Splints update

Ha time for more mobile shenanigans with autocorrelation and format issues.

So last time I was going to my local friendly hospital for fitting.

I managed not to get lost and to be an hour early.

The service was efficient and friendly, measuring involved being cast. Apparently I can't have purple as it's only for children. Boo for being an adult.

They'll be ready end of January. Yay bionic legs.

Unnecessarily nervous.

So today is my early Christmas present of orthotics fitting. It's at nine am at my local hospital so I'm up early to make sure my feet are as presentable as possible before they get looked at and measured.

I'm really nervous for some reason, and I'm not sure why. Naughty me hasn't been to physio in two weeks due to manflu and I only went back to work on Saturday and that took it out of me. I still have no appetite or proper taste. Pigs in blankets for breakfast tasted awful.

I'll update later, maybe with a photo if the orthotics are off the shelf but I really must ring physio to get back on schedule with that.

Also I've lost a cap on my front tooth, so I look more like a hobo with beard and a curved front tooth. My dreams of being Santa are slipping away.

Talk laters 

Entirely fair

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10152484390566636&id=13312631635

The link leads to the story about EastEnders actress Kiruna Stamell who successfully sued the post office for not making the reasonable adjustment of having movable teathered pin machines and humiliating her by building steps with cardboard boxes. 

Ok, hands up, at first when I spied the headline I thought: but all those pin machines are mobile and what not and I simply don't test that theory because I might end up swinging it around like a lightsaber making bing noises and then the men in blue come and I have to quietly leave. (Where's my armed response unit? usual gets a laugh and a shove).

Apparently not all pin machines are built equal. It's only a shame that a good idea that should be standard isn't, but what I suspect happened was a company rep from pin machine co came out and quoted the basic price but then gave a little talk about reasonable adjustments and how for only £XXX.XX more they could make them fully opposable and the Post Office bod baulked, thought it was a gimmicky sell with a story and quickly ushered the rep out the door. 

It's a shame it took a court case to highlight it, but it shows how simple a reasonable adjustment could be. Lower counter top, moving pin machines, ramps instead of or as well as steps. The thing about reasonable adjustments is they cannot be outlandish and the company, if they really are cruel, can claim that due to impact on profits or staff levels etc the adjustment isn't reasonable. This of course can trigger further court cases etc.

I'm a little sorry that the Post Office didn't make this more of a PR exercise, and not try to fight it. Fighting disabled people about being unreasonable does no one any favours.

Anyway, good on her.

What IS love?

So, as any regular reader may have noted (as it is most likely my parents), I have managed to hold together a fairly succesful relationship that even my manager feels is doing me wonders (that one has her head screwed on right). 

I'm not going to lie now and say I understand the complete ins and outs of women and relationships. Previous relationships have just ticked by until the girl decides she's had enough and that things aren't progressing the way she would like, and she ends it. At that point I just find another girl and repeat the cycle, not thinking of how it affects the girl or how a friendship should develop.

It was noted in my original diagnosis report that I understand the concept of friends, that theoretically I know how friendship should work, but that I was unable to put that into practice or to develop friendships beyond rudimentary basics. That's not to say I don't have friends, just sometimes it takes a special person to understand that for me maybe friendship is more of a transaction rather than anything more complex, we hang out, we swap stories, we do stuff. For this post, I am simply taking the concept further to include romantic relationships.

Sure, I understand the concept of romance too. Boy meets girl, boy fails to understand girl, boy convinces girl they should be together, babies ensue. Something along those lines, interspersed with romantic moments  and gift giving. I dunno, it's all murky and odd.

It probably doesn't help that I view love as a chemical imbalance, designed to let us couple together to create life and continue the species. Yes, that is a terribly cold way to view it, but it's the point of all romantic relationships, to generate the circumstances to allow the next generation to be created. Oh, we humans think we are all higher purpose, gifted with intelligence and as Carl Sagan put it, we are free from the reptile brain to change ourselves, think of the possiblities. Frankly, that may all be true, and we can all wax lyrical from Shakespeare's sonnets to Philip Larkin (oh cut me some slack, he captured me as a youth with his liberal use of curse words), but really, at the end of it all, we simply create and propagate the next generation, which is the basic drive of life. Dung beetles roll up wads of poop, Emperor penguins freeze to death and turtles flee down beaches in this need to create.

Honestly are human concepts like love and romance really anything more than constructs and chemicals to drive us further?

My partner gave her notice on her apartment and job last month, intent on moving closer to me and my job. This morning, I asked her what she was going to do with her bed. A simple question and she said she would sell it. I suppose it only hit me then the enormity of whats he was doing. She was moving her entire life, packing it all together, to move closer to me and to support a job that I am currently excelling at.

It prompted a conservation in the car, to the airport, where she was dropping me off (because sensitive coversations and topics should always be handled when time is short), about her depth of feeling for me and her conviction in moving.

How do you tell a girl you don't love her? 

Not in the i don't love you but type of I don't love you, but in the i don't have love. That "you'll just know" feeling. The million ways poets and amatures and love struck idiots describe the inner feeling. I just don't have it. Never have. Oh I can FAKE it, but I don't feel it. 

So then my partner asks why I use the words "I love you" when most likely what I feel isn't what she feels and that the words are just meaningless filler.

Simple answer? Convention. 

Ease of communicating an idea. It's what language is for, the simple and effective means of communicating an idea or feeling. Oh sure millions try to twist language into gaudy unnecessary drivel, using allegory and metaphor to express simple concepts to make themselves and others feel smarter. The needless deciphering of these nonsense statements simply hads to the difficulty and complexity of modern society. No one ever suffered from making a blunt speech. (Oh they may have suffered from the consequences but that is what one gets for saying things nobody else wants to hear, there is a time and a place to tell someone exactly what you think of them and that is usually when you are beyond range of reprisal). 

I love you means I don't have to explain myself to any casual eavesdroppers. Society knows the weight of those words and while it rings hollow in both my and my partners ears it saves me having to create some new phrase like you are the one I hate least (thank you Finland) or I tolerate you the most. The concept ingrained in my i love you is you get me, I make sense to you, even when I'm curled in a ball in bed in the middle of the day trying to shut out the surrounding world.

Of course, in a rushed car journey is maybe not the best time to say I don't actually love you but I still want to spend my life with you. My partner simply traded her love for my trust and fedeltiy, which if anyone reading knows me, despite all my faults in social understanding, I am a complete womaniser. Case in point while Christmas shopping, I made four separate female cashiers in four separate shops genuinely laugh with my charm and flattery. Oh I can do the first part no problem, it's the longer term grind that I seem unable to keep up, either with the persona of a good boyfriend (yes, my partner has seen behind that, and yes I have managed to make her doubt what she saw by being honest)  

Physio

So I had my second round of physio yesterday. I've a lovely student called Sarah who seems out to cause me help and harm in equal measure. They totally deserve the title pyhsioterrorist. So last weeks post was more a disappointing test of mobile phone blogger (misspellings and an aimless post prove it was junk and only for live blog the agony). 

