Routine...is a change as good as a rest?

Two cliches for the price of one in the title: aspies are meant to adore routine, but also, we all need change, don't we?

I used to think this particular aspie cliche had nothing to do with me. I can be as random as anything, flitting about, getting in my own way, no order within my chaos. In the period of my life where I started working from home and my boys were home-educated, there seemed even less need for any kind of routine.

We didn't need to get up for work or school (bliss!), matching socks, or even any socks, were not required, commitments outside the home were under my control so I could arrange them around us instead of the other way around; everything was free and easy. Or so I thought.

Looking back, with the greater self-knowledge of these heady days, I see I was as wedged into a routine as I could possibly be. Our days followed the same basic pattern of getting up late, going to bed late, computer games, TV, following our own interests (we were home educating autonomously), taking the dog for her walks.

Even our meals followed a pattern. I thought we just ate when  we were hungry. This is laughable as we were hungry at the same times each day! I never noticed the time, except that we ate all our meals later than normal people. It never occurred to me that we were as fixed in our routine as a family working to fit around full-time jobs and school.

So, I guess this whole routine business is fundamental after all, even when we don't notice it at first. Does that mean it's an aspie trait though?

Yes, I admit it, I will stand up and be counted: I have come to see routine as a dogged friend to the aspie, one I cannot escape, always faithful, never exciting but without whom, life would seem more irritating, more stressful, less secure.

I am still random, especially in my approach to being organised and thinking things through. But this does not mean I don't love routine. The image of routine for the aspie can be quite different from non-aspie imaginings.

For a non-aspie, routine might be having a set menu for the week (I was amazed out of my brain to find people actually do this), so the Tuesday routine might be steak and onion pie, never to be had on Thursdays. They might get up at a certain time, go out the door to work at a certain time. They have their shirts ready to wear in the wardrobe, they always put the washing machine on as they leave the house. And so on.

The non-aspie measure of routine seems to be inextricably linked to being organised. Now let's look at the aspie version.

Well, the word is definitely random again. Random and routine? Yes, I'm afraid so, because what seems random to you is blessed routine to us.

It often comes down to the little things with aspie routine. I mean, making sure you have clothes to wear is quite a big thing, whereas hanging your clothes in a certain order on the line is a very little thing - and affects nothing except the OCD side of my aspie mind.

Having a set menu can be a blessing, I'm sure, but to me it's more important for the mashed potato to be in a neat mound on the plate and for the sweetcorn to be in a nice shape next to it.

Getting a parking space is very important, but so is driving around until you don't have to park next to a blue car, or, so much better, finding a green one to shuffle in alongside.

A lot of these are coming across as obsessive, and they are! Routine itself, in any form, is quite obssessive, as it requires an amount of concentration to make it happen. If I concentrated as much on getting the washing done as in not putting the wrong things in the machine together, then I wouldn't have a permanent pile of clothes waiting to be cleaned.

The thing is, that pile of clothes and, by extension, the whole gamut of housework, is enormous. It's like a great, heaving thing I have to live with every day. Like the sleeping dragon, I tip-toe around, trying not to wake it as I know I'm not strong enough to fight it and defeat it.

Instead, I snip off the little bits that I can control, that don't scare me so much. If I do a job, a real, actual, human-person job, like washing clothes, I get a little jolt of being in the wrong place (I expect this is true of many a housework-hater, mind you). To help myself over that frisson of fear, I put in place the little routines, the tiny controls that make the bigger job easier to cope with.

I'm sure my need to be next to a green car in the car park stems from the anxiety of coming out to do my errands for the day. That little bit of control in the car park makes me happy and I feel better when I leave the car. It shouldn't matter where I park, but it does,

In a bigger way, routine helps me work. As I mentioned in an earlier blog post, I have to do all my other things on the computer first (games, email, Facebook), before I can do any blogging or writing. This is a routine I tried to fight, until I recognised that it had a valid benefit of settling my mind to the task in hand.

And there we are, reader, the secret to every infuriating moment when you've been stood in front of your aspie, this immovable rock of resolution, demanding to know, Why it isn't right? What do you need to do first? What's wrong with the way it is? There are many questions you ask, but they all mean the same thing:

Why does it have to be done this way?

It has to be done this way, because this is the way that makes it easier for us. It settles the mind, which settles the emotions and makes us able to lift and turn our faces to see what comes next. This thing, this unimportant, radically random thing, which affects nothing in the grand scheme of life - it affects us and we feel that we affect it. This thing helps us to do the other things, and that's why it must be done this way.

I've listed my own routines on here, not to emphasise how exasperating I must be to live with (or travel round car parks with), but to show how very personal our routines can be. In our minds, everyone does things a certain way. Everyone else, that is. In my own mind, everyone else manages housework better than me, often perfectly. I know other people park wherever they like. I know they wash anything and everything together because colours don't mix anymore and soap powder kills all germs, even on a cold wash.

So, when I follow my odd little routines, I know I'm doing my own thing, but that's still not why I do it. I don't do it to be different, I do it because the methods that seem to work so seamlessly for everyone else, don't work for me. They don't help me, they don't make me feel better. Doing it my own way does work and I do feel better.

Other aspies will have their own routines, some borderline OCD, some seemingly mad in their methods, some over the wall and living happily in the garden of obsessive compulsive. Other aspies will differ in their reactions to the breaking of their routines, but we all react for the same reasons.

