No post this week

So, unless you follow me on Facebook or Twitter (hint, hint, click click), you'll be surprised there's no full post this week.

Why? 

Because I'm a fat lazy sod who decided he liked the blog the way it were and don't need no fancy new regimen to boost credibility or help people......

Obviously.

It's more that the new job has loaded a whole load of training and education into my time table and I am determined and obligated to complete that training in a timely manner and it will give me a good basis for productive work. 

I take longer to complete reading and comprehension tasks, like reading policies or doing self directed online learning. Although half the time I think it is simple bone idleness on my part, I do take more frequent breaks and I find more diversion tactics that are synonymous with dyslexia (while it's being mentioned, why is dyslexia so hard to spell?). I'm the worlds greatest avoider of paperwork and book learning. 

It's a common tactic for dyslexics, to find something that either delays having to do a task until it's too late or something that replaces that task. I did it in school like nobodies business, telling convoluted stories or chattering mindlessly to delay written and reading work. 

Work have given me two weeks to do all the work, so I'm in very good hands.

To add to this, I have not discussed the blog with management or given them details and while it's not a work blog, work as you know features heavily, because it's the activity I do the most. There's nothing saying I have to tell work, but to misquote something I read recently: dance like no one is watching but blog like it's going to be read out in a court. For this reason alone, I want management on board, at least tangentially, before I write about the (amazing) support.

Moving on:

The 2nd of April is autism awareness day, so let's talk about that.....

It's old, but lighting up blue is seen as supportive for people with Autism, however Autism Speaks has been attacked as oppressive. I'm including links because I have not had first hand  experience of Autism speaks, mainly because they are American.


In the UK there's a number of charities, and instead of listing them all here, I'm going to add them in as widgets to the site, that way they are easy access.

To any of my international audience, Google is your friend.

Anyway, happy Autism week!

Looking to the future.

I took last week off for holidays, so logically it follows i have an interesting and insightful post for today.

Yeah, funny that.

I'm full of weird emotions about the coming week. I start at 08:30, so it'll be an early start. I'm excited, I'm nervous, it's been a two week break due to this and that.

I'm sure things will take off, I'm sure there'll be more to talk about.

I'll decompress after the first week, and then we'll see shall we?

Here's to the future.

What's that? It's Mother's Day?

Oh, um.....hi Ma!

While dads always been great, I'm under the impression that it was my mother who was the driving force behind my initial dyslexia testing in London, although the school may also have been competent in sending me for testing.

My parents are that traditional team, backing up teachers and caring about my development and education. I'm fairly sure that without their drive, support and arrangement of extra classes, I wouldn't be doing as well as I am, and starting a great new job tomorrow. There tied that up nicely.

Right, it's lovely outside and I have stuff to do......

Reflection.

Right, I can't sleep, so am listening to music and blogging. It might be a little early in the week to be starting this, but by the time it goes up, I'lol have worked my last shift in my current job. That is why this will take a tonal shift halfway through as I sum up feelings (yes, I have them, thanks, I make them up and tell girls I feel them, but I have them) closer to finish.

I don't talk about London, and I won't either but needles to say embarrassing mess comes to mind. One person has read the dismissal report, and I've chatted to some work colleagues about it, select work colleagues who I see out side of work as "friends". Needless to say, it's six years ago now and can be safely skipped with the caveat that it was pre-diagnosis. 

But, as I step forward to a new job, a right future, with managerial blessing and shoving (I think my bosses boss was going to drive me to the interview venue and drop me off until I got interviewed) I need to reflect on the last five and a half years (knobs to London).

First off, my best mate happened to be in nottingham and happened to have a sofa I could sleep on for six weeks. Tell you what, living out of a suitcase while bunking on a sofa with NO MONEY (I used the last amount in my account to drive to Notts, boy cars are featuring heavily lately) gives you some perspective. It took four weeks to find a job, and in hindsight I should have just started working in Tesco or whatever and sucking it up until something I wanted came up. 20/20 and all that bull. 

