little beep, it doesn't take long before you can hear them all the way down the hall and in the front room.

So, here we are and here I am, back where I started. The smallish thing is a very small thing indeed, requiring me to go the local post office and chase up a parcel. Yes, a parcel. Apparently lost in the post, sent recorded delivery by me but with a completely vanished proof of postage.

I could either refund the person and never find out if it was delivered or go up to the post office and beg the nice postmaster to look up the transaction and track it for me, without my proof. This is after accepting the proof of posting from his hand each time, along with a heartfelt message from him to keep it safe because it's my proof (no, he doesn't know me, he is heartfelt with everyone).

He has no need to look it up for me and it isn't common practice - I just hoped he might. But because I've not had the proof, I don't relish having to go and ask him and even if I do ask him and he does look it up, I can't make a claim against the missing parcel without the receipt. All I would gain is the knowledge of whether it arrived.

You see my dilemma. Yes, mountain and molehill, here we meet again. I could just write it off and pay the person their money or I could satisfy my obsessive curiosity and chase it up, with the help of the heartfelt postmaster.

Do I subject myself to his mercy and the strong possibility of a gentle lecture on the nature of proof of posting receipts? Do I stand, face crestfallen until he gives in and tracks the parcel? Do I ready myself to be carefree and never-mind-ing when he says he can't look it up for me? Do I stay at home and press the Paypal refund button, then aggravate myself later for not having tried harder?

If someone else was bringing me this small but sorry tale, I would tell them what mattered was dealing with it in a way that best suited them at the moment, while not making the poor person wait any longer to get their money back. This seems straightforward, does it not?

And yet, when it comes to our own problems and dealing with ourselves, as awkward people who love to make life difficult, it is so easy to ignore good advice from any quarter. I recognise that I am now being carried along by my feelings about the whole matter and not by the facts and logic.

Step back, breathe and put the kettle on. That's what I'll do. Then later, I'll stop being such a big silly and do one thing or the other, but I won't dilly-dally any more. The dilly-dallying has led me to the point of treating this smallish problem as if it deserves all the attention I'm giving it, when what it really deserves is a few minutes of my time to either refund or go to the post office.

So, having annoyed you all with my failings, I'll go and put the kettle on. Feel free to avail yourself of tea and biscuits and to roll your eyes at my annoying aspie-ness but do think kindly of me too. I obviously was so laid-back last week that I used up my quota of calm for this week too and now I'm paying the price.

Perhaps by this time next week I will have regained the zen-like calm and it won't matter about parcels, or getting lost again or not knowing everything about anything. I'll just drift through the days, content in the knowledge that all will be as it must and I can only deal with Me I am at the time.

Amanda

My books and writing blog, with free stuff.
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Tantrums, Meltdown or Rage?

When is a meltdown not a meltdown? When is it temper? When does it expand and evolve, like an inflated, super-fast cell division into pure rage? And is there any real difference between them all?

Firstly, and this is aimed at the friends, family and best beloveds - yes, there is a big difference between all of these things so please rest easy in the knowledge that you are not being unreasonable in treating many of your aspie's outbursts as temper tantrums.

I think, as an aspie and the parent of an aspie, we can be far too eager to tiptoe around the aspie moods and treat them as something allowed instead of going with our gut instinct that is telling us the aspie is having a tantrum, not a spectrumised meltdown.

It can be unpopular to say that aspies have tantrums. No, come on, people with aspergers don't have tantrums, they have meltdowns! (Cue some patronising explanation of why aspies are misunderstood and why meltdowns are not the same as anger).

Listen, everyone has tantrums. Just everyone. Yes, your great aunt Ida in her bath chair, she has tantrums. And good old Uncle Simon, with his benign smile and model plane collection? Of course, I guarantee he has tantrums too.

Part of being a human bean is to have tantrums, it's probably why we're still here. It's hard to kill off a species that is so self-involved it feels the need to regularly let off steam in a display of selfish temper which makes the steamer look ridiculous and the steamees run away or kick the steamer.

The difference with grown up members of the human race is that their tantrums are not usually the same as when they were children. The usual definition of a tantrum is a loss of control and temper and, in the case of small children, a meeting of body and floor as arms and legs flail in an imitation of Godzilla shadow-boxing. If adults went down onto the floor and flailed about like small children, then there would be very many more hospital/police station admissions.