Our routines are there, like our obsessions, as things which we understand and can control. They are not always our friends, like the obsessions are, but they are familiar and manageable.

Lots of things in this world are unfamiliar and frightening. If possible, let us have our small routines, but don't be afraid of showing us how the bigger ones can be managed as well. If we're open to it, do show us how to cope with things. Break it down, make it look more like our little routines. Tell us how it makes you feel better to do a certain thing, so we don't feel you're just lecturing us again.

Build a path of common interest and we may be able to follow you into fuller routines, that make ordinary life more manageable. If we don't, or can't, then understand our reasons for doing things our own way and respect them, as much as you can.

We have probably never told you it was a bad idea to have the same meal every Tuesday night, so don't fret too much if we can only eat chips and egg when it's laid out like the sun over the meadow. We all need different routines, but they matter to us equally, whatever they are.

Amanda

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

The distraction of the busy mind: accessing information

Sometimes we all need to access information in our brains, vital snippets at the right time, or long periods of concentration for work or life events. Aspies can have real, sustained difficulty accessing information in  a way that helps them release it into the world, so other people can look at it.

Some brains are accessed via books or the computer, the physical aid to being able to 'leave', while your body stays behind. For me, I need the extra distraction of a story, or computer game, to help my mind step sideways. I would be no good as a meditator, using silence and calm to connect with myself. I tried it and was surprisingly good at being able to bring my body to a meditative state: the mind was another matter.

I think that this need for a distraction, to almost trick your mind into doing something better, points to the aspergers trick of being at least two people at once. Everything is about layers: the outside world, the buffer we create between us and it, other people, people close to us, the persona we show them all, the persona we show ourselves, the real 'us' who ventures out when no one is looking, the 'us' we don't like, who takes over and ruins things, the 'us' we used to be, peeking round the corner of memory.

So many personalities and images, too many ways to interact with the world. Alongside this, we have the internal commentary of how to do things, when to do them, what to say, when to stop talking, when are they supposed to stop talking, is it okay to leave now?

Should I smile? Should I put my head down? Was I supposed to be listening? What do they mean?

These words, phrases, endless wondering, existing amongst our rack of personalities, waiting to be donned at the right occasion. Is it any wonder we often look confused?

So, it's no surprise that we need to be able to zone out or physically leave to be able to recollect ourselves, to access the brain in a different way, one which frees up what we know so we can use it to our advantage. And no surprise either, that we need a little nudge sometimes, to help us get there.

I've spoken before about the need to leave quickly and feel safe, to hide under the blanket, real or imaginary. That's the panic reaction to stress. What I mean now is a place we can retreat to at any time, to dip in and out and have that ounce of refreshment needed to help us get along and connect with ourselves, as a precursor to connecting with others.

Don't confuse the inability to access information with the amount of stress we're under, either. For instance, at home when I'm working or writing (you notice I don't count the writing as work), I often need to blend a few activities together to make it feel comfortable.

If I need to do work, admin or similar, I'll often combine it with other things on the computer, like checking the bank, Facebook, emails, playing games and so on. I know a lot of people multi-task on their computers, what I mean is, I find it very difficult to concentrate on the work without having all the other things going on at the same time.

When I'm writing, I do need to concentrate fully then, whether it's for this blog or my fiction. Once I start writing, that's it: it's the one activity I can do which is an end in itself and doesn't require a few other things running along with it to make it work. But I don't just sit down and start writing. I need to prepare for it, build up to it and often do all the same things beforehand that I mentioned above. It's as if I need my mind to rattle at full speed, doing all kinds of different jobs, before it can sit down and do only the one.

Out and about, when concentration is needed, I can be in trouble. After all, what is the on-the-hoof equivalent of playing games, checking emails, doing your bank and so on? If you actually need to be somewhere, speaking to someone and asking intelligent questions, what am I supposed to do to help myself concentrate then?

Well, I talk to myself, inside my head and keep an eye on me. It sounds mad, possibly, though I'm sure we all do it to some extent. It's an extension of those multiple personas I was talking about, but they try to work together at times when I need to be wholly present and accounted for.

An example would be, in a one to one conversation with someone official. How do I stop myself drifting off to look at the stain on the wall behind them, or fixate on the mole on their lip or suddenly remember I haven't turned my phone off and get lost rooting through my bag?

If I need to be there, I need the pep talk that goes with it. I'll have an internal monologue from the bossy, urgent voice, reminding me to concentrate, concentrate, concentrate. That's annoying but it does get my attention and make me re-listen - as by then I've stopped listening and that was why I was having to tell myself to concentrate.

Then there's the secretarial voice, listing what I need to remember to talk about. A physical list may also be in evidence, but the secretarial voice will be reminding me of how to broach things, what tone to use, how to get the best out of the situation.

Then the warmer one will always come in and remind me to try to make friends with the person, find common ground, treat them nicely, be attentive and not just concentrate, because people always prefer you to actually listen and not just fix them with your off-putting stare while you soak up their words.

Amongst all this I also have to behave like a semi-normal person and achieve whatever objective I set out to in the first place. I can come away from something like this filled with such a relief that I need to immediately go and buy chocolate, to celebrate.

You see, almost everything which requires proper thought has an unfortunate tendency to use your brains. And your brains are packed full of STUFF. What enormous amounts of information we need to keep on hand! It can be very hard to find what you are looking for when faced with boxes full of 'appropriate behaviours', 'correct phrases', 'acceptable expressions' and so on. Imagine having to squeeze past all that just to find the little box marked 'task for the day'.