On the forth of July I got a job I wanted, well mostly, it wasn't in my perfect field but it was related. I busted my yomp there while my GP referred me to Hybury Hospital for intellectual disability assessment. This was where I got formal Aspergers diagnosis and the first "problem" became apparent. I'm too high functioning. "Oh woe is me, I'm too fucking good!" It means I slip through too many cracks, I come off as "normal" (you know my opinion on the idea of normal and if you don't find me someone normal and I'll find you a liar), so when I make a social faux pas People out of the loop fail to understand. It's why I'm open and honest, I'm disabled. I have aspergers, I have CP. This is who I am. I'll play ball, I'll learn to interact but I just need the understanding for when I'm looking murderous because stuffs going wrong. Or I need to work shorter hours because while I love running around, when my legs have melded into a lump of pain and agony, I'm useless and in need to rest. It's why I'm building my career towards a more sedate job, with a desk and a cup of tea.

At this time we'd moved into a small duplex, so i got my own two by four room with a curtain cabled tied to the rail so I lived in an orange twilight. Pre treatment and a bit lost, in a job that was going to destroy me for the next year or so, I began smoking drugs (weed, because I'm such a teenage rebel) and drinking a little too much, you know, beer to wake up with, or I've just come home so an afternoon beer to celebrate. I don't consider myself to have been addicted to either but given that after we moved again  and I couldn't smoke in the house (because I'm not up for freezing my nads off for a smoke) codiene became my drug of choice, or more to the point, cococdamol, so o and a go at my liver with paracetamol. I eventually broke down to my support nurse and she told me cold turkey was the only option and a trip to the GP for blood to check I hadn't ruined my liver (I hadn't so it continues to process the crap I put into it). She counselled me through a very dark and difficult part of my life. Look, I know anonymity on the internet is a lie, but if I'm not frank about this now, four or five years later, when can I be open about what I did to cope. I know drink socially and don't do drugs, but it was hardly a hard core addiction. 

My line of sanity at this time was working on the Trent on a pleasure boat. Volunteering made me free and taught me new skills. This time was full of ups and downs, new diagnosis can make the world seem washed out and empty. Hopes and dreams can be scattered and while the books (the ones I never finished, don't spoil em for me) talk about a feeling of grief and loss, I never really felt that way, just that certain Doors where closed to me now. At the same time I began to strategise a plan to get back into the vine of work I wanted to be in. As it turned out, when that door opened, it was by complete accident and I stumbled ass backwards into it. 

I moved jobs to get away from less than desirable management, and you can't say that didn't teach me a valuable lesson: namely management are more important than salary or work load. Fortunately both of my following jobs have had fantastic management. 

It was aLazy day in my job when I got a text about the job I'm now leaving. Spoke to the agency, and the guy was really good, giving me solid advice on how to broach disabilities in interview (the guy even rang back six weeks or so after I got the job to see how I was doing and a year again after that, now that's dedication). The advice was I straight up told them and they couldn't have cared less, touching on London and why that went to hell ( my true response was WE didn't know, not that THEY, management didn't know). In fairness, my new manager (who hired me while they where in the process where leaving, this lead to years of teasing my new manager that I was the last practical joke played on the workplace), got me a great mentor who backed me and when I got promoted was the sole reason for my colleagues thinking I'd "bloomed".

About six months in, my manager (who hadn't hired me, the poor sod, he was stuck with me) and an experienced bod realised I didn't actually know how to communicate to my colleagues in a professional open manner. Cue intense coaching and training. Recently when I asked for a character reference he included this as a sign of my development, although my favourite bit of that was the description that as a junior manager I was unafraid to "shield colleagues and subordinates from managerial wrath". I believe this comes from the occasional time when I told him he could eat me alive but the team would not suffer for an easily correctable mistake.

But I'm getting ahead of myself a little, because that really brings me up to speed. Just after I got the job, and I can't remember if it was before I started or just after, I contemplated suicide. I genuinely thought about it. I had had a rough road to where I stood. I wondered if this was the best I would be, if there was merit to the idea that after all I had walked, is was success  and to prevent a repeat of London I should just end it, and go out on a high. I had already thought about suicide in my first job in Notts. I only realised during a work life course where the lecturers said that if we'd thought about how to commit it, and come up with a plan then we should seek help. Yep, I had, take myself into the secure chemical room and simply lock myself in with a concoction of unpleasant mixtures to imbibe and hopefully be unreachable before I died. I decided to seek help. My GP recommended religion. Skipped out on that. I don't remember how I got by, but it was probably a lot of sex and drinking.