So first round of physio focused on the usual assessment, supposed information gather forms that are actually revenue capture methods and some basic sit to stand work, which I can't do at home because all my chairs and sofa are lounge types that don't make you sit like your back in school.

Also due to forgetfulness (read laziness) I am having physio twice a week to try to get some progress. 

This week, after last weeks easy lure, started with some pelvic thrust motions that where only faintly embarrassing while sitting but became hilarious when Sarah got me on the bed and felt my pelvic muscles while I did the pelvic thrusts into the air. The motion is to help me stand without having to swing my arms, but all I could think was "don't fart" as that really would have lowered the tone. Why is it when in such delicate positions your lower bowels decide its music time? I am however a master of my bowels (for the moment) and wind did not come to pass. 

The next trick was to suck in my gut to tense my abdo muscles. This is to give me central balance for walking and involved me sucking in and up on my gut (I'm fairly svelt in that position). This has the disaster that my diaphragm couldn't expand, causing me to hold my breath. Sarah decided this was the point to remind me to breath. Lady physio, I would love to, but currently you're crushing my gut into my lungs and I can't do two things at once anyway. Oh good, I need to because I should be tensing those muscles while I walk. I thought it was made clear in the Magna Carta or something that men can do no more than one task at once. I am though reliably informed by a friend who does dance that this pelvic muscle give gents moves in the bedroom (ladies). Of course, it would help if I could breath on my way to said bedroom.

Finally we did some calf streches to stop the uncontrolled judder my legs suffer when I lower my heal to the ground. I wasn't previously aware of the horrific pain that could be cause when a physio digs their fingers into the top branches of a calf muscle and pull either direction while you lower you leg but I shall be writing to The Hague to see if the Geneva convention says anything about this vile torture. Not ashamed that at this point Sarah may have heard the crack she was a terrorist more than once, but only after I corrected her hand grip to match her supervising physio. The fact I managed to walk home is perhaps a miracle.

Oman side note, everyone I tell I'm getting orthotics makes an ouch sound and gives me sympathy. One girl asked it they would be screwed into my legs. I hope not, I like my legs how they are. Also, no word on if I will have them for Christmas, I'll be feeling all kinds of festive with those things bending my feet into position........

Irrational hatred.

Maybe the internet has ruined me, like how everything is suddenly the male genitals, no matter how much imagination I have tho project onto it (those smiley emoticons take some work), but some days staying inside with my cold unfeeling appliances is still prefareable to being outside with humans.

It's a cold day here, typical northern hemisphere winter, with clear sky's and that festive cheer we're supposed to feel months before the years biggest anticlimax. It is also a Sunday, so while traffic heading into town is number to number, the local shops parking lots (there's three) are devoid of cars. Without the clutter of cars, it becomes immediatly apparent that there isn't even road side trees to try and break up the stark modern landscape and there must be twenty square foot (if not more) of cold bare Tarmac. 

I'm a big fan of nature, not as this thing that we go and stand in for an afternoon before returning to our boxes or something that can be tided neatly into a square with animals that know their space and not invade our space. For me nature is something we exclude, believing it is easily forgotten until we grow it in parks and gardens, showing our might by controlling it and shape it to our whims. Concret curtains should never hide simple natural beauty. It's like we are slapping make up over a girls face to tell her that without shadow and blush she is ugly. 

The simple truth is that nature doesn't need humans, rather humans need it. Nature invades our neat spaces, breaks windows to flourish and cracks mans imitation ground at spread. Standing in the first of these lots, I was struck by the sheer waste, sure people park but even when full the lots are half empty, more reminiscent of waste land than anything managed or controlled, either by nature or humans. 

It speaks to the shortsightedness of humans. We live for such short times that we grab what we can while we can. We have gone from shaping nature, controlling it, in 18th century royal gardens to running rough shod over it, destroying it beyond reason and tipping the balance from humans being battered to nature taking the beating. We mercilessly strip the ground for rescources, destroy jungles that produce oxygen that keeps the earth a life habitable planet, and play petty politics to gain a resource that is worthless without the very thing we destroy, after all money has no buying power if food is unable to grow or water is poisoned.

Big business and people with money are only concerned with money, the gathering of it, the theft of it from others. They, and we, stand on others to gain what we want. The gap is widening all the time between the have and the have nots, and I am lucky that I am one of the haves (in spades). I run my life like a business, I maximise my profit while trying to minimise my output. It is simple evolutionary drive, we don't see what we have, only that which we don't have. When we where hunting wooly mammoths, this was a useful survival need, something that pushed us to our next hunt when we had a full belly. Now, while it is ingrained into us the same way we see Jesus in toast because we are pattern driven, we are free of the lizard brain and can recognise the basic drive and over come it. This is where today's irrational hatred comes from, my local shop is doing a food drive for a food bank. Ok fair it's a good way for said local shop to make extra money running up to Christmas, but I am also a little dismayed to hear that not only is the drive not doing well, but people are asking if the food in the box is free. My partner suggests that this is because the box is badly labeled but even so.  

Many people and governments have recognised we need to dial back the nature destruction, with incentives for Eco homes and solar panels. My energy provider has green options where a levee can be paid for trees, my work manager has suggested we out together a suggestion for buying a plot and growing a forest, something I haven't had time to do, and from enquires to the forestry commission, you need good money to sponsor a forest. It's a pet project I would love to do, a plot of land and a forest, not for profit but just to put back what we take. The idea that the volcano that in 2010 belched carbon into the atmosphere helped the environment by grounding flights that would do more carbon damage is just insane, volcanos not being known for their subtly (ask your local Pompeii resident). 

As they Michael Jackson song says, we should start with the person in the mirror, charity starts at home. This is why I find band aid 30, or whatever it's being called, galling and worse that singers who didn't take part are being forced to defend themselves. First off, if multimillionaire singers are that worried about poverty let them give away their own money, secondly Africa is not one big poverty hole for us to pour money in so that we can feel better about ourselves while we sit in the warmth with our fidges that shop for us and our phones with GPS in case we get lost on the way to the bathroom (and wind up on the seventh plain of hell), and thirdly (yes I'm going after U2 here) in a countries time of need the proud to be Irish band fled to become tax exiles. While gap year students are much maligned for stealing local jobs, sending money with no focus is just as bad. Audits of the first live aid money shows a lot just lined dictators pockets and shored up corrupt juntas. 

I was feeling slightly hopeful halfway through that, but it ends on a him not, so forget this, I'm going back to bed.