As adults, we do have tantrums but they are transmuted into something more personal and, at first sight, introverted. Uncle Simon, with his planes, will have plenty to say on the subject of the postman who regularly bends his plane magazines as they come through the letter box. He will have politely asked the postman to desist with the folding, he will have called and written to the post office. He will have had replacement copies of the magazine sent because you can't read a ruined magazine.

Amongst all this, at the moment when his magazine drops on the mat, a giant crease with broken edges running down the middle, right through the reanimated Spitfire F Mk. 21 in 1/48 Scale, Uncle Simon will have cracked, readers. If anyone had been present, they would have seen his face twitch, a feeling passing across it like ripples on the pond. His lips would quiver then thin, his hands clench, only opening to pick up the sad creature which used to be his beautiful magazine.

His tantrum is internalised and unseen, controlled by years of knowing how to behave but no less painful for that. Despite letting off a little steam with his letters and phone calls, if the magazines continue to be ruined, Simon will stop ordering them. The pain is too much to bear, the stress of not knowing if he will have to see them lying, creased and broken. He will avoid what causes the internal tantrum and move on.

And the aspie? Well, all of the above and then some. The extra ingredients with the aspie are not just less self-control or more temper, but rather the aspie feels it more keenly. I don't mean to demean what Simon feels over his magazine, but to the aspie this will be too much. There may be tears, this was the one they were waiting for! It cannot be read and why don't they listen and not fold it? Why do they have to be so cruel?

You notice how the aspie feelings escalate, creating more drama and sadness as they work their way into the event, all the while staring at the ruined magazine, fuelling the fire until it is really too much and either meltdown or tantrum occurs.

In the scenario of the magazine, it can go either way. A meltdown is more likely if the sadness is uppermost. The feelings of upset and disappointment become too strong and the aspie loses control, the kind of control that holds it all in and makes them safe to approach. It doesn't matter what you say, this magazine, this cruelty, this monthly torture, it has become too much to bear.

For the tantrum, things are a little different. I would say that the anger over the ruined magazine gains the upper hand. Either you have a more inflammatory aspie to begin with, or they don't care as much about the magazine and instead care more about the wrong done to them by the evil postman.

This gives anger a foothold and off they go, displaying many of the same traits as the meltdown but with more honest anger behind the scenes than an absolute lack of control.

And the rage? The rage is beyond anger and has little to do with meltdown. To me, the rage comes as an excuse to behave like you have a meltdown while being able to observe everything you do. I don't say you can necessarily control the rage, not once it's started, but I suspect you could, if you really, really wanted to.

I don't accept excuses that the anger was too much and the rage took over. Rage takes time to nurture and becomes a separate entity only when it is allowed to do so. I don't want any excuses about rage being a type of meltdown either. Rage is designed to hurt, designed to get out of the system the very real anger of the aspie and rage often touches the people closest to them.

Meltdowns can also hurt loved ones, through words or actions, but there is a panic and sadness embedded in it that is evident to the aspie, if no one else. There is an element of need, of reaching out in the full flood of the meltdown and yearning for someone to make it all right - even though no one can get near you to help.

The rage wants no comfort, it wants only to hurt like it has been hurt, to take self-justified revenge against the cruelties of life. Afterwards, the rage claims it had no choice or control and was a direct result of being provoked.

Meltdowns are too exhausting to explain themselves and can only say, 'I was so upset, I'm sorry.'

And temper? Plain old aspie temper raises its head many times in life, more in some people than others, just like other personality traits. Temper is there to let rip in the small ways, over things which annoy or patience tested past any limits. Anger is normal and, mainly, a healthy if aggravating way to get rid of negative energy and carry on with the day.

The problem comes when temper is allowed free rein and becomes rage and then rage is allowed to be passed off as a meltdown. I will allow that rage is a by-product of aspergers, something which occurs because of the way the aspie brain and heart process the hardships of life. But that is as much as you will get out of me.

Even if you are criticising yourself, readers, be brave enough to look closely and see the differences between rage and meltdown. And be honest if you give in to your temper. I know sometimes these things happen and you need to react, but how often do they happen and you could have held back a little?

It is very hard to step away from rage-inducing temper. Sometimes, often, it doesn't work. What has to happen is a gradual, small-step attack on temper, as well as a commitment to yourself to see it as a problem with a solution.

In small ways, every day, it can be done. I did it myself, I'm not just talking from behind the chicken here. More often than not, my temper would still rise and take me with it but by watching myself and wanting to change, I did change. I reverted to the person I was before, someone who could lose her temper and was (quite often) grumpy in the face of hardship, but who no longer gave in to the temper tantrums which I had told myself I was entitled to.