The trick is, that by distracting those very brains with other things, like you can when you're at home, you instantly move the other boxes further apart and are able to dash across the brain room and right to what you needed.

Out and about, in our official conversation, the voices telling you what to do also help because, by having the running commentary, you are emphasising the information usually stored in the boxes. In other words, you have already taken account of the boxes, again leaving you free to dodge past them and reach what you want.

Without the inner words, reminding you of what you need to do and how to do it, you would have to clump through the darkened room, bouncing off the big box of 'too much staring', stubbing your toe on 'ill-timed giggles', trying to edge past 'sneeze on demand' without disturbing it.

You may be wondering by now, why not just clear my mind and do what needs to be done? Surely, it would be simpler to clean it all out and be free of it? No boxes, no inner monologuing, only what you need to be thinking about. Does that sound good?

Perhaps, though it sounds like it would echo. I can't function with a clear mind, it has to be full and busy. Other people may be the complete opposite, but I think it's true that a lot of aspies have the busy mind, even if they don't particularly want it. I do sometimes have a completely empty mind, but that usually means I've switched off.

In terms of distractibility, it's a blessing and a curse. Without it, I really wouldn't be the person I am and certainly wouldn't be able to function. Then there are times when life would be so much easier if I hadn't become distracted! I think, perhaps, one must almost count as good distraction, though the separation is probably imaginary.

It's finding what works for you. For me, it's tricking the mind into not realising it's about to impart information. I know I'm dithering about and doing things other than work, and often tell myself off. It's only with hindsight I realised I wouldn't have managed what I did without the 'free-time' before I started working.

Others need to find what works for them and use it when it's really needed. I have to say, all of the above is fine, in my life as it is right now. You can imagine how badly it would all fare in a full-time working life where, miraculously, other people concentrate all day. All day!!

I guess the lesson is, life itself has to fit you, just as your smaller, personal methods need to match what you need and want. Information stored and accessed is only valuable if you can bring it out and use it for your own good. If you can't get past the boxes, then you need to do some shifting around and clear a path through.

Often, we worry that the total de-clutter is needed, when it isn't. What we actually need is the right space and lighting to make it work for us. Then you don't need to worry about tripping and giving in to 'grimaces without reason'.

Amanda

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

Too Much People!

No, before you get out the red pen, I haven't lost my grammatical manners - well, not all of them anyway. Today, I want to bring up the tricky subject of Too Much People. I don't mean there are too many people (that's a debate for a different kind of blog); rather, there is too much to be had of People in general. Let me explain.

People in the personal sense are bad enough, especially on prickly days. Your loved ones can drive you to distraction. They can be too focused on stuff you need to do, like remembering to thank old Mrs Edwards for her card and not run and hide behind the hedge when she opens the door. They can even get on your last nerve when they want nothing from you except a civil good morning. If this is how you are feeling, can you imagine what it's like to then have to face people you don't love? Or like? Or even know??

I've gathered, from my vague meandering into the minds of non-aspies, that people in the street, the shops, at the school gate and in other cars on the roads, are not usually considered a type of social contact. As far as I can work out, to non-aspies, social contact is when you actually talk to people, or touch them. It can also be things like chatting to strangers in the queue or on the next table in the cafe.

What non-aspies don't count is the general hubbub of society as it mills around you in its many forms. They can walk along a street with their best-beloved and not be distracted by the myriad faces around them or the sound of other voices. I think this is a kind of non-aspie focusing arrangement.

As an aspie, it's also possible to walk down a busy street and notice none of these things, but this is often only if you are already alone and have zoned out. Or you aren't alone but have zoned out anyway.

In a more normal frame of mind, where you're plugged in enough to talk to people and let them talk back, walking down the street is similar to being surrounded by pockets of sound, let loose by tiny orchestras, or by sudden thunder, followed by hail. It's very difficult to ignore other people if you are already paying attention to someone. You're completely switched on.

If I'm trying to concentrate on what someone is saying to me in the middle of the cafe, but behind them there is an elderly couple talking about what the neighbour saw on Friday night, then that's it. I have to know what she did see on Friday night. That's kind of fun.

If the same scenario has a crowd of women talking on the next table, not being loud or disruptive, just chatting, then that's not so fun. A bigger, more confusing noise can be like trying to talk in a noisy club. I can look at the person I'm with and listen to them, and I can catch the drift of the conversation, but imagine doing that with the noise of the club all around you. Distracting isn't it?

It's not just distracting though. Some days, days when I should perhaps have looked outside, then closed the door and stayed where I was - on those days, it's not good to see all the other people around me. It won't matter where I go or what I do, unless I live on my desert island or Scottish hillside, there will be other people in the day.

Each one can be a sharp blast of sound on the senses, cold rain down the back of your shirt. Like being slapped, hard, with a cold hand. Even the sight of other people on a bad day can have me shivering and wanting to be alone.

They don't have to do anything, you understand. I can be alone amongst them, no need to talk, no reason for them to even look at me. But they are there and I look at them. I listen to them. I avoid them as their presence seems greater than it should be, my personal space being invaded as they pass by. They have become bigger, they feel as if they come closer, I must take notice of them.

I think it's partly the need to spot danger that sets this off. If I'm having a bad day, then I already feel vulnerable, so going out into the world seems much more risky than before. As people are on my list of known dangers anyway, seeing them on a vulnerable day is like laying myself open to harm.