First day

So today is important. First off I have just downloaded the blogger app on my new smart phone. Hopefully it won't give me any surprises like revealing my secret identity to the world at large (although most of my readers are my family and it's hard being anonymous to them).
Second, and the reason I download the app, is today is my first nhs physio appointment since my cerebral palsy diagnosis. The wait of over half a year is not really their fault, I am too well apparently for impatient (in both meanings) treatment and I'm guessing there's a long waiting list to am seen as an out patient.
Just to prove how much paper work is involved this is the appointment that my practice nurse (general practice doctors nurse) made for me about a month ago. I received a letter telling me I would be discharged from outpatient physio as I had not attended the original appointment made for me, the letter for which I had not received.
Anyway enough complaining about letters.

I have a long, complex history with physio. Until diagnosis every physio I saw was at a disadvantage. After diagnosis, I saw a private physio. Guess how Much that worked?

The upside to four physio assessments before today is I know my limits. The downside is I still get surprises.

surprise! I need splints.

Sigh.

Another lazy quick post before work.

http://youtu.be/jQ95xlZeHo8

It's a ted talk about Autism and its various presenting factors. Also anyone who thinks I'm a demon, well done your prize is in the post.

Post better later!

The wheat from the chaff.

Right, NO one is callous enough to use that wording, but having read some things on line, that's how it feels. I had vague ideas about this post, like I do every post, before typing takes over and the million voices in my head spill out and I have to cram them all back in before someone decides I need to visit my GP, again. In the last two months, the Tory party have had two fairly prominent figures say outragious things about the disabled and their worth in society. Researching this topic has thrown up a barrage of professional opinions from all of the main stream media and rebuttals from groups and charities with a much higher profile than myself. So with all that in mind: small time annoyances away!!!

The first is Lord Freud, who according to GOV.uk is the undersecretary for state and responsible for welfare reform, decided that disabled people are only worth £2. Anyone who pays any attention will realise that is delightfully lower than the UK minimum wage, which for anyone over 21 is £6.50 and we need to drop right down to the Appretice grade for anything close to Lord Freuds suggestion with a £2.73, and this only applies to apprentices under 19 or those in their first year, and then it becomes National minimum wage. 

To suggest some one, anyone, isn't worth at least the basic equal dignity and respect is abborant and heads us towards Godwin's law rather rapidly. I would rather avoid making obvious, if a little extreme statements, or conservative opinions, or any political opinions, will be variations of well known extremes. To suggest that people who are valuable, integral, and intelligent parts of businesses, or running their own businesses, people who are emotional, feeling, caring humans, aren't worth a minimum wage, which is supposably a living wage, lowers them to a different class. Class drives British society. I do find that generally it is a fictional construct that no one pays attention to, but I have occasionally been treated as not worth someone's time due to a perception as "lower". This, hilariously, isn't usually people with a title, but those who wish to be part of the "gentry". This is going wildly off topic, before I start discussing how WW1 changed the class system forever I am going to veer back on course.  

Often critics of blanket attacks on Muslims say "replace the word in your argument with Jews, and then watch how uncomfortable and unpleasant your point becomes. That is why your argument is invalid." I would ask Lord Frued to do this. Replace your suggestion that disabled people are only worth £2 an hour and with the suggestion that Jews/Muslim/Christian workers are only worth £2 an hour and we will watch the credibility and validity of your argument crumble.

The second comment came from Mr Andrew Selous, MP for South West Bedfordshire (GOV.uk). He stated that disabled people are grateful so work harder. Yes because companies pick their staff through pity and not ability. My manager does joke that I tick the companies diversity policy when we are inspected, and by saying I am gay too catches every box, but this is just a joke and clearly so. Stating that disabled people are grateful and work harder for it ignores the fact that the economy is still tanked and anyone with a job should be grateful, even if not gushingly so. This statement could be seen as a positive, hire disabled people, they work harder type message. 

Disabled workers, like myself, should be hired and supported based on their merits and abilities, not on medical conditions. Diabetics populate every professional field, asthmatics work every day. Disabled people work without flags signalling them to all and sundry. I know of a severely disabled gent who runs his own business using a light writer and business acumen. I know blind people who can buy and sell my ass with very little trouble. A blind man was an MP. 

Saying disabled people are worth less than others and should work harder to be thankful is ignorant and misinformed.

Nearly a whole month.

Time flies apparently. It's that dad joke where a man throws his watch out the window to see time fly.

I wanted to wait to post anything until I got my interview results. I got them two weeks ago, and since then I've been saying "I'll do it a little later." And then a little later becomes two weeks.  I can't seem to decide on a topic. Some bloggers have stuff happen to them regularly and some create content through baking or something on a regular basis, but even though my disabilities are with me all the time, I genuinely don't have things to deal with. My work accepts me, my partner accepts me, my dad forgets that I have multiple disabilities, I forget I have multiple disabilities (case in point when I went to the practice nurse for an Asthma check up, she refered me to nuero physio, as the practices new goal is to promote nuero care. First she saw my name on the list and wondered why, then when she spoke to nuero disability on the phone in my presence and listed the various interesting abilities, I genuinely wondered who she was referring to. That reminds me, need to book in to see the gp). 

There are many things I want to blog about, primarily the precieved war on the disabled by the current government. Because I do not need a second bedroom for a carer, and do not recieve any government assistance in the form of benefits, I have not been directly affected by cuts that could be seen as a war. This means that while I could write a blog about unchecked personal opinions and what flashes up on my news feed (not that I'm a paranoid conspiracy theorist but some times I like more than one opinion and view point to inform my life), I think a fact checked, if a little biased, post would do more justice to the blog and maybe actually raise some valid points. Don't get me wrong, I would love to be the first, which I won't be because I am late to the party, to raise a shield to defend those who need it, but it needs to be evidence based. 

In my opinion, something that's apparently dangerous on the internet, there has been a subtle attack on those on benefits, through shows like "Benefits Street" and perhaps even "Jeremy Kyle". Any such reality TV through the key hole type show is bound to pick things that score ratings, either by making us feel superior or by simply trying to raise our choler at where our money might be potentially going. It's the same with shows about benefits frauds and migrants. Yes fair, there will always be cheats and frauds and people coming to steal the things we work hard for but on the whole people are not monsters. But we can be convinced they are. During times of war, governments try to convince us the people in the village over the hill eat their children and sacrifice goats to some abhorrent god. Then as soon as war is over, each side has to convince the other that they are just like each other. 

The easiest example is that militant fighters in Iraq where told US marines had to kill a baby to become a Marine. This shows that life is precious to everyone, if an US citizen was told Muslims have to kill a baby to become a militant, they would be outraged. This is simply the reverse. Watch the dash cams from Russia. They help push cars out of ditches and little old ladies to cross the road, just like anyone in the UK would, but thanks to aggressive policy, we need to see them as the "enemy". 