The Black Dog is something I've been told sits softly behind me, but I never feel it deeply on me. I've thrown away boxes of antidepressants and just got on with it in dark times. And we haven't even hit the tonal shift yet because it s still Monday.

So it's Friday and it's getting to that stage. I'm saying goodbye to staff I won't see over the weekend. I'll be leaving uniforms, badge and swipe behind Sunday night. Then it's time to see if I can step from one job to another. Time will tell.

Driving.

For once I have something relevant and interesting to post about. Would you look at that.

So, new job is two bus rides and a walk from where I currently live and with the civilised start time of 07:15 (meaning I need to be there for 06:30 so I can stumble into a uniform and footwear) getting there without a car is a complete non starter.

I've driven in the past. In fact, I've eight years of driving three different cars without any incident. For the sharp eyed among you, you'll notice that I've had a driving license longer than I have had diagnosis of aspergers or cerebral palsy. 

Unsurpringly the DVLA includes CP as a reportable disability that carries a £1000 fine if caught. When I went insurance shopping, providing that the DVLA clear me, it won't change my premium. The process seems really straight forward too. Fill in some forms, wait six weeks, have an assessment, be cleared to drive. And you can usually keep driving. 

Step one: fill in form 

Step two: wait

What's really got me worried is I just put a deposit in a Corsa. A really nice Corsa. It's yellow.

Look away now if you don't want spoilers for how this ended.....

I bought a merc instead. It's bigger. And smooth like good coffee.

You know I have Facebook *looks seductively at screen*
and Twitter.........

its a total snooze fest but still......

Sorry it's late, my dog ate my laptop, or something.....

Ongoing support

So, like always, I'm typing this at 23:46 (Greenwich mean time, HELLO AMERICA!), and am clearly not smart enough to come up with a deep thoughtful post about the philosophical insights into having a brain that's been wired like a blind electrician with Parkinson's fuse box.

This might be a two part post, I don't know, but I'm hoping to stretch it out like pair of worn tight wights, mainly because I'm projecting a bit into the future (next month to be exact).

If you have been paying attention, and I'll forgive you if you haven't, what with this blogs complete reliability and regular posting, I have recently moved jobs. OK, not entirely, because I'm working my notice, but anyway there's a new job on the horizon. This has been met with mixed reactions from: "But the current job is great, how can you give up such a great thing!" to "Yes, new opportunities are worth moving for." Both of these are understandable for people who know how hard it can be for the disabled to hold a job (trust me, disability is NO OBSTACLE to employment, or even running ones own business), but also know that we need to grow and develop to find our true potential (and become masters of the universe or something, I never finished the Aspergers for beginners book).

Back after London (and I'm totally calling my tell all book that, after my Patreon takes off, hint hint), I had plenty of support to get into work. My own Aspie Nurse came into my then job and gave them some helpful pointers (or gave me a helpful pointer: run and don't look back), two Occupational therapists sat me down and gave me some advice (short shifts and good management) and always said they where contactable if required. Fortunately, my current job was hugely supportive and no further external support was required. I put huge store in understanding management and actually busting your own backside at being good and meeting people halfway and not talking for hours about toy soldiers.

Anyway, the new job had occupational health ring me (after I filled in another form, and tacked on another sheet cos those boxes are always too small) and they want to see me before I start so we can slide in support if required. This hugely endears me to both the job and the management because this shows they care and are willing to work with me. It also means that if they decide I need support, I can contact external support and swing "reasonable adjustments" into place.

And this is why it's a two part post, I have yet to meet the Occupational Health team. So will update.

yes, I know I've changed the Aspie spelling, frankly I don't care.

For sarcastic Tweets and articles check out Facebook and Twitter. I will figure out how to put these in a side bar soon enough.....

My obsession.