If I must go out when I feel like this, I try to avoid any sort of contact. Again, I would point out that my version of contact and a non-aspie one will be very different. It's days like this that I love those self-service tills in shops, self-service petrol stations, anything where I can minimise contact.

From the outside, I feel it must be obvious that I'm different, though perhaps I just look more eccentric? I'm sure my footsteps must be quicker, the actual steps closer together as I dash across the shop. I hope my stony-faced expression conceals the panic under the surface. I try not to look around because I know once I start looking, I won't be able to stop.

Back in the car, and, for a moment, panic subsides as I clutch the wheel and drop my bag behind the seat. The shop is over, now recover and do what comes next. It doesn't matter what comes next, be it more social contact or simply going home: I still need to recover before I leave.

I'll tell you the image that comes to mind most often when I'm feeling this way: a cheese grater. Sorry if you're squeamish, or have a good imagination, but the feeling I get from other people can be like having the world rub me up against the grater. It's sharp, painful, damaging. On a better day, when things haven't got to bad, it might be more like sandpaper.

You can see why, if I feel like this, that I sometimes have a Too Much People day. The trouble is, if you give in to your instincts and stay at home, or in your safe place, then one TMP day can lead to another and another. It becomes easier to avoid them more than you see them.

It's not hard to see how you can move from there to a place where you spend more time apart from the world than in it. As an aspie, this feels more natural, as you're always set apart in some way. An increase in separateness can be a blessed relief, a chance to relax, knowing you don't have to try to be normal enough to fit in.

Another small step from there and you would barely go out at all and it would soon become harder to deal with the people you do see, even though you know and trust them. Logic rules here and if you wean yourself away from people, then you do end up living without them.

It's a hard choice, though. Believe me when I say, I understand the temptation to live the life of the hermit, in a modern sense, with internet shopping and yourself for company. I see it as it can be: tranquillity, a blending of you and your environment in a way that doesn't happen when you're constantly striving to live by society's rules.

Be careful, dear aspie. It is tranquil, so peaceful. There are no distractions, no sudden noises, no sharp rain down the back of the shirt. How comfortable it is, how easy.

Except, so is falling asleep in the snow and look where that gets you. It's quite possible to be so cold you start to feel warm and, before you know it, what you used to recognise as danger becomes a welcoming relief.

Don't close the door every day. Watch out for the TMP days and do what you can to alleviate the stress. As always, be kind to yourself. But not so kind that you shut the door altogether.

Those pesky people in their awkward world, full of noise, awash with drama, always seeming to want something from you and never giving you the right keys to their own mysteries: you need them and they need you. This is one of the mysteries of life.

For all the noise and drama and cold rain, we all need each other and to be without that social contact, even if it is just the chatting in the queue, is to lose a part of yourself that can be very hard to reclaim.

Close the door, dear aspie. Lock it if you must. Then on the next day, open it again and see how things look. Don't assume the weather hasn't changed from the day before. If you can, go out and come back in again. Exercise your People muscle, don't let it wither.

You see, some days will be People Days, without the TM part. It doesn't matter how thorny you are, or how unlikely it seems. Keep opening the door and going out and you will have People Days. Just don't forget your umbrella, as there is always going to be cold rain sometimes. And don't fall asleep in the snow.

Amanda

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

What would a real person do?

I'm sorry, I have to apologise before I start, to myself and all other aspies. Yes, I know I am a real person and I know you are all real people too. But this question plagued me for many years, wondering what real people would do in a situation which flummoxed me. It was only when I discussed it with others that I realised I wasn't the only one to phrase it this way.

It seems ridiculous, doesn't it? Thinking of other people as real and, by extension, of yourself as less real in some way. After all, if you believe your senses, we are really here, in this world, eating cake and starting wars (only the cake for me, thanks). That means we're all real, doesn't it?

If we go back to those senses, a bit like Spiderman, there is such a thing as an aspie-sense. Your aspie-senses tingle when something isn't quite right. You don't need them to tingle when the room falls silent or you laugh out loud at cousin Dora's new set of false teeth. No one needs extra senses to work out what's happening there.

Aspie-senses are for when you can't put your finger on the problem, especially those occasions when you appear to know all the facts, as well as what should be done with them, but things still don't feel right or go as expected.

An example of this would be one those many occasions when I tried to make employment work for me. I was surrounded by people who enjoyed being there and were more interested in the money than not going insane. Once the novelty of my surroundings wore off, I would begin to feel I didn't belong, wasn't coping, was unlikely to stay and so on.

Logically, I knew that the money was essential and being without it a disaster. I had children and pets to feed, a house to keep. I knew to do these things you needed money. Jobs give you money and, unless someone is poking you with a sharp stick every day, there's no reason you can't follow the example of others and put up with the job to get the money.

I would wonder, again and again, how do people cope when they hate their jobs? Is it pure desperation to have the money? It couldn't be as I was also desperate for it. What made them able to turn up every day, for years on end? Was it love of the money? Not that either, in a lot of cases, as they never had enough spare to love it.

I realised one day that they were doing it for their loved ones, that the job was a means to an end. This is one of those amazingly obvious revelations which everyone knows and assumes you know too. I did know it, on some level, but it didn't make the jobs any easier.

So, other people were able to put up with bad or boring jobs, which they hated, to get the money for the people they loved. Simple and devastating at the same time, as this was something I couldn't do.