On a more local level, as Nigel Farage put it, "would you want Romanians to move next door to you?". That is the most awful scare mongering, and my honest answer is "i don't really care". That's an awful lot of people to sweep up in one statement. I know loads of Romanians in work and I would say they are decent nice people. It's a bit like asking the Germans would they like Brits living next door? Well maybe or maybe not. Are they the well educated types who are frightfully polite or are they the louts we get on holidays who steal sun beds (it's a recent poll that Germans believe English to hog sun beds). 

And this brings me back to benefits. Sure theres people on TV who get benefits and smoke six packs a day and don't want to do volunteer work for benefits but are they the majority? If you watch the "cat calling" video from NYC there's no white men in it, and this is explained as bad editing, what the white men said wasn't clear, or off camera, so they didn't make the cut. Equally I bet for any sort of benefits Britain trype reality show, they cut twenty people who are  honest down on their luck people who have just been dealt a bad hand and need a bit of support for the one person who has five different baby daddies and smokes like a cigarette factory on fire which will make people upset (rightly or wrongly). It bumps up TV ratings and like it or not promotes the government line of we need to cut benefits because that's where it goes. 

  

 Mean while, in my own life, things are certainly looking up. I got the job, something I have yet to annouce on anything resembling a "public" forum due to there not being ink on paper yet. This is certainly another step forward, even if it's all gone a bit Game of Thornes with the "you win or you die" type concept about the three month probation.

Living on my own is still a struggle to some degree, and my partner came to help me clean again over the weekend. I should have a clean as you go policy but then I come in late from work or something and I make food and it all goes from there. At the moment however, I appear to have carpet.......

So, my lovely viewers, I shall leave you here while I go and try to research interesting and evidence based post about benefits cuts. Thank you for reading.

Dreaming

This continues not to be a work blog.

I haven't dreamt in a long time. Not sleep dreaming, I'm sure I do that every time I doze I just never remember it, I mean work dream. To dream of a long term secure future in a job of my choice, where I'm not the only applicant for a short staff company or the average no prospects drone.

First some tactful, anonymous history. 

Straight out of university, I was placed in a decent, if a little dead end, job. This was under direction of the university and with pensions and security, it was perfect. But it wasn't what I wanted to do, so I applied elsewhere, believing that I might not qualify for anything beyond that job, but knowing the longer I stayed the less likely my chances got.

However, just before my Aspergers diagnosis I landed a dream job, working for a perfect company. It is important to note, that while I don't want this to sound defensive, I had not been diagnosed but a condition of taking this job was to have my dyslexia reassessed. 

This dream job however, did not last. Despite managers best efforts to provide support, Aspy traits that had never been recognised, or more likely I had learnt to mask, where too obvious and I lasted less than four months. During my "garden leave" from this job, I had my dyslexia reassessed, and with information brought from my then devastated "current" job, the educational physiologist did Aspergers tests, marking my Empathy Quotient at 26, therefore on the spectrum. Her advise, actually, was that my Aspy markers did not require follow up if I felt it wasn't warranted. 

I had at that time more pressing issues, like finding a job. There was a two month gap, where I had little money and spent much of my day job hunting. So I retreated to menial drone work. Something I knew without a doubt I could handle, something similar to my first job. Once acquired and settled, I went for testing, feeling it was worth exploring. 

This isn't called the Aspy Journey blog because those tests came back normal...... Although I am normal, thank you.

That "retreat" job showed me the ugly side of no support and passive discrimination from management, and taught me tough lessons on what to look for in a job, and who to work for. I didn't hold out hope of ever being more than a menial drone, but maybe I could find a manager who would at least not pressure me and declare to the world my disabilities in the guise of helping. My Aspy nurse came to save the day. She originally came to talk to my management about supporting me and helping with behaviours that they wished to curb, and ended up giving me the best advice she could after watching two managers tear me for precieved infringements (I know I wasn't at fault because I had an independent Neurotypical in the room: my nurse). Her advice? "Quit, now."

Before I continue I feel its important to clarify my stance on the whole work support and health care support issue. The law protects me, I'm sure if I joined a union, they'd protect me, I have a right to a job and management have to make "reasonable adjustments", with help from professionals, to suit my work environment to me. I need a five minute break every two hours to clear my head? Done. Work is stressing me to the limit? I can simply walk out, without explanation, and leave a mark for my manager so they know. I can use a scale system so my colleagues can run interference on me, making me a drink or taking something stressful off me. What constitutes reasonable however is up for debate, and I have heard stories where companies can make reasoned arguments that an adjustment will damage business and that's the matter closed.

I understand that with bad attitude, or an entitled attitude, I could be nothing more than a millstone waiting to be passed to someone else. What it takes is a little quit pro quo, where I must strive to meet any reasonable adjustment half way, to try and overcome my faults through private education and support, and by extension this blog is part of that. It forces me to confront certain issues, uncomfortable ones, like how  i thoughtlessly upset people because I don't think before I speak sometimes.  I don't feel good about myself when I'm told I've upset someone. So I try to tackle those behaviours and while I am currently discharged from Aspy services, I wouldn't hesitate to contact them again if needed, or to join groups (which reminds me, I should search for groups in my area).  

So I quit. It was tough, I had held the job for just under a year, my second longest, but almost immediatly found a new job with an excellent manager. She also met my support nurse and was horrified by my previous jobs behaviour, encouraging me to retain a lawyer and do some active challenging. I didn't. The job to begin with hadn't been worth it, I was only a drone, it presented no growth or advancement opportunity, unless I threatened to quit, in which case suddenly I was the toast of the job. 

My new job took off, it was secure, I made friends, I really enjoyed it. 

Out of the blue I recieved a recruitment text. When my dream job had collapsed, I went into over drive, applying for every job and putting my CV on every recruitment website going. I still get emails and calls asking if I am interested in jobs that I am no longer suited for (in a good way). The recruitment agency had found my Cv online and where offering me an interview with a good company, with a chance for advancement, development and doing a job that would be exciting, rewarding and stimulating. I was back in dream job territory.

I went, not expecting to get the job. In the run up, I spoke intensely with my recruitment handler, discussing how to broach the topic of my disability, how my work history looked without context, gaps and short stays. Previous interviews for jobs that sounded interesting had gone flat when I couldn't with ease explain gaps and short employment, I had been ridiculed in one interview for taking the current drone job at my age. I was afraid to discuss disability, afraid it would ring bells, alarms, that I was not a candidate to hire because I might take supporting, and it all may just fall flat in a short period anyway, but without explaining undiagnosed disability, I couldn't offer decent explanations for gaps. I had done no research into interview techniques and they simply came back with cold "nos".

I wish I could remember the name of recruitment officer who spent hours on the phone, coaching me in how to phrase my previous trouble and to be direct. The honest answer is the best, and be up front about disability, stressing what you can do, what you are undergoing in terms of support and how much you want to work and meet them half way. He also said to turn my disability to company advantage.  The government requires that a certain number disabled people to be employed, and it makes a company look good and inclusive. The best advice I had ever gotten. 