Readers, I don't often tell you what to do. No, honestly, I don't. I usually suggest, guide, inform and tell you what I do or did. This time, I am telling you, watch yourself and, where you are able, take a step back and turn down to simmer.

In time, with practice, rage is kept in a back cupboard only to be brought out on very rare occasions. The temper is always in your coat pocket but you can usually move through life without bringing it out.

And the meltdown? That one, readers, is a free spirit and I couldn't tell you where it is. All I can say is that it appears, often when least expected, and takes over proceedings when I am no longer able. Afterwards it departs, like a long-lost friend who you know you should drop but you can't because they care. At least it never outstays its welcome and leaves me calmer than when it arrived. How many visitors can claim that?

In the end, it is up to the aspie themselves to take responsibility for their feelings and to be honest about what is what and when a tantrum is more or less than it appears to be. Tell people, talk to your best beloveds, explain how flawed you can be and how you sometimes blame them when you are in the wrong. At least by talking about it at calm moments, you have something to hold onto after the harsher ones.

As usual, above all, reach out to one another. The aspie temper, meltdowns and rage are all there as part of your personality. I'm not asking you to change who you are, just sometimes to consider what you do.

In the end, the most important thing I did for myself was not to control the tempers and the rage, it was to appreciate myself. 'It's okay, you are a good person. These are small things we can leave behind and they don't change who you really are.'

Sometimes, readers, the most important conversations you have are with yourself.

Amanda

My books and writing blog, with free stuff.
Find me on Facebook.and Twitter!

Spotting an aspie adult

Have you ever wondered how to spot an aspie adult, at a distance, without having to get too close? It would be so convenient, wouldn't it? To be able to detect the aspieness before you are drawn in, before there is any danger of becoming part of their mad world and waking up one morning, trying to work out where it all went wrong and what happened to all your socks.

Bearing in mind there are always exceptions that prove the rule, here is what you should look for.

In the supermarket I often wonder if I have spotted a fellow aspie. Walking along the aisles, it's easier to people watch than shop, usually because I've forgotten what I need. The supermarket is a good open space where you can spot aspies as they grapple with the complex practicalities of staying alive by food shopping.

The walk: Yes, from a distance or as they pass by, the walk is a dead giveaway. It seems to veer towards extremes, either a fast paced booster effect from A to B, or a meandering wander with no visible pattern.

I'm a meanderer myself, able to get in people's way as I divert, lazily, like the Queen Mary, at the last second. I drift along the aisle, knowing I need something down there, just not sure what. Deciding, as I play with the hand soap bottles, that I couldn't have needed anything important and moving on to the pizzas, totally forgetting my anti-histamines. Again.

In contrast, the go-getter aspie will leave me in their wake. They shoot past, a blur of ad hoc hair and billowing coat, the very epitome of the single-minded shopper, knowing exactly what they want and where to get it.

You might admire the determined attitude of this aspie, but don't be fooled. Their pursuit of beans comes at a price. They will have a mental list and know what they want, but will miss the things they forgot to put on the list or which go with what they have left at home. They will leave the store only with what was on the list and nothing else. The sense of accomplishment will fade away as they realise what they missed and they may even repeat the whole process before leaving the car park.

The attitude: This is a big one. Although not exclusively aspie, an odd attitude is also top of the list for spotters. Again, with the extremes. Your go-getter aspie, having powered through the store will wage war at the tills (self-service only), often grumbling aloud when it goes wrong. They know it's nothing they have done, they are highly intelligent and know how to use a self-service till. And yet, like lesser mortals who have more time and a less pressing schedule (private server meet up with the Minecraft group in 20 min), they have to wait for the assistant to come and put in their code.

The shopping will be thudded onto the till, the bags will be bullied into submission; everything will be done with an air of authority that belies the fact the go-getter aspie is completely detached from everything they are doing and the outwardly purposeful actions are an automatic response. This is how you behave in the shop to get in and out as quickly as possible, while your brain is utterly engrossed with a much more interesting problem.

And here I come, the meanderer, angling for my beloved self-service tills, tied to them like a love-hate relationship of Shakespearean proportions as I cling to the idea of being served without human contact, only to have them turn on me at the end.

