Don’t get excited

I don’t mean you, don’t get excited.  You can get very excited if you’d like.  But I say at least a handful of times everyday, “I don’t get excited.”

“Sorry, it’ll be another half hour.”  I don’t get excited.

“I won’t be able to get that done until tomorrow.”  I don’t get excited.

“I know we’d planned on going to the mall, but it’ll have to wait till next weekend.”  I don’t get excited.

I guess saying that I don’t get excited is my way of telling myself to calm down and don’t get worked up.

So tonight, when I dropped a 2-liter from 3 1/2 feet up, straight onto Elsie’s water bowl, and the bowl flew up in the air and went across the kitchen, flinging water everywhere as it flew… well… I don’t get excited, right?  I. Don’t. Get. Excited…

And then, not one minute later, when I sat down with the little bottle of caffeine-and-dye-free soda that I had been after, and when I opened it and it exploded all over me, my pants, my desk, my chair, and my floor…

Darn it, OKAY, you GOT me.  I’m EXCITED.  See?  This is me.  Excited.  Take a picture, eh?

Now where are some dry pants?

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2 thoughts on “Don’t get excited

  1. Lydia,

    I was very excited to find your blog and learn of your book. I have just read through a few of your previous postings and I will say what probably many others have said to you. Despite what you may feel in those dark moments, you have so much to offer – you write beautifully, honestly, with genuine emotion (I am a former writer and editor and very stingy with my complements about people’s writing, so don’t think I’m just being nice). I am glad you and others with autism are writing blogs for more than one reason, the most selfish being that as my beautiful, sunny, funny smart son (who is 9-1/2 and has PDD-NOS) gets older, I am grateful to know that he will be able to go online and connect with other people on the spectrum who write about their experiences. As much as his Dad and I love him, and as well as we know him and relate to him, I’m sure there are things that we will never understand as well as others on the spectrum. I’m certain that those of you who have the courage and talent to write about your experiences will encourage and inspire him, and that I will one day be reading his blog!

    • Hi, Suzy. My purpose in life is to write, to share, with parents like you. Thank you for telling me that my purpose means something to you, in that you learn from my writing. I very much appreciate your kind words. I hope that your son finds his niche, his way out of his mind, as typing has done for me.

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