The most popular Aspie trait that gets showcased by TV and the recent Movie, The Accountant (which I will not be reviewing thanks, ) is that to make up for the social awkwardness, crippling inability to interact and occasional difficulty finding and keeping gainful employment, all Aspies have a specialised hobby or trait. This can either be something that makes the audience put their hands up and yell "quirky!" or it can be a hyper-analytical mind that can dissect any problem and find an out of the box solution. I guess it gives NT types a warm fuzzy feeling that even though these weird people walk among us, at least they have their uses for society or can be relatable as the one kid in class who thought the history of the penny from 1974 to 1982 was important.

Sadly, idiot savant and Aspie don't over lap as much as we'd all like. Many Aspies are just regular humans with a different brain make up. Ask any one legged dog if different equals better and they will tell you no, although most dogs don't care as long as there's kibble and bits and maybe a post man to bark at, I don't know, having never been a dog and only occasionally enjoying the company of dogs, and post men. This means that more often than not, social anxiety is not cancelled out by some great ability to count cards or meld with technology.

So, aside from trains (OK, not that deeply but come one, technology) and toy soldiers, what do I obsess about? Money. Or change more exactly, and what I can do with it (buy more toy soldiers!!). Or you know, put it into savings. It's watching my savings grow, in multiple accounts, and seeing how much I can get before the money needs to be spent. It's reached the level that its hard to release the money for stuff I need, like dental work (you're welcome)or buying  a car. You know, stuff I might actually benefit from owning. So, when people say I am a contributing member of society, yeah, the building society.

This should then translate into a need to gain said money through any means necessary, right? (this is called foreshadowing kids, so NO ONE can complain when I start doing Patreon or putting ads on my blog). Well no, because money is nice but trade offs are required. Could I work a full month with no days off? Yes, but by the end of it "offensively aspie" is redundant. Could I be working in a job that pays £50K+ a year? Maybe, but I lack the imagination to know what kind of job makes that money or how to get into it (trading stocks, the hell?). Can I ask for it in job interview? Maybe, but there is nothing more off putting than someone in interview demanding money or a raise on the basic offer. Knowing how hard work is to gain for Aspies, I'm mindful that while I can change my lott in life, maybe accepting the things I can't change immediately is a good plan. You may have guessed I'm currently being interviewed for a new job and this topic has resurfaced while dealing with my new employers (I stay stum about money, it's nice to have, but not a factor in getting or keeping a job).

I also love my tech. My Lord, technology. If I don't have at least two gizmo's on the go at once, I'm either sick or asleep (or driving, let's be reasonable here). But that's for another post.......


Check out some other stuff fo distract you from work: Facebook, Twitter, Patreon (made you look)

textures

OK, so last week (also known as Tuesday, remind me not to have weekends out while feeling smug), the post was a little dark and unpleasant, and as funny as a dead badger in a birthday cake. In a change of pace, I think we'll go with something a bit odd, and unusual but at the same time mostly familiar, because we're all weird.

I am horribly adverse to smell, with a fairly sensitive sense of smell. Now, dad has this too, so I'm assuming its genetic, and I do enjoy it as my super power, because if my Aspy traits have yet to make me an idiot savant who can add complex numbers and know my 56th birthday is a Tuesday (I'm guessing here, but if I'm right BOOYA! guess we can ignore the rest of this sentence), then they have yet to manifest themselves.

I can tell a valeted room has had a smoker in it, I can whiff dinner down the road, and I cannot stay in Lush for long. I end up being the boyfriend stood out side (while my partner no doubt runs wild inside with a credit card selling our future to the devil for lavender scented bath bombs and never ending candles). Last time I went in voluntarily I spent exactly two minutes and found the first bath bomb that looked vaguely interesting, grabbed it, threw money at the general direction of the cash register and ran. It's not that I get overwhelmed, as such, but i begin to get the cloying smell up my nose and it causes me to feel nauseated. It's great. So I'd rather be outside, rather than queasy.

The same goes for texture. I prefer soft cotton, mostly in bedding. I can't stand cheap silk, or generally silk, texture bedding. My mother has pillow cases with  faux fur strips and I need to flip it over and sleep on the clear side (there I said it, watch her stop reading), equally fur pillows put me off. I like my bedding and it better be 100% comfy and soft because I am the highest level of under cover agent and I swear to Zod if I need to be out of bed it better be work or food. And prehaps not even the second one.  