I struggle with the bags, they seem to re-close against me. I tear them as I put my shopping in, I drop my money, forget which slot is for notes and which for coupons. I get distracted by the shoppers on the other side of the tills and forget I'm meant to be pressing the screen.

The inevitable moment comes when I'm approached by the assistant, their training having identified me as the perfect shopper-in-need. I stand back and let them deal with whatever problem I've caused and smile distractedly, having memorised their pass-code.

Social: When there is no option but to be served at the human checkout, our two aspies stand out from the crowd in little ways. The go-getter is still on auto-pilot and could be confused with any busy person wanting to get in and out of the shop.

There are little signs the rainbow spectrum is close by: the slight twitch as they have to make eye contact with the assistant, the sudden fascination with the overhead lighting, the need to bend forward to have a look in the till, the scrutinising of the receipt as if there is something terribly wrong, holding up the queue and worrying the checkout operator, before moving off with a grunt that sounds like a satisfied bullfrog.

The meanderer, seeming so adrift as to not care, is in fact intensely impatient once in a queue. The relaxed manner around the store evaporates as soon as there is any suggestion whatsoever of A Wait. But the meanderer is good at pretending to be normal and still attempts to put on the show.

Having reached their turn in the queue, the feckless expression and worried air will mean the meanderer is probably helped with the packing without being asked. Those pesky bags will be opened and the shopping bundled in.

At this point, the stress levels rise as the shopping may be put in the wrong bags, in the wrong order, with too many things together. But the checkout operator is being kind in packing the bags, which means the anxiety is instantly ramped up because you can't upset them by unpacking the bags again, can you? You'll have to struggle until you get outside or re-pack it all in the back of the car.

This is where the pretending to be normal falters, pushed aside by the anxiety of the bags, or the queue behind, or not being able to remember if you have coupons, or if you are paying by cash or card.

The meanderer will try to keep up the conversation, saying whatever seems appropriate, only realising too late that one person's appropriate is another person's so-far-off-the-wall-it-might-as-well-be-the-middle-of-the-floor.

Having gathered up the unsatisfactory bags, hoping they don't break on the way to freedom, the meanderer picks up speed and exits the shop in a state of panic, vowing never, ever to be served by a human being again.

Outside, sitting in the cars, both types of aspie come together in a common goal. Whereas other shoppers pack quickly, jump in and leave, the aspies sit behind the wheel, glowering at the receipt, sure they missed something, or overpaid. Positive that they'll have to go back in and run the gauntlet of customer service.

Go-getter or meanderer, at this stage they are both plagued by the idea that the trip to the supermarket could have been so much more efficient, if only they had planned better before going in. Next time it will be different. The next time will be when they stream through the shop like they are meant to be there, with a trolley no less, filling it like other people do, with a week's worth of shopping.

The aspies believe that, the next time, it won't matter that they can't bear to be in the shop long enough to do a week's worth of shopping, or that they are so used to using a basket they won't know how to fill a trolley. They forget that the best of lists relies on the person fulfilling it and not the act of writing it in the first place.

Relieved that next time will be a brilliant success, both aspies leave, driving happily away, once more focused on the whole of life, all ahead and involving small things, glad to leave behind the mundanity of the tortuous supermarket, full of tricks and dangers and never the same twice.

Amanda

http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00C7PIQAW

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We're living in the Age of the Aspie

Forget about naming the modern age after anything we've invented, or blown up or claimed for our own. Until we colonise Mars, the most defining thing about our modern age is the nature of humanity's relationships within itself. And that is why I'm renaming our times as The Age of the Aspie.

In days gone by, in the Western World, stiff manners seemed to be everything. No matter what you did behind closed doors, you had to greet people in the right way and present yourself as an upstanding member of society.

It was all about being seen to do the right thing. You had to be polite, hold down a steady job (or look after the home). Everyone knew their place and that place was unlikely to change, even if you made more money or became a success in other ways.

Even when you move into the more modern, outwardly permissive, undoubtedly socially-mobile era, there were still expectations of how people would behave. Society as a whole had guidelines and it was your choice if you lived within or without them.

As time moved on towards our present day, computers flourished and seemed to become part of everyone's life, whether they wanted them or not. Here, just here, with the mouse being connected to the computer, came the emergence of the aspie as a force in everyday life.

I don't mean the mass release of computer geeks all over the world, a naturalisation process hampered only by the uneven divide between the sexes. I don't even mean the way the internet took over everything, suddenly, while no one was looking, aided and abetted by aspies everywhere.