The notion of real people often rose up then, as a way of defining what they could do as opposed to what I could not:

1. real people manage their jobs
2. real people manage their homes
3. real people cope with stress
4. real people don't crack under pressure (or not every day)
5. real people know what is important
6. real people know everything

There are so many more to add to that list. I didn't actually sit there and think like this, but if you consider what real people can do often enough, then you work your way through a list like this. Eventually, it's inevitable that you reach a point where you feel real people can do everything you can't.

I have to tell you, reader, I felt no animosity towards these people who could do everything I couldn't. I really admired them and wanted to be like them. I appreciated the way they could go to work with a smile and just do it. I tried to learn from them, to see what their secrets were. I would ask questions of them, designed to lead me to the truth and then find they were normal, ordinary people with the ability to exist in this modern world - back at square one for me then.

It wasn't until I discussed this issue of feeling I wasn't quite real that I saw it in the full light of day. My friend and I had worked round to the discovery that we both thought of others as real people. We talked about it and realised we also had much the same criteria for thinking of them in this way, criteria that naturally led to thinking of ourselves as Failures.

I would often lie there in bed at night, thinking of my failures. Not consciously, but I would catch myself going over things and thinking I had failed. And I had, in a lot of those cases, failed at what I set out to achieve, so I wasn't lying to myself.

It was only when comparing notes with my friend that I was able to see how bad it was to judge yourself in this way. I would have been very angry if other people judged my friend like that and counted her as a failure, and she would say the same about me. So, neither should we do it to ourselves!

You can fail at something, without being a failure. As an aspie, you often fail at things because you're attempting something you're not suited for, so are almost bound to fail. Like me and my hectic, public-facing jobs: as a socially-awkward introvert, given to not understanding what people wanted to say, I had chosen the worst jobs possible. Yet I still chastised myself constantly for failing at them.

The reason that other people seemed more real was because they succeeded where I failed, but that only meant they had chosen more wisely than me and were attempting things they could manage. Also, it has to be said, they seemed more real because they were succeeding in the real world: the world of proper jobs, bills, houses, families, cars, banks, society - everything that can become problematic for someone on the spectrum.

Once I changed careers and started trying things I was more suited for, I succeeded more often. I still had to deal with lots of the things I've listed above, but with less stress and more accomplishments behind me, I grew in confidence and was able to leave the failure-mantra behind.

Now, I do still think about real people and myself as different entities. I've just about eradicated the feelings of failure, but still feel unreal. I'm not quite of this world, I don't think. Or at least, not a part of the world I inhabit. There are times when I feel completely part of it and it's a surprise, but mostly I muddle along and try to make the alien environment work for me.

I don't want to be the same as the real people; that would be impossible. I still admire them too, but they can keep their secrets, like I keep mine. We are different and there's no harm in that.

The secret to success is simple, you have to work out what you, personally, are meant to be reaching for. Once you have that figured out, you're on the right track at last. Then you can focus on yourself, as a person, instead of worrying what other people are all about.

I now know it doesn't matter if I sometimes wonder what a real person would do, because they are no more real than I am and would be horrified if I explained it to them. We are all just people, with differences, some of us more likely to achieve A, B and C and others reaching for X, Y and Z.

Amanda

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

When worlds collide...how to deal with non-aspies

Tongue firmly in cheek here, people, but I thought it might be good to offer some simple guidelines on how aspies can deal with non-aspies, in different situations.

Firstly, patience is always in order. I know it can be hard to be patient with people who just don't understand what you're trying to tell them. Sometimes, it doesn't seem to matter how many times you go over and over the same idea, they don't know what you mean. It's almost as if they stop listening.

Obviously, if they listened properly in the first place, you wouldn't have to go on about it, but non-aspies never seem to learn this lesson. There you are, in full flood of something amazing, great, fabulous and, most likely, world-changing and what do you get? Half an ear, if you're lucky.

Yes, there have been other fabulous things you needed to share and it's worth admitting this to them, when they're being less than enthusiastic. But this time is different and you need their attention, just this once.

If you don't get their attention, try not to beat them into submission. I know it's hard, but leave it and come back to it later. That way, they relax and think you've given up or forgotten. This means you can wait until they're not expecting it and come at the subject from a different angle. Sneak up on it, like, and watch as they listen, only realising their mistake when it's too late to go back. It's worth waiting for.

In a work situation, if you find yourself with someone who is so far from the aspie viewpoint, it's like ponies and giraffes, then you may need to use different tactics. People who really, really don't understand you, often they don't want to either, so it doesn't matter how you say a thing, or how you try to be friends, they still won't respect you.

It can be confusing, as this kind of person is nearly always a lynch-pin of the organisation, someone you have to work with and who is important to your job and other people's. You must interact with them at the same time as observing the little sneer they keep just for you.

Please, fellow aspie, do not give in to temptation and smack the sneer off their face. For those gentler aspies, neither must you let the air out of their tyres or find out where they live and use interesting ways to make their lives more exciting. (Not yet, anyway).

No, you must beat this person in a much more important way: by making them not matter. You are never going to get rid of their sneer, it's there forever and will have been used on many people before you. The self-important person who makes your life miserable at work is a professional at this kind of thing. They can have you crying in the toilets before you know you're even going to do it. And they can torture you without batting an eyelid, still keeping on top of their job and their other relationships.

