I”m up to 10 mg of melatonin at night, and still it takes hours for me to sleep. I can’t very well take much more, so tonight, I skipped it. It’s 11:30. I tried laying down, but thus far, I’ve just ended up with wiggly fingers, with thoughts that needed to come out.
What goes on inside an autistic mind when I appear silent and disengaged? What do I think about when I am “somewhere else?”
As a very young child, preschool aged even, I used to imagine things that were impossible. Things like writing every word in every language that ever was and ever would be on a single molecule. I would venture to say that it can’t be done.
Or, just because I call the sky blue and you call it blue, are we really seeing the same thing? What if your blue is my purple?
Or, can a person be naturally good at something that isn’t at all natural? Something like driving, I wondered. It’s an unnatural skill, so how can someone be born to do it? My answer to this question came when I learned to type. Typing is, after all, not exactly natural, but through and through it seems that it is in my very being to type.
And now, as a young adult, at least lately, I’ve been pondering on the cyclical nature of things.
We celebrate anniversaries, but really, the concept of a year is a man-made one, and thus, it would seem that we remember things at what are actually someone random timings.
But then as I continue to think, maybe not so. After all, a day is based on the earth’s rotation on its axis (although a true day is 23 hours and 56 minutes, which goes to show that our concept o fa 24-hour day takes a bit of stretching), a month is based on the moon, and a year is based on the earth’s revolution around the sun…
And there are cycles in my behaviors. I wish I could figure out what sparks the changes. I go through phases of behaviors, and they wax and wane and wax again.
And cycles in language and typing. I get into poetry moods, to be followed per chance by some grate revelation in prose, then by daily meanderings, only to return to poetry once again.
It’s hard to get a good grasp on these thoughts and express them clearly, though, as they are thoughts from afar. Some thoughts are so close, it’s like looking at a picture held an inch from your eyes… or like the parable of the men who each felt a different part of the elephant and each surmised that he felt something different. Those kinds of thoughts are hard to get a grasp on, too. But these thoughts… these are like looking at the land passing when you’re in an airplane, and trying to make sense of the people and cars upon it.
That’s just the thing about thoughts from afar. You may not get great detail from them. They may not even make a lot of sense.
But oh, are they beautiful.