While many aspies have found their calling in the world of computers and technology, I want to point to a lesser-noticed but very important change in society at large.

Once you have a look at the way things have changed, the manners, the expectations, basically everything that makes up society and communication in the modern world, I think it is now an aspie world.

It doesn't matter if you are on the spectrum, your communications are likely to be mechanical at times, disjointed, governed by the expectation that all information shared will be in a format suitable for email, Facebook, Twitter or video blog.

If you used to call Aunty Mabel to ask about her bad arm, you're now likely to text her instead and hope the old dear can use her other arm to text you back. Heaven forsake the unlucky friend or relative who is unwilling to embrace this new technology. They'll find themselves wondering why the phone is so quiet these days, even while they receive those annoying beeps on the mobile Betty or Joe got them for Christmas.

Anyone who shuns the modern world and doesn't imbibe of Facebook, email or (I hesitate to type it) doesn't go online, will find they still end up talking about these things with the vast majority of people. They'll try to talk about what they read in the newspaper and be given the kind of look reserved for the Penny Farthing as it rolls down the street. Or there might be a confused moment where the other person asks, 'You mean the TImes online?'

The modern world is all about instant information, instant reaction, everyone talking about the same things at the same time, or lots of different things with the same people. It is an aspie paradise, full of information to be shared with other enthusiasts and it doesn't ever matter how much you know, there will be a website where you can find out more.

In real life, face to face, aspies will always have their troubles, but thanks to the instantaneous nature of the modern world, non-aspies will no longer think it strange if their aspie talks about internet download speed or mentions the latest videos on Reddit. Aspies can talk about these things, more or less safe in the knowledge that the recipient of the conversation will have at least heard of them and probably won't think it's an odd thing to know about.

Conversations themselves are truncated in the modern world, as we rush off to our destinations, mobile phone in hand. People we see on the street, who speak when we meet, are as likely to be Facebook friends as ones we actually know. In fact, it's a relief to see a Facebook friend because having seen their face on screen so many times, we are left in no doubt about who they are and how we relate to them.

Emotions, so rarely displayed in public in the past and such a bugbear for aspies in real life, are now paraded with a whole carnival of dancing butterflies down the main street of online communication. If an aspie is in doubt about how someone is feeling, they can check up on their status, see which pictures they have shared or send them a fun quiz and find out that way.

What was once hidden within, is now there for all to see and, best of all, written down so that aspies can read it and know what people mean. How strange that if you meet someone in real life and ask how they are, they tell you they're fine, but expect you to know if they're not. Online, they tell you everything, whether you want to know it or not and we lucky aspies are not left guessing or trying to work out if we've given the wrong reaction.

And one of the best things of all, readers, is the delay. In real life, if someone speaks to you and asks you a question, or wants a reaction, it all has to happen now. In this one important regard the modern world has slowed things down. When people talk to you online, there is a delay, either while you write back to them or while you pretend to not be online while you formulate a response.

So many times I've been caught out by the need for an instant reaction, or simply by the look on my face. Online communications, with their in-built delay, are the best advancement in communication our world has ever seen. How many arguments have been avoided by people having time to think of the right thing to say instead of the truth?

Yes, I know there are many drawbacks to this modern world and techno-communication. But I tell you, hand on heart, the vast majority of those drawbacks belong to non-aspies. In the aspie world, as well as mostly loving technology, we also love the aspie-spin that has been blended into communication and life in general.

Now, if I get confused, I can Google for the answers. If someone insults me, I can pause before letting fly. If I get a strange email, I can forward it to three different people and have it explained to me. I can look people up, find out what they mean, see what they're feeling today and know them as deeply as is comfortable for me.

And the best thing, yes, the very best thing? Meeting all the other people online who feel the same way and who are willing to consider what we have, with the internet spread out between us, as a proper friendship. The aspie has never been so lucky or so popular as in this modern world, where every day people complain about being displaced and alone.

Readers, until now, it is the aspies who have been displaced and alone. Thanks to the unmanageable speed of modern life, we can now slow down and enjoy the ride. This is what it means to belong.

Amanda

My books and writing blog, with free stuff.
Find me on Facebook.and Twitter!

The eternal teenager

I freely admit to being stuck in my teens. Depending on the day, I can be anything from 13 to 15. On a good day I make it all the way to 17 and if it's a bad day I feel as old as 19, with the whole world to worry over.

