Happy Father's Day, Daddy . . .
Stored in my brain from childhood is a very specific inner "tune time".  Hymns.  My father paid me $1 for every hymn I learned to play on the piano; I do know more than a few.  I smile every time a Hymn line flashes me because  I always play that game by my rules.  When I'm by myself I sing the line very loudly and with great force.  This morning my voice rang out, "At the name of Jesus every knee shall bow." 

When I’m trying to plan my in-person verbal communication and I always do . . .  I literally “picture” myself stepping through a land mine grid, squares light up,  they glow or they blow.  I try to assimilate words to use, words that match the pictures, words that won't be lost in the quagmire I can make them.

Bella is my Service Dog.  She's always with me except shopping, she hates shopping, so do I.  I have to go, she doesn't, smiling . . .

Today I looked into Bell's woebegone face and reminded her of what I always say when she has that hang-dog look,  “It’s not over until the fat lady sings.”   She barked her sarcastic "really!?!" at me and I made her laugh by adding with all the Southern style I could muster, "Dammit Bella, I’ve been singin' at the top of my lungs for days, you heard me, it's just not workin', apparently I’m not fat enough anymore."  And, laugh we did, that was that.

Luck is my cat.  Her Indian name is officially "Tail Talker".  She will actually answer me by specifically swishing her tail around, right, left, in circles.  I have many witnesses to that, she answers everybody with her tail, not just me, she's earned the Indian name bestowed on her.  Today my conversation with Luck was punctuated by her resounding "laughter Meow".

"Good Morning Janet" I heard as I opened my eyes today, my brain replied in no uncertain terms:  "832966167" and I was off to the races.  "What shall I do today?"  832966167.  "I'm going to make a pot of tea."  832966167.  I counted my steps, then the stairs, 8, 3, 2, 9, 6, 6, 1, 6, 7.  I've learned how not to panic when that happens.  Laughing with neuro-typical people, even my family members, who think that is such a victory of mine . . .

Christmas Tree . . . my brain's screaming through the evolution of thought again, "humannoyed blah, blah, blah".  I can find myself in the circular arguments of the semantics of Everything all the way to the point where  I can literally feel the brain radiation of my thought emissions.

I actually said, "humannoyed" because I am annoyed and primarily at Humans, actually not primarily at humans, at our ubiquitous Society in general.  I'm pretty sure I'm not alone.

There have been shining, electrifying, moments of my insight trying to understand all the implications of my Aspergers diagnosis.  My ability to logically explain my “quirky” sense of humor, the unintentional literalness of my thought, my pictures, has been such a gift.   Aspergers Humor was my favorite understanding. 

From Swimming by Nicola Keegan:  "And she said, it's a fact:  human beings cannot kill themselves with thoughts and feelings.  Can you imagine; we'd be dropping like flies."

The magnitude of that statement overwhelms me, yes I can imagine it . . . What if we could?  What if we can?  What if we are?