I only mention all this, because Lord knows I'm not famous enough yet to have random people mail me bedding, because the other half went out and got silk bedding. Not Cheap silk bedding but still, I got back the dirty bedding out of the wash basket and wrapped myself in that, much to everyone Else's chagrin.

I'm also very keen on heavy bedding, sheets alone are for weirdos, although in hot summer nights even my love of being crushed into the mattress by massive blankets is beaten by the sweats. I actually don't know why, but i guess its a safety thing. I know some Aspies like being crushed to make them feel "normal". My skin isn't that sensitive, so nudity is fine, but I love the feeling of soft tight bedding.

Actually scratch that, I do have hyper sensitive skin when touched and dissolve into fits of giggles and shudders (shivers? I dunno, not a doctor) and often flinch before being touched. believing a lovers hand will be rough as sandpaper and heavy on me. One ex asked if I'd be beaten as a child. Apparently the answer that beatings continued until moral improved was "not funny" and "sick". Good for her.

Recently, I went to a job interview. Nothing fancy and I felt the sit down in a suit bit went fine, but showing me round the facilities put me off. They had a garish yellow and blue decor that made me feel deeply and weirdly uncomfortable. Nothing I could put my finger on, but even typing this makes my skin crawl. I just couldn't see myself working there, simply because the colours would make me feel off. So no new job, yet.........

Anyway, I'm off to bed, it's missing me already.....

Usual begging BS here: Facebook & Twitter

The Sociopath in Me

Quick note before I get into this topic, the blog will be changing as I go on, both in style, added whidges and content. If you follow my Twitter and Facebook (Plug, Plug), you'll already know that I wish to include more political posts as well as my own journey (there's only so much I can wax about my feet after all and on reflection I wouldn't be surprised if some people are thinking this is a foot fetish blog, and if there's one thing you never want is a fetish about MY feet). The reasons for more political posts are, you know, Trump and Brexit. I am a left leaning humanist, so if you don't like refugees and the EU and all that hippy consciousness then I suggest you skip these posts (I'll try to make to title obvious).

It is well documented that Aspergers and Sociopath are almost opposite in traits and have very little in common. However, this does not mean that parts don't over lap, or at least they don't in me. I have a well developed charm (it's the oIrish, I swear) and a fairly decent sense of humour. I only know these because I use them in work, or dating, or you know interacting with humanity. It's fairly clear from my blogging that I have no problem attracting girlfriends (the one I suggested I write the blog, the next one who distracted me from the blog and the current one, who's lost about the whole idea of blogging, three may not be a high score but I'm not studly macmuffin), but keeping them involves slightly more complex skills.

In my report, it states I can grasp the concept of a friend, but am unable to run the mechanics of friendship (you feed them and let them watch TV right?). The same, I at least believe, would apply to girlfriends (you feed them and let them mind your credit cards, right?). I'm like a toddler, I can be charming and sweet, but I'll lose interest once I have what I want, the precocious little scamp that I am. It has led at least one girlfriend call me a sociopath for being heartless and cold. It's not that I'm eaither of those, I just don't have the skills to build a relationship and do all those little things that make a relationship. Yeah, yeah typical man, insert woman not coming with a manual mysogonist joke here. Relationships take a whole load of little things, like friendship (so I'm told by numerous cutsey items in my local novelty gift shop), and it is doing those little things that I find hard without reminders, because that's not stereotypically male at all.

So, how does this superficial charm come in handy? Well, work. A bit of a charm offensives on customers does no harm at all but it also means that during inspections or any promotional work, the disabled worker can be trotted out and showcased as diversity in the workplace. My old manager used to joke that if I told everyone I was gay, it'd tick all the boxes and, I dunno, boost the company's image to the world, win us that all important award of the modern world: equal employment.  It gets a solid laugh in the office, even if it is cheap humour.