So I went. There where five candidates and I was first. That's code for I was not a hopeful, I was a name. Inevitably the question about my dream job came up.

"Why was your stay so short in a job similar to the one for which you are no applying?"

I took a deep breath and answered honestly. I had undiagnosed Asperger's syndrome.

The interview opened. At some stage, when it became clear I was being handed the job I was asked a very poignant question:

"Are you saying this dream job collapsed because you where not provided with support?"

To say "yes" was the simplest but also untrue answer. I remembered the manager trying hard to support me, repeatedly. But without all the facts, neither of us could implement the correct support or fathom what was wrong.

I gave what I still consider one of my best interview answers: "WE didn't know."

I walked out of that interview room with a three month contract. I had to ask the manager who showed me round the offices if it was a serious job offer three times before I believed it fully.

Three months at my dream job was better than nothing. It was then extended by another three months.

Close to the end of the second three months, when the next management decision would be to either give me  permanent   contract or let me go, a job promotion came up.  I applied and was offered interview, more of a courtesy and learning experience than any real prospect of advancement.

I walked out of that interview with a permanent contract, a project to manage and promises of management orientated courses. The other candidate, rightfully, got the promotion. 

That was almost a year ago. I called this post dreaming, because ever since my initial dream job, I haven't dared dream. It has been unreal. But my first "dream job" taught me not to dream, it crashed. And while I worked as a drone I had no dreams. Maybe vague formless thoughts that further education might pluck me from a mundane dead end job that sapped my will and was not financially rewarding, but nothing solid. A stunted imagination really can be a draw back. 

Early this year I went for a job, regular hours, very good pay, in another office. I hate keeping secrets, I really do, but after I had interviewed and been offered a job, I decided my manager deserved to know that I was jumping ship for another job.

His reaction caught me off guard. He was neutral, but also asked why I was leaving a dream job to work somewhere that may be the equal of my current job, but may have different orientation and goals, work methods and ethics. It gave me pause.

Since my loss of the initial dream job, all I had wanted was to get back into that territory. It didn't really matter with who, or what I was doing day to day, just as long as I was lifted out of the drone work and into a platform from which maybe I could spring into what I really wanted to do. 

But now, now, I was in my dream field. I was jumping because my brain was stuck in "any fancy job" mode, the I'll fine tune it later, for now: leap type job.

My manager told me exactly what he expect out of my "five year plan". A plan I didn't have, and hadn't had since really leaving university if I am honest. He told me if a job came up he would encourage me for it, if he thought I was right, either with my current company or in a new company. He, unwittingly I believe, set me goals, dreams, things to accomplish. He told me if a job came up in a field I am passionate about,meh would pack my bags himself and March me out the door. I began to form a five year plan.

After that, I began to dream again, just a little. A little bit of hope and colour filling my mind, but I never really gave to much thought.

In a recent appraisal my manager put it as strongly as they could that I should apply for the next advertised promotion.

And that's why I am blogging at 5 am on a work day. I have applied for a promotion. One they kept the application window open long enough for me to return from holidays and apply. 

I've been told I won't get it, but that is no reason not to play a stormer. I am doing research, speaking to managers who I will be working under about what their expectations are (the advert says it all, but no harm in hearing it from managers), and preparing interview questions. My best suit has gone to dry cleaners and I will be buying a new shirt for the experience. Just because I won't get it is no excuse not to look amazing and grasp a learning opportunity.

I best get some sleep. Night/morning.

 

Sensory seeking behaviour.

After that last gruesome post, something a little less graphic and more thoughtful this time around perhaps?

This blog will have a number of overarching themes (there will be a quiz at the end so pay attention). These will include (but are no means limited to): behaviour, coping mechanisms, side effects and meltdowns, personal achievements and failures, social interaction and medical changes (hopefully minimal and not interesting). As you might imagine, these will overlap and intertwine as nothing in life is simple and various posts might encompass many different themes or topics. With this in mind, I am going to try to break down certain behaviours into individual posts, just for clarity and to highlight some topics that affect me (with this in mind there may be some opinion pieces, don't worry Dave my Etonian chum, it may not be my remit to advocate for the "disabled community", as many have their own voices, but I will be commenting on the perceived persecution of the disabled).

The last post was very much a sensory seeking behaviour, and I want to follow on with a broader topic of sensory seeking. I don't remember who exactly suggested I have some form of sensory seeking behaviour and I have a sneeking suspicion it was a friend who working with the intellectually disabled rather than a professional diagnosis.

While I enjoy narrow pursuits, I also enjoy them to an extreme extent. I read various internet sites, although none constructive to do with work or with my disabilities. In fact to compose a post about the recent disability cutbacks and the bedroom tax, I am going have to do some research, not only because when I hulk out, I like to be the credible hulk, but because my only information comes from the occasional news story on my Facebook feed. I spend hours on various funny websites, or meme apps, as well as Facebook and Twitter, following what is essentially meaningless comments from people I hardly, or don't, know. Life on the internet is delightfully anonymous, I can comment on anything I like with at least a veneer of anonymity. People can comment on this blog anonymously, because I am a benevolent god, and I believe in freedom of expression and response. 

I spend hours online, and while it can be varied content, between videos from people I follow, or memes, or any social media site or games, it still tethers me to a device and a wifi signal. Blogging is probably an extension of this, and I find a world without wifi a little less rich. I haven't read a full book in about six months, as my time is eaten wholesale by vapid internet browsing. I used to be able to read four books at once, one in every room of the house but, while I still read four books, they take months to complete rather than weeks. This also means my backlog of books is ever growing, as I buy books constantly. In the last week I have had to put books down simply to stop the fill of books pouring into my limited space. It has been this way since before my diagnosis, and it has taken off and been fed by my access to always on fast speed direct to my door broadband and wifi that is prevalent. I can go to any public space, practically, and use a smartphone, tablet or laptop to access the information superhighway. I recently ditched my smartphone and bought a brick that's letting me relive my youth nicely, and I must admit, with the exception of a camera, I miss nothing. Gone is the constant need to browse and upload content. This, at least in part, proves I can break certain routines and behaviours, although I am more often than not logging onto wifi before I have sat down in a restaurant, or unpacked in a hotel, or made dinner at home. 

My internet browsing also impacts another interest (for the purposes of the test, it counts as an interest). My partner recently complained that I wasn't taking a romantic interest in her, devoting more time to the internet than to her. Surprisingly, she isn't my first partner to make this complaint. I have been "diagnosed" by an ex partner who did a sex addict quiz on my behalf and scored me firmly in the addicted section. Mind you, I also scored 28 on a narcissism test, and I only have Facebook, Twitter, a blog, and a full time game account linked to a community and a YouTube account (which I don't upload to), so these tests can be wrong. The sex addict quiz score may have some bearing on my life, as I do have more than the normal appetites. I need to remember my parents read this blog, so I need to word this paragraph tastefully. 