The thing about teenagers is, in a normal family situation, they are just getting ready to be fully fledged adults. They can take care of themselves in a lot of ways. They won't starve if you leave them alone, they know to lock the doors at night and feed the cat if it meows. They can do a job of work and be pretty much reliable.

They are emotionally volatile at times, ready to fly off the handle at a perceived wrong and also ready to support their friends no matter what. Your average teen can spin through a range of emotions in the same hour and come out the other end smiling.

They are creative and interested in doing fun things with their time. They know the value of free time, you see and are not yet tied to the world of work and responsibility. They plan and hope and dream and understand that the world is an infinite place, made finite only by the adults who claim ownership over it.

Does any or all of this sound familiar? The aspie at large can identify with many teenage traits, not least of which is the belief that responsibility is a limited thing, not a constant companion and something to be treated with disdain if it gets too close.

When all's said and done, the emotions of the aspie which are close to the teenage world of feelings can be written off as being moody, or difficult, or hyper, or over-sensitive. Lots of adults are capable of fulfilling these labels and more. But what brings the aspie closer to the teenager is that these emotions feel very natural, as if that's the way it's meant to be.

Proper grown up adults know, in moments of calm, that they shouldn't be moody, difficult, hyper and so on. Aspies look back and accept that those feelings were felt and believed in at the time and cannot be wished away.

When someone calls an aspie childish or melodramatic, besides it causing more arguments, it changes nothing. The aspie often knows when they're being this way, but that doesn't mean they can stop it. Like a teenager, they have greater self-awareness than a child but a limited ability to control their emotions and behaviour.

The attachment to friends is a very real aspect of the aspie as an eternal teenager. Teens will often do just about anything for their friends. At this stage in life, friends can become like family, understanding you in a way no one has before. It is now you realise there are other people in the world who you can choose to spend time with, and who make what you are seem like a glorious thing.

Your friends don't tell you off, they don't want you to behave or change. They accept you as you are and celebrate you as a person. They are friends with you simply because they like you, not as an accident of genetics or because they have to share a house with you.

Friends choose you and an aspie who has been chosen is someone who knows the value of another person seeing them as they really are and actively seeking their company.

In other words, aspies are eternal teens when it comes to friends because the whole element of friendship in the aspie world is often more intense than in a non-aspie relationship. Friends are needed on different levels and offer the kind of support that can't be found in other people.

As responsibility to the silly things in life, like work and money, are shunned by the eternal teen, so are the responsibilities of friendship appreciated and respected. If the boss needs you on your day off it is a physical pain to go in and not be able to relax at home or do what you had planned. If your boss needs you on a proper work day, but your friend also needs you, then you call in sick or flake off and go to your friend instead.

Teenagers are often seen as rabble rousers who need to grow up and learn how to live in the real, adult world. The aspie eternal teen never really made this step. They saw the value of the world they discovered growing up, the one where they were finally left alone to do their own thing and realised the joy of obsessions and interests which would carry them through life.

Aspies know that the final step to being a grown up, someone who will live fully in the real world and accept everything that goes with that, is a hard one to take and fraught with danger. Aspies often try to take that extra step and find themselves tripping along an unknown path, with no way off the road and the feeling that they need to walk faster and faster just to get where they're going before the darkness comes.

Better to live as a teenager instead, with limited resources, not enough money and a shaky grip on responsibility, than to try to survive as an adult and see yourself fail at crucial moments. Aspies know there are things that need to be done, things which require an adult to do them. Sometimes it works and they can operate all the way up to their real age. Mostly it seems as if the trials of life are sent as a test of how successfully the aspie can avoid and hide from the nasties of a grown up world.

Being an eternal teenager is not ideal - far from it on many occasions! But it beats trying to live a lie, trying to succeed in a life that doesn't belong to you and which will never fully make sense. Sometimes, accepting who you are is a matter of also accepting where you are, in life and within yourself.

For me, I live as an eternal teenager, hopeful for the future and with the kind of self knowledge that suggests, while anything is possible, I only have to do what is right for me. Of course, this isn't always true, but like a real teenager I prefer to ignore that reality and make one of my own.

Living in your own reality is not a very grown up thing to do but it is surprisingly liberating. And readers, if it works, even for most of the time and not all, then why not do it your way? If people try to tell you to do it differently and to grow up, you can always flounce out the door and hide in your room until they give in or you forget you were angry.

Amanda

My books and writing blog, with free stuff.
Find me on Facebook.and Twitter!