If you let them get to you, then you won't be keeping on top of your job or your relationships. You, dear aspie, will be off those rails and out the door. You know it's true. So, step back and let them give off their waves of sneery, negative energy, without letting it wheedle its' way inside your armour.

I know this is easier said than done and you won't always win. Sometimes, the presence of this type of person is enough to spoil a job and have you moving on. That could be for the best, but do try to work around them and ignore them first. As I said, they're never going to understand you and some of their behaviour is based on fear. They dislike anything different and are never going to be friends with you. Let them carry on in the ignorance of never having known what a good friend you could have been.

Family. Oh dear, family. Where to start? In my family, the non-aspies roam free, amongst the aspie, the leaning-towards-aspie, the eccentric-somewhere-on-the-spectrum and the-one-you-avoid-on-the-stairs. I'm sure a lot of aspie families are like this, if they're honest. The trouble is, they often aren't honest.

It surprises me how often people expect an aspie to have sprung, ready-formed, from the fresh green earth. This strange thing they have wrong with them is nothing to do with the Family. We never had anyone strange in the family before.

This is a lie, dear aspie. A big, horrible lie, cooked up to protect the current generations from having to remember and admit what they know about the previous ones, as well as shuffling aside any unpalatable facts about themselves.

When they look at you with anger, pity, despair or share a look with one another, console yourself with the thought that they, rather like the evil co-worker, don't know what they're missing. By refusing to acknowledge any common ground, they are denying themselves a chance for greater self-discovery and a more rewarding relationship with you, their kith and kin.

Now, in every family, no matter how unfriendly, there will always be an ally. Seek them out and befriend them. It's likely they've been waiting for an opportunity to support you. This is where odd aunts, or shunned cousins come in handy. They tend to be more up your street anyway and can help you feel supported in a less friendly family environment.

For those of you who already have supportive families, appreciate them. Hang on til I clear my throat. Cough, cough. APPRECIATE THEM!!!!

Yes, I am yelling at you. Do not moan that they don't understand you, do not wish they could make your life easier. Do not blame them when your day falls apart like old cabbage. They are the ones who will always be there for you and, just because they don't always get you, it doesn't mean they're not trying. Give them a chance. Love them. Explain things to them and let them explain things to you. Do not be a pain in the butt.

Yes, I know, as an aspie myself, it can be very easy to be a pain in the butt. We can do it just by wandering through to the kitchen in the morning and drinking that nice cup of tea someone made for us. Except they didn't, and they have to make it again.

There are so many little ways that we drive people to distraction, that when it comes to us being the ones who are irritated by others, we should step back and remember. We are usually the ones who get on other people's nerves, accidentally or simply by pushing on until they can stand no more. Do allow your supportive family and friends their moment of annoyance.

If they feel ticked off with you, don't take it as a personal slight designed to ruin your day. Do not remember it endlessly, ready to wheel it out the next time they annoy you. Put it in perspective for all the times you have probably annoyed them.

I see, looking through what I've written, that the word I started with covers most of the bases: Patience.

We need so much patience to deal with other, non-aspie, people, as they exist on a slightly different plane from the one we know so well. We meet in the middle somewhere, occasionally through a haze or mist. Others need patience with us and vice versa; it's the only way to go.

Of course, it doesn't always work out this way. In my case, it doesn't often happen as patience is one virtue I lost down the side of the sofa many years ago. I've tried looking for it but all I seem to come up with are pennies and old dog chocolates.

Still, it is what we should aim for, the patience to deal with others and help them to understand us. If we can keep meeting in the middle, a little patience goes a long way towards clearing the mist so we can reach out to one another.

When all else fails, just remember that non-aspies are never going to fully understand why the hippo is fluffy and blue, they are only going to see that hippos must be smooth and grey. Some things are difficult to explain, but if others can accept us as we are, then it's the least we can do for them.

Amanda

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

Aspies have no sense of humour

Cough. Hmm. This is one of those statements that brings out the worst in me. On a good day, it just makes me want to kick the person, or get some big, butch bloke to kick the person for me, depending how incensed I'm feeling (I have small feet, kicking doesn't always do the trick).

On a bad day, though, the idea that aspies have no sense of humour makes me do that thing that I do when I'm feeling most rebellious - behave inappropriately. I don't usually streak down the street, scream at dog-walkers, chase the tyres of moving cars or eat all the candy in the Christmas aisle. No, what I do is lose verbal (or typal) inhibitions and let loose the humour-geese.

You may not have heard of the humour-geese. I was surprised by them myself. It's what I call my inadvisable moments, when I rise to the challenge of a humourless situation and funny it up. I can't often resist this challenge. I would say it's like a red rag to a bull, but bulls have no choice in the matter and I do. I choose to be funny when I shouldn't.

It's not just for those situations where people make statements about aspergers - as I've been under-cover for most of my life, they only occasionally say these thinge to me. More likely, they'll have talked about my son and his aspergers. The sense of humour jibe (let's call it what it is) would sometimes come up when he was younger, as part of the diagnostic process, but was often killed where it stood by my son finding something funny and laughing infectiously until only Cruella de Vil could have resisted joining in.

For myself, I come from a witty, if sometimes cutting, family and have always seen the funny side of things. I like all kinds of comedy on TV, I read funny books, I make jokes, can laugh at myself and others and see the funny side at the least beneficial moments. I've even had to sneak off to the toilets before now to cry with laughter so that I could return, looking like I've had an emotional moment, but without danger of laughing in the wrong situation.