The internet keeps me up at night, constantly feeding information into my brain and I chase it with thirst  and excitement. I am constantly tired because I sit behind a screen constantly, even in bed, on the toilet, when cooking. I am currently watching a video steaming supine, texting and blogging. 

My thumb is certainly a sensory seeking behaviour, and even today it has begun to split again. This time it's bleeding and sore. 

This topic will crop up again, but for now, goodnight.

Also: hi to my readers in America, Germany and now China, welcome. To my closer readers in the Uk and Ireland, thanks for the support.

.

Short post

My yet unfinished post about sensory seeking behaviour includes a side rant out about calling out the government on its "war" on disability payment recipients, including the bedroom tax.

Now, understand I recieve no money in benefit form as, rightly, I meet none of the criteria (it makes me feel like a beacon of health reading the assessment forms, as I can do more than is required). 

This popped up on my news feed just now:

I can't post the link without logging into Google plus, so I'm afraid a screen shot will have to do.

Be back soon with posts.

Night.

My left thumb

See? See? See what I did there? 

If you are in anyway weak stomached, this post may not be to your taste.

Since about the age of ten I have, with various pauses and breaks, religiously torn the skin off my left thumb. Why my left thumb? It is the one that the skin splits and blisters on the most. I remember then I was younger it was both thumbs, and occasionally my feet, but now it is almost exclusively my left thumb (although my feet aren't beyond reach). 

It doesn't require too much effort either. I don't need to chew it or wet it, recently there's still old lines,where I was able to reach the maximum expansion of weak skin before it either tore to a deep spot that was too sore to continue or I couldn't get purchase with my nails, while I have been able to start new expansions on newly formed skin that's already 'white' and ready to lift. It often starts along the creases of the tumb joint, where the skin will naturally begin to break as I bend my thumb in numerous ways. 

Sometimes only the very too layer comes away, sometimes multiple layers come away in one go. While strips, both shallow and deep, usually don't led to deep blood drawing damage, but once it narrows at one end, I usually expect the pinprick pain as it tears deep and does draw blood. That's not to say, often on my feet, that a broad stretch will with open a deep strip of blooded flesh or again multiple pinpricks, wells of blood that sting and cause reduction in function.

I am so adept at striping skin that I can do it one handed, while driving. Of course water helps and I often find myself in the shower helping it along. 

Whyi do it is probably more interesting, and my main answer is I don't know. I am sure it falls under some sort of self harm and I have never spoken to a professional about it. The girls in work know about it, although we never discuss it. My parents know about it, as does my partner.  

I often fob it off as a burn, stress, but mostly it's habitual boredom. It provides a feeling of release as much as it is entertainment. I don't stop until my thumb is either stripped or it has become to painful to continue. It is almost as if I trance when I do it, oblivious to the world around me, focused solely on the destruction of my thumb. As soon as I'm done I get mixed feelings, there's relief, freedom, satisfaction, but these are often overridden by shame, disappointment in my inability to prevent myself from destroying something that belongs to me, and a small pile of skin flakes that remind me of what I have done. Mixed with these are a confusing feelings of pride, pride at how much I have removed, how big the flakes are and how my thumb feels. It no longer has a ridges texture, after years of the tear heal cycle, it is smoother than my other fingers,

I suppose I should be concerned, worried about health implications and social implications from what is essentially self harm, but I never am. I just let it heal, with not real attempt to hide it any more, no real discussion of it, I have found this post hard to write simply dpbecause I lack the language to describe both the physical process and the feelings that ensue from it.

The photo below was taken as soon as I had finished an opening. It's raw and painful, but sometimes these things need to be shared.

 

Hidden

Ok, so that last post was a little lacklustre. Mostly caused by a lack of thinking critically (like all of life's problems) and my current ill health, it only skimmed the surface of my control issues and how I both misuse them and switch between various personas and shields to both protect myself and appease others. While that is a topic I will come back to after further thought and examination (and examples), I want to talk a little about how intellectual disability is often hidden, although from my "twice now" post, I can either walk when I am tired or wear my stylish glasses.

Dyslexia, dyspraxia and aspergers are all variously hidden. There's no guide dog acting as my life companion or a wheelchair, which is so synonymous with disability it is used as the national symbol for disabled access or services or parking. Although, reading that last part, a dog life companion sounds fairly awesome.

Before I continue I want to just go off on a slight tangent. I am incredibly lucky. Occasionally I feel that this blog could very well devolve into a whine fest, full of the internet popular "white whine" although, perhaps more a "disabled whine". (Although, maybe disabled wine might sell like those monks booze). I have both natural luck and family luck. The ins and outs of my history doesn't make good reading, but being able to produce a blog at all is a minor miracle, and having escaped one fate, even with caveats of disability, cerbral palsy, dyslexia, dyspraxia and aspergers, I have all four mildly. I am not wheelchair bound (although I will joke that is my destiny), I am variously able to write, read and while I am delightfully uncoordinated, I can drive (who just gave up driving for life?). I do blend in to regular neurotrophical society with remarkable ability. Some of it is self taught, some of it is cultural, a lot of it is excellent parent support, people being very understanding (being given out to for calling myself a retard by colleagues, college professors, partners and others is both hilarious and disappointing). Right after that foreshadowing paragraph, let's continue.

Being able to "hide" helps mostly, I don't suffer perceived discrimination or snide comments. The idea recently that there are levels to every disability certainly applies to me. George Takei, a  man I love not just for his Star Trek fame and roles, but his championing of gay rights and his highlighting of uncomfortable truths about the American WW2 record, was hounded for sharing a meme of a wheelchair user standing to reach alcohol (whether this is right or wrong I will leave to my readers) but it highlighted that disability is not a black or white issue. Anyone with a disability is very capable of doing anything. It is not disability, but this ability. We can do more than we are often credited for. 

This issue is turning into a delightful minefield, you may want to pretend to be a penguin at home.

The story that jumps to mind is one from a text book from my youth. The tale of two ladies who go for coffee every week, and the lady in the wheelchair is talked about, not to, as staff ask the "able bodied" lady "does she take milk?" 

Because I blend, it is when I open my mouth that I give myself away. I have gotten better at this, silence being a safe refuge, or topics of bland yet not weather related subjects. I often find the party trick of when surrounded people you don't know at a party, ask questions and make others talk about themselves, thus making the silent approach acceptable as someone tells you facts about their lives. This lets me soak facts for later use, both with that person and when bored in work I can leave my colleagues baffled.