During inspections season I get brought out like a pinstriped dairy cow that makes chocolate milkshakes. I'm being superficial for laughs but I can't help but feel that I'm a boon to the company in diversity figures alone. The fact that I'm articulate and high functioning (go watch the video I shared to Facebook about that, it's funny because it's true) inspectors engage with me and think it's really nice the disabled employee is getting on so well. Of course they don't see the hours of work, the slog it has taken to get to this point, and I mostly forget the slog because I need space in my head for Simpsons quotes and D&D trivia (not that I've ever played a game, I'm not that lowbrow). Having a decent, if sarcastic sense of humour helps too, and like I said last week, British people are good at the dry wit stuff.

Going back to the girlfriend side, it's not that I'm heartless, it's that I don't feel love, or at least the jumble of confused emotions are unfamiliar to me and I am constantly unsure if it is love or just really bad gas. I made the girlfriend cry last night because I genuinely explained that I do not feel love, but I can fake it to a fair degree. It must be hard to fall in love with someone who cannot love you back, or at least will always be unsure of their feelings. My previous relationships, since diagnosis, I have explained the issue early on and those that can live with the idea that "I love you" is code for you are the one I hate the least and feeds my Aspy.

I'm getting de ja vu writing this, so i'm sure it's a topic I've covered before, but given my dementia and forgetfulness, its not  a bad topic to cover and I'm sure this will be updated regularly as people give me insight into my behaviour and traits.

Sorry about the delay, but no one reads this stuff anyway (hello MOTHER, I know you do) so no ones put out.

Follow the Aspy Journey on Facebook and Twitter, where I post interesting articles and updates (and reasons for skiving).

Next week, textures........

3,355

This is an older post I never put up, for one reason or another. Either way, I found it in my drafts and on the back of a report that states approximately 150 people have been caught using Blue Badges, usually friends or family, illegally, I think a revision of the subject is perhaps in order. (Cheap lazy blogging FTW, the italic part is from the original post, posted on 5/11/15. Two whole years, no ones going to notice!)    

So, I have most likely stated that I do not get any benefits as I am too fit. I am very grateful that I am fit enough to be able to work and not require state support. However, occasionally I like to play the game of "am I entitled" (spoiler alert, I never am).

Every time I drive past a bank of disabled parking, I do wonder if I could get a Blue Badge (for anyone not in the UK, a disability pass). I decided to try my luck. NONE of the criteria apply to me, as I can walk fair distances and I don't have a carer.

As an aside, a rep brought pedometers (seriously, hows that for a name?) in for the staff. The title of the post is the amount of steps I took between 12:45 and 22:00 today.


About the Blue Badges, the use of one, for me, would be a perk, if you get such a thing with disability. I walk for Ireland in work, usually try not to run and get to sit down occasionally, so a chance to park close to a shop entrance or car park stairwell is simply laziness on my part. There's a legion of wheelchair users or others who need crutches to get around (or the million of other reason easy access parking is a key to giving someone independence) who will benefit from one more free wheelchair space, especially when they are at a premium. I already feel like a fraud enough without using a badge to take the one space outside my local shops that'll cut my walk time from stopping to the chocolate aisle.

I was able to walk, albeit with a stumbling unco-ordinated gait, and the utter destruction of my shoes, before I got my lovely orthotics. They don't eliminate my toe drag entirely but they certainly correct a lot, including my leg co-ordination. My right leg, even outside of supports, doesn't swing out to help support and I don't stoop, throwing my body forward to drag my legs after me. Why am I waxing lyrical about them again now? Its because I'm unimaginative and have nothing interesting to talk about, and today is two years since I got them. Sure, they've been modded and, as you know if you have begun following again the reason I have started this blog, recently had a refrub, including brand new strapping and padding.  They have ached more recently, and marked my feet, or in the case of my left foot, cut a nice little hole, but thats because I'm an idiot and didn't realise the ALL the strapping had been renewed, which makes sense. If one snaps, then the others are at risk of being compromised and its worth the extra twenty minutes of work to give them two more years of life. And in that life, keep my legs together and prevent my leeching more money from the NHS.