I have to add, in case I sound like a hysterical loon at this point, that I also laugh a lot on the inside, at those little moments in life where you find something riotous but can keep it in. I love those. They're often subtle, hard to relate moments, where you are in the right time and place to witness true humour.

I do have to say, if I hadn't been so shy all my life, my sense of humour would have got me into a lot more trouble than it has. Thankfully, nerves have often prevented me from blurting out the hilarious thing taking place inside my head, so that people are instead faced with me doing a weird little smile, as I see the funny side of my unspoken joke at the same time as trying to listen to what they have to say.

My aforementioned irascible Granda, who often accused me of laughing at him (not just me, he thought everyone was laughing at him), might have been forgiven sometimes for thinking I actually was, as I'd drift away from his chuntering and think of other things. If I saw the funny side of my own thoughts then woe betide me, as he was the master at looking up at the right moment to catch the change in my expression.

Then you're faced with the choice between explaining what you thought was funny, or denying anything was funny. As your own thoughts are just that, and it would be hard to translate them, I always opted for denial. This adds to the general reputation you have for not telling the truth, discussed in my post about aspies and lying, because you're obviously not telling the truth, you just don't want to share.

The real answer, when caught having a laugh to yourself, is to say you thought of something funny and don't want to share it. This seems so much worse than the other two though, as you sound more mysterious and secretive than ever. We really cannot win.

I've also heard that aspies are allowed to have a sense of humour but that they need the jokes to be obvious and self-explanatory. Jokes written with crayons perhaps? Or coloured in by five year olds?

I wonder about this. Life is full of unusual subtleties that aspies grasp for and miss. Jokes can be the same but I believe we fare better here than in other areas. In my mind, I'm so into humour that I'm on the look out for it, so am perhaps more receptive to other people being funny too. If I'm going to laugh out loud, though - in other words, show the world I found something funny - it has to be properly good stuff.

I have no problem laughing at things on TV or the cinema, as I forget about my surroundings. I laugh less often in company as I feel more 'on show' and self-conscious. I tend to laugh out loud more at things I shouldn't, that suddenly strike me as funny and so catch me unawares. Unfortunately, I have no problem guffawing then!

As for the humour we're meant to like, painted with the broad brush strokes, I like that as much as more sensitive humour. I can laugh at Laurel and Hardy, cartoons, kids' movies (love those). I can also laugh at the more off-beat humour in programmes like Fringe. I can still laugh at the Chuckle Brothers, even though my sons have long since outgrown it. I just love to find things funny.

Yes, reader, I love finding things funny. It's a release, it can lift you up, free you for a moment. It can make you feel good and is a great way to connect with other people. You may not know what to say to them, but if you can find the same thing funny or make them laugh, you're half way to being friends.

In my darkest times, I laughed even more. I made a concerted effort to bring light into the darkness, to keep it at bay, prod it, spike it, pierce it until the sun shone through. Have at you, darkness, you can't beat me! Not today, not while I have this laughter in my heart!

I want to grow into my different stages of life still laughing, still smiling at the pleasures of a small, instant, funny-goose. I want to have laughter lines and for people to see my teeth when I find something funny. I want to make it funny for them too, as I know everyone has those dark parts of the day and they're not all as manicly-mad about humour as I am, so they maybe need a little help.

You know what, I want to carry on just as I am. Let me not need the caffeine to buzz through the day. Let's all be silly, subtle or sensitive in our laughter. Just give in to it and see things in a different way.

Lastly, I'm not saying all aspies have a sense of humour. I've discovered, bizarrely, that some people don't like funnies. Some of those people may be aspies. I've also discovered some people don't watch Fringe either. The world is a strange place.

What I would say is, don't assume aspies can't see the humour-geese. Those geese get everywhere and are often only seen by the person right next to them. For all you know, that stony-faced woman in the queue behind you is looking blank because she's enjoying some private joke, re-visiting a funny scene or waiting to share a goose with someone else.

Don't judge a joke by its cover, readers. And don't forget to poke your pointy stick at the darkness, for you and other people.

Amanda

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

The art of the conversation-stopper

Why people have to make life so complicated, I don't know! I do realise that my aspie viewpoint is uniquely annoying a lot of the time and that I do and say confusing things which make no sense in the normal realm. But in return, when I really get it wrong, day to day, being told how and why can be a big help, an important step in my ability to understand and try again the next time.

I really do forget things in the middle of conversations. There just doesn't seem to be enough space in the Current folder of my brain to keep these things in. As soon as something new comes along, or even the memory of something old, the object I need to keep hold of vanishes over the side of the box and is lost in a dark corner.

In the case of forgetting, it is a genuine forgetfulness. I'm not being careless. I may be distracted, so lose part of a conversation that way, but equally I can interact with you and then still forget what was said in a very short space of time.

Sometimes, this can have a lot to do with how the information is presented. If we were talking about Aunt Aggy's bunions and I was listening, then we skip to another topic, it can be helpful if you come back to Aunt Aggy in a clear way.

Often, when people return, they say something like, 'So, Aunt Aggy was telling me she was going to get them sorted out on Tuesday'.  I know this might seem strange but this doesn't help me remember her bunions. To me, it introduces an element of mystery into our conversation. I'm wondering what the unidentified 'them' means in this sentence.