My ataxia is now beginning to signal something is wrong, and to trained eyes it is a fairly obvious sign of cerbral palsy. I am hoping my exercises will minimise my ataxia and the delightful obviousness of my condition. Still, joking that I shouldn't be allowed make the tea and carry it to the office does tKe the sting out a bit.

Right, that's a solid page for now, plenty to revisit I am sure. Goodnight.

Control

How do five days vanish into nothing and I find myself behind?

I want to talk about control.

It seems to be a common tread amongst Aspy and autism, that we enjoy control, be it of our environment, what we watch, what others are doing, how life runs.

I have developed all sort of control. I control situations by being subtle, by seeming timid, seeming charming, making others feel that I am the one who can get jobs done, by making people do things because I can show them the persona or attitude they want. I'm the good guy, solid boyfriend, totally loyal, thoughtful.

However, for anyone who's had a look behind the armour, I'm most likely not the nicest person ever. But I can control others using a persona that's required. Oh, and sarcasm.

Control does have intrusion in my life in other ways. I hate cinema, mainly because I can't turn if off or flip channels, I don't like other people showing me stuff to watch, as I get no control over that either. I love TV, because I can mess with that, I can turn it off, change it and generally choose what I want to watch.

This leads me to the Internet. I love watching clips on a popular tube type website (YOU work it out). The Internet not only feeds my control, but also my sensory seeking behaviour (more on that later) and I can claim its educational (it is, if you know where to look, or how to lie).

Smells

Talking about super powers.....

I have a really sensitive sense of smell, to the point where I can tell someone has been smoking in a room that's been empty for a long time and cleaned fully.

I'm not sure if this is an Aspie trait, as close family members have strong noses, but it does have impact on my life.

Silly things, like I went into a bath soap shop and almost immediately had to leave as the smells became over whelming. I don't suffer meltdowns as they might be pictured (tantrums and screaming) but when it feels like electricity is sparking down the back of your skull, it can be mildly unpleasant. I can identify these moments and leave as soon as I'm able.

The only real trouble is when something has been cleaned. It might smell clean to everyone but I can get the afternose of the vile previous smell.

Anyway, I'm off to tie a sheet round my shoulders and sniff things.......

Selective pressures

Repeat after me: this is not a work blog, this is not a work blog, this is NOT a work blog.

Right, now that we have that out of the way, lets talk about work.

Aspies struggle in work, I have struggled in work, and there's some key things that I have discovered about managing in work.

Work, as much as it gets moaned about ("we wouldn't call it work if it where fun"), is an essential structure in life, and it forms a framework for me, at least. It gives me an abundance of human interaction, it gives me achievable goals and relatively easy tasks. I am incredibly lucky (repeatedly) that I do something I love, that I can manage, and that I find rewarding. Without work, what else would I do?

I've already discussed the idea of getting a support worker/nurse to speak to a manager, who can provide skills, insight and management techniques. It also gives the support worker a chance to get a feel for the work environment and the management team, giving them the ability to give tailored support and if needs must, tell the Aspie when it's time to find a new job (something I'll accept is tough for Aspies as it is).

The Internet loves lists, so here goes (on a side note, I hate slide show lists):

First rule: Be honest. "I have this difference, but these are my coping mechanisms, this are my behaviours, this is my support worker and this is what I do well." It's how I got my current job, I was brutally honest, and here I am more than a year later going for a promotion and have extra roles.

Second: As mentioned, bring in that support, ask for reasonable adjustments, whatever is required.

Thirdly: Try to gauge a good manager. This is tough, I know, but again this is where a support worker or nurse can do wonders. They will spot the managers who actually care, as opposed to those who want to just do the bare minimum and then wash their hands as someone struggles. I have repeatedly turned down jobs because the manager has come off wrong, or I didn't like the work environment. I have stated that money won't buy me, but a decent manager will.

Fourth: Find a job that encompasses a field of interest. It is repeated as major trait of Aspergers that we have a few special interests and social situations, and this is certainly true but that doesn't mean an aspy cannot do something they are gifted at. I've been told my speciality interest is women (Ladies) and the handling of social situations with them (read: flirting), but honestly my current job, and the current speciality certainly, is an interest of mine (I totally didn't buy the book for the next course before the course has been announced, I swear). This special interest become a TV trope of course, claiming we all have superpowers, but unless being able to nap anywhere is a superpower, I haven't got one. (Narcolepsy Man: STOP! or I'll zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz).

Five: Pick a specific area to work in. Yes this sounds obvious, but in my current field if I worked in a large workplace, with many departments or sections or offices with uncontrolled workload coming in I would not do as well as I am. By selecting the pressures, I am thriving, eliminating certain factors that may put me in a spin by picking a workplace that automatically eliminates those factors.

I am very sure this list isn't exhaustive, but right now I'm drawing a blank (I got distracted by TV).

I'll revisit it as soon as my brain starts working.


 

Queuing

The last post was a little, em, heavy so just a quick note about what I love about living in the UK.

People Que, for EVERYTHING, and it runs very deep that it should be done properly. It gives order to life, even done in small parts.

Oh sweet sense of justice, how people regulate the Q themselves and how people tut when some one skips or won't let people off buses and trains first. Of course, it wouldn't be British to actually complain.......

The Atheist Aspy

Wish I'd thought of that as my blog title. Oh well, too late now.

Straight into this minefield, because I'll annoy Aspys, Atheists and the religious community. Moments when I wish I was a penguin......

I was raised Roman Catholic, and many of my life references and touch stones, even still, revolve around this world view. I enjoy Christian holidays, I understand Western view points because in the majority the West is Christian, although this is changing (no I will not be dissecting the move of Islam into western culture, or the divide etc. I find Islam to be a very sensible religion. SHOCK an atheist said he finds religion sensible on the Internet, bring out the pitchforks).

Now, as many may know, RC isn't a religion one simply leaves. I don't mean a priest stands at the door with a gun and a Bible or that they ask you to return forms in triplicate with references from every teacher who ever had to suffer you as a student, signed in the blood of at least one martyr. RC just moves you in category from active to lapsed.

Now I'm sure there is an official way to leave, involving forms in triplicate and questions about what I was doing the third Sunday of May in 1997 at 16:45. Life appears a bit too short for these things, and I don't even fill in half the forms I should fill in (like job applications and birthday cards. Sorry Mum/Dad/random family), and it never hurts to have a back up plan (I cite Voltaire as my inspiration).
Slowly, like a flan in a cupboard, I've collapsed into Atheism. Not angry atheism, before anyone thinks I'm out to rip up Bibles and take a hammer to Churches. Just no real belief in anything organised about God. It has led to some insights and thoughts, and some very strange discussions.

I generally find that a live and let live policy works best, and an almost American Libertarian view of: 'you do what you want all you like, as long as it doesn't impact me.' Unfortunately American atheism and its current battles impact my views (thanks YouTube), but also inform my thoughts.

