Call me Miss Piggy

Titles are hit or miss, for me. Like, this post… I sat here, knowing what I wan to write about, but no matter how much I though, I couldn’t decide what to call the post. I think this is post number 515 or thereabouts… And I’ve gone through this with just about every one. Usually, I debate titling the post “I hate coming up with titles!” Sometimes, I just concede to something lame. Occasionally, while I’m writing the content, something comes to me. My favorites are the posts that start with a title, something really catchy, and then the content develops from there. My next autism book started as a title, and I think it’s awesome.

The whole hit or miss thing describes other areas of my life pretty well, too.

My memory is a great example. A friend visited me earlier this summer, and she was sort of thinking out loud about when had been the last time we were together. Not missing a beat, I pipe up, “December 29, 2011.” She said, “what… How… Really?” “Yup. I remember what I was wearing.”

When people ask when I got my insulin pump, I answer that I got it on November 28, 2000 at 9:00 in the morning. I was 12… But it’s still in my memory.

My sister was bathing my nephew, and I asked her if she remember how I screamed my head off when my mom poured water over me… Because, I said, I had that blue foam donut thing that acted like a visor, remember? I was maybe two, and that’s being generous, and no one has brought it up any time recently, but yup, it’s in this head somehow.

So, how, then, is it possible that I left to go home for the day without my cell phone? My mom regularly threatens to duct tape it to me. I’ve had the same phone for 4 years and haven’t truly lost it yet. My mom says, first, that’s a miracle. Second, that means I’m about to lose it. The real kicker is that, as soon as we got back to St. John’s, I looked up… Mom? I left my laptop at home.

Technology, two; Lydia, aught.

And there are those autism moments. I’ll be honest with you… When I open my mouth, a never ending stream of Aspie flows out. Hard to put your finger on just why, even with some background in linguistics… But trust me on this.

Even so, I have days where I do all sorts of adult like things. I can fly across the country, run errands, walk all around town…all alone.

Then… There are the days like today. Technology kicking my butt aside, I was a bucket of fun at the mall. I wanted a t shirt… The same style and size as a couple of others I have. The store only had two other styles in my size. I wanted one that wasn’t there (clearance so ordering wasn’t possible). Oh, and I didn’t like the price. So, we scoured the mall for something that would do. But, you know where this is going, right? This is autism. There is no “doing”– there is the right one and there is the 9,999,999 wrong ones.

An hour in to this escapade, I was yelling (loudly, because I am, as my sister never ceases to remind me, always loud), “the hangers are tangled! I am sooo frustrated!” Which meant, “mom, help me!” By the way, customers don’t take kindly to socially different 25-year-olds flipping out about tangled hangers. Two hours in, my sister and nephew headed home, because, at 2 months out, Nate the Great was all shopped out. At the three-and-something hour mark, I was sitting in the middle of endless racks of clothes, back in the first store, blood sugar crashed and energy spent (I do better than I used to do a while back, but since I have had my tube feeds running due to technical issues the last couple of days, my body craps out quicker than I’d like). My mom went to the register to check the price on the right style, right size but random design shirt (it has a running track on it… And I do walk and occasionally jog, but I do it in the neighborhood…. Nope, not an Aspie at all!)… And when I felt like I could walk without falling, I found out shed bought the shirt (and a white-with-a-little-pocket Liz Claiborne tee… For $4!). I think she just wanted to get us both out of their with our sanity intact.

I changed into the shirt in the bathroom, because mine was dirty in a gross way (stomach problems and feeding tubes are always up for that… Especially when I’m asleep or nowhere near clean clothes!). We went to the car, and I opened my drink…. And it exploded all over me. Poor shirt didn’t last five minutes.

Despite being a forget make up and hair dryers, no frills hair cut, never worn heels a day in my life kind of girl, I think it’s safe to say that I can be just a bit high maintenance!

Oh, look at that! A title!


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