Why? Well, when you first mentioned Aunt Aggy, I registered who she was then moved onto the new topic of the bunions. As they were new, they required more of my attention and were much more interesting than poor Aunt Aggy herself. If you had come back to the subject by saying, 'So, these bunions,' I would have picked up what you meant.

As aspies, we are all about processing and managing information. There is a lot of it and we have to learn all the time, to cope with what people do and say and what happens in life. Conversations in themselves are awkward, even with loved ones, as you never really know where these chats are going. You need to watch them carefully. When they divert, you divert with them, following like a dog following a bouncy red ball. You jet off across the garden and fetch it back.

When the subject changes in a conversation, it's a new blue ball. The other is dropped and forgotten and off we go, after the new ball you want us to chase and bring back. Happily, we pick it up and fetch. There: we've interacted and coped with the conversation. We're standing in front of you with the blue ball, waiting to see what happens with it now.

What happens is, you've already picked up and thrown the red ball in the other direction, while we were still running with the blue one. We were facing you when you did it, so you naturally expected us to see it go. But we were concentrating on getting the blue ball back from where it fell, to you.

You stand, looking at us. Why haven't we gone for the red ball? Why are we still all about the blue one? You've finished with the blue one. We look confused and you repeat what you said. Then we realise what you meant, also recognising the irritation as you say it.

Off we go, tail down, willing to fetch the red ball again. Some of the lustre of the game is lost, but we still bring it back. Now, please, if you decide to swap back to that blue one, hold it in the air first and let us see it, before you throw it!

Another conversation-locker is the one where we're talking happily, relaxed and knowing what you and we both mean. This is great; a break from the confusion of what can pass as asperger conversational skills. Suddenly, you look at me and raise an eyebrow. Or your lips thin. Or you blink a few times, pause, then move on.

What was it? What happened? What did I say or do?

I hate this, the inevitable moment when you know you've said or done the wrong thing but have no idea what. This isn't as all-encompassing as the moments when you make a room fall silent, like in the You Said What? post. This is like a mini-version of it, but one that stings more deeply a lot of the time, because this often happens with people close to you.

You see, if you're talking to people who don't know you well, they are more likely to stop in their tracks and you have the silent room. But people who do know you are more used to making allowances or re-processing what you just said, to see what you meant to say. Usually, this means they don't make a fuss and just try to carry on as if nothing happened.

The trouble is, we want to know what happened! What we said or did. It's a compulsion, really, to find out where we went wrong so we can look at it, roll it over and inspect it, see what it is exactly and how we can deal with it in future. This is the way we deal with the imbalance between what we know and what happens next. Inspection is vital for our peace of mind.

What often happens, though, with our loved ones who have reacted without explanation, is that they don't want to let us inspect what we did wrong. They want to carry on, so we don't get upset and, sometimes, because they know the whole conversation will be de-railed if we stop to give our attention to the other thing, the one they want to leave behind.

Our loved ones may be feeling hurt themselves - often this is the impression the aspie has of the situation. They don't want to feel any worse by discussing it. And, I'm sorry to say, they do occasionally think we should know what we've said and don't want to repeat it because they think we're trying to get out of trouble by pretending we don't know.

Whatever the reason, I've often fallen foul of saying something within a normal conversation and not being able to find out what it was. I just hate it. It's the equivalent of when you can't hear what a person is telling you and you really want to know, but they won't repeat it. It's rather like the other person is the holder of secrets, or of knowledge. They know what you want to know, but refuse to tell.

This is a conversation-killer, however you look at it. If you were to come out and say, 'Look, I've told you not to bring up my ex-husband!' then we'd know what was wrong and be able to apologise. By not saying and expecting us to know, or by deciding you are not going to share so that we can move on, the niggle of a mystery stirs the muddy waters within and we are now focussing on that, instead of the conversation.

I can guarantee, for the rest of the time we are together, I'll be looking at you, waiting to see if you react again, so I can gather clues as to what I did. I'll be trying to remember exactly what I said, or what I was doing with my body, in case I unconsciously insulted you.

Much, much later, the revelation may descend upon me. A bit like not being able to remember something until you stop trying, the secret of the conversation and your reaction will suddenly reveal itself, when it's too late to resolve it. I'll be left, considering what I did or said and replaying the whole thing, trying to see it from your point of view, so I can work out how hurt or upset you were.

The hurt or upset will be magnified as I fret over it, followed at some stage by anger or irritation that you wouldn't just tell me at the time so I could say sorry or explain what I actually meant.

Don't withhold things from me. Understand that I probably didn't mean what I said, or intentionally forget what we were talking about. This is not a reflection on you, it's simply Me.

I realise this can be an impossible problem, though. How are you supposed to know the difference between when I'm bored or distracted and when I've said something upsetting or shocking for the sake of it? The answer is a very simple one, Reader: just ask me. That's all. If you want to know what I meant or why I did whatever it was, just ask.

And when you divert off into other parts of the conversation, do look back occasionally to make sure I'm following. It can be very strange to see someone zooming along, unhindered by the overgrowth and tree branches. Aspies don't always remember that, to other people, none of these obstacles exist. It's only the aspie who has to fight through to reach the clearing in the centre of the forest. Other people think they're standing in the middle of an open field.

This is why, when you think you've made everything as clear as possible and we're still meandering along, looking confused and wondering where you went, please bear in mind we may not be able to see you through the branches. Call out and give us a helping hand. That way, we'll both reach where we're going a lot faster.

Amanda

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