There is nothing wrong with believing in something that might (and could even plausibly) be true, like a God in general, or even a Christian God specifically, and i know many good people who's lives are shaped and informed by their beliefs. One of my favourite moments in the last year was discussing respect for others beliefs and the idea laid down in the American Constitution that freedom of religion means freedom from religion with a friend and despite the fact that she is a believer and I'm not particularly inclined, our world views and policy run along very similar lines.

So we come to the crux of my argument (because there is a lot of ground to cover, and one post won't cover it all, I'm not St Bridget with my magic cloak). I like science, I use science every day, it provides a foundation for the knife edge that modern society is based on (we're three square meals away from anarchy may no longer be the case, we are twenty four hours with out wifi before the collapse of modern civilisation). Science is a way of knowing, a way of learning about both ourselves and the universe. Science shows us everything from the first millisecond of the universe, to where humans came from, to how to feed humanity. It is based on fact and rigorously reviewed and checked. It is self correcting, things we thought we knew thirty years ago, we don't know at all. science is what beats diseases, is currently fighting to contain Ebola ( arguments over whether or not the with holding of treatment is politically motivated or runs along racial lines is for a different post or blog, although my faith in humanity would be shaken to the core if someone provided proof that people would be left to suffer because of their skin colour.)

This is when my hand starts going for the lead pipe, when people start telling me that science isn't true, that it is disproved by incomplete, non peer reviewed studies conducted by people with questionable degrees and morals (yes I went there: who can honestly tell people they will get rich by giving money to church?).

The most eloquent response to this is Dara O'Briain, an Irish comedian. I'll share a link but in essence he says:

"Science knows it doesn't know everything, otherwise it would stop. That doesn't mean you can fill in the gaps with whatever fairy story you like".

http://youtu.be/uDYba0m6ztE

While having an original thought in my head is more entertaining, I really cannot put it better than more prominent figures who actually have traffic, unlike small timers like me who blur into the back ground along with every other blogger. That said, another voice in the darkness that's not shouting 'I told you so' when it is too late might just help. Its why i started this blog (although I started it to share my Aspy experiences, not expressly my love of science), as a voice to show that Aspys can function and are people and we walk amongst you, and if there was anything I learnt that might help others.

This post has to end at some stage, and I went wildly off topic, so this topic will be revisited, although its a heavy one to talk about.

for now lets be Penguins in minefields.......

(That clip covers a lot that i agree with, this is blogging for slackers)

Twice now.

About three years ago, a while after my London reassessment, I went for an eye check mainly to utilise the tint test that I had undergone. I had never worn glasses in my life, but I had friends in school (in London, because in Ireland learning differences simply mean you're stupid and should be held back a year to catch up to the other classes. Oops, the stuff I say when I'm tired!) and I remember that the glasses went down like a lead balloon, the sixties having passed in a haze of smoke and tinted glasses no linger being groovy. 

But with a diagnosis of dyspraxia (seriously considering getting a counter plug-in that pings every time I mention a difference), and the tint specifics in my pocket, I headed to the eye doc. Turns out I have a stigmatise too, so I actually need glasses for reason beyond needing to look off. And that is how I felt. That wearing purple tint glasses was just a giant billboard declaring:

"Warning! Defective product." 

As I went to collect them, I ran into a friend who told me they would look cool due to the return of hipness and girls in alternative bars would swarm me (this has yet to happen, but I live in hope). A friend accepting that I needed tinted goggles made it easier, but every time I used them they got commented on, and while not always negative, made me self conscious. So the glasses went in a box.  One pair got scratched beyond use and the other pair popped a screw. 

Recently, under some "guidance", I repaired my glasses and began using them again, only for them to fall out of my pocket in work and pop a screw again. This time, the tiny screw managed a Houdini, so it was a walk down to the local optometrist. While repairing them, for free I might add, he mentioned an article in the Lancet recently that threw doubt on the usefulness of tint (I'll link in a future post, if I find it).

How does this all tie into the title?

Well turns out I have had a bigger billboard that I didn't realise and no one seems to spot, or comment on, and in the last two years I have had two random, friendly people, comment. 

Last year in a cafe, a gent at the next table watched me walk in and then told me it was Cerbral palsy. We talked and he kindly bought me tea, tell me that we should stick together. It was touching and while I am biased, confirmed the diagnosis I was awaiting.

The second time it happened was today, a gent on the bus asked as I sat down, making me smile. I now have a nice letter telling me what's different with me.

It makes me comfortable with my glasses, with how i walk and how I am.

Just a thought.

Just thinking

I set this blog up to follow my new journey into the diagnosis of CP.

Meanwhile, during the ad break, I did that.

So guess that wraps up this blog quite neatly.

Goodnight.

Mybe i'll do a montage clip show later.......

The biggest change

So, during our short commercial break, a few things changed. 

I moved job. 

I changed partner. (Her observations will feature in this blog, as often they are both hilariously true and scarily insightful.)

And I moved house.

The last bit is the biggest bit of news. I have lived on my own before, and for some Aspies it is a huge achievement, something some community nurses strive to achieve as an end goal to give an Aspie some sense of independence and freedom. 

I have never successfully lived on my own before. As discussed previously, success can be measured by many different yard sticks, and I suppose that by some degree, simply being an Aspie living on my own is a success. However, to quote the aforementioned partner out of context: are you reconsidering acting like a functioning person. 

Yes. Yes I am.

Previously while living anywhere, my living quarters has devolved into a pile of unwashed clothes and takeaway food cartons surrounding a bed made with sheets that didn't know what the inside of a washing machine looked like.

When I started my blog, I was house sharing with two guys and living in a variant of the aforementioned mess. I can now proudly say that I have moved into a two bed apartment, one room for sleeping, the other for reading/doing office work/having guests stay (now if only I had friends), and it's been relatively mess free for an entire month.

Achievement unlocked, living like an adult.

Diagnosis: probably

So, last time we looked I was enjoying an MRI brain scan that won me a bet on whether or not I had a brain, and was looking at a probable diagnosis of Cerebral Palsy. 

A year later (the narrator in my life was not kind enough to simply say "ahem, some time later"), and a spine scan later, I have a piece of paper that states I have probable mild cerebral palsy and Poland Syndrome.

I, very luckily, was offered physiotherapy  treatment very quickly, and have begun doing simple exercises to begin to rectify problems. Interesting things have been brought to my attention by the physio, like I throw my body forward to drag my legs after me and I need to stand up straighter and allow my legs to pendulum swing, thus reducing my need to drag my weaker right leg after me.

I'm feeling the difference already, with my current partner noting that I am taller when I try to wiggle my hips to create leg swing. 

What I always wanted, bum wiggle.

A break apparently

So I went for coffee and a sandwich and now it is a year and a half later and I haven't updated my blog. It's been a good year and half. Will have to blog about it some time.

More soon (ish) 

Paul