I do miss being able to make physio have to lie down by watching me walk, but that's the price to pay for being able to buy decent shoes and have semi silent running (I've noted that since the refurb they no longer click so I can now sneak around like a T-rex in a toy soldiers exbit). They feel like second skin, and being out and about without them feels like nudity. There have been days when I have peeled the legs and my socks off and it genuinely feels like im down to exposed muscle, its a very weird.

So, onto my guilty addendum to this little update on my new pals. Shoes (SURPRISE you thought it would be something else, didn't you!). I buy Doc Martens for work. Doc Martens have a policy of replacing shoes that wear out too fast. The orthotics have eliminated MOST of the toe drag, true, but not all of it and shoes do wear down, within about six month.
Receipt in hand, I get new shoes. I can't feel that it's just a little cheeky: "Hey, I'm physically built in such a way that I end up with my toes poking out of the shoes, let me take advantage of your very generous policy". Even without the receipt, I've had replacements. It's a little conflicting. Free shoes but taking advantage of generous returns policy/ its a big corporation it won't hurt them, grab what you can.
Yes, I am aware that plenty of corporations (and some people) see us as walking wallets that use up valuable resources and don't give them enough money, but that the same time morals and values are shared and spread by doing to others. Ok so a little gullible to think that me having a minor moral conflict about using a company policy to my benefit while there's bigger issues out in the world but seriously, I am allowed to indulge my humanity. I'm a cold, uncaring creature anyway, so it's nice when I get a spike of guilt, because mostly I need to physically think, remind myself, that empathy is a thing and I should be using it (about ten seconds after I've missed the cue to engage empathy and be nice, so it seems I'm clawing back to the "I'm a kind, thoughtful, regular human under this mask" position). I covet those feelings, commandments be damned, and it's a very weird pleasure to feel the overwhelming guilt that I cram back down, that never reaches my face, that never shows the world its little face (there's the occasional smile, when I KNOW I'm caught, but it lets me slip from peoples grasp, melting their ire).

Do I continue the free shoe bonanza? Yes, as long as I buy a new pair too, some \doc \marten shoes are too pretty to wear, honestly.

Will there be ore moral preaching? Of course, I'm a judgemental cynical ass hole, of course I'm going to dig through my morals and take pleasure in picking apart my Aspy traits.

Sleep tight.

Check out the Aspy Journey Reloaded on Facebook and the @AspyJourneyReload on Twitter for updates and random articles. Come by and say HI!

beyond offensive

So, this post did open with a joke about having no prep, and not keeping notes and how I was winging it. Yeah, well, I had just finished the saga the post became and BAM! the app died and lost my entire thing. I won't lie, there was am iPad smashing melt down and I needed a few hours to distract myself. I will try to remember the original content as much as possible but all that springs to mind is some cheap Donald Trump jokes (don't worry, after his treatment of the disabled, they're staying).

Anyway:

Four times a year I work on a camp site. It's a lot of fun, but it also involves long long days, mostly starting at about nine am (or sunrise, if there's a problem) and running right through to about three am. It can be hours of dullness that needs to be filled with self provided entertainment (mostly in the form of taking the piss out of colleagues and eating), interspersed with various odd jobs. It can be stressful, as issues arise and I resist slapping people (its not "customer friendly" apparently), but it is hours of fun. As you might imagine, this can create an environment where Aspy traits can be exacerbated, and expressed in a slightly less than ideal situations, as tiredness and stress are major factors in loss of control.

The boss, Bee, is a skilled people person and has a good knowledge of any and all of my conditions. She often spots the beginnings of melt down, or the effect of tiredness on my ability to interact with customers, and provide a level headed response (without the aforementioned slapping). In these instances, she knows I need to be relieved and sent to my tent for a good nights sleep (I'll be in my bunk is said more times in a day than I care to count, usually to something repulsive). She has come up with a name for this situation, my deterioration and increased need to get away from social situations. That phrase?

"Offensively Aspy"

Hold! Stop. No, do not jump to comments to tell me a blog I've set up to spread awareness about Cerebral Palsy Aspergers is using something you find upsetting. Communication in Aspergers is vital, as many Aspys miss social cues, detest sarcasm and simply can't read between the lines. (I've blogged about communication here). The phrase "offensively Aspy" is a fast, effective, short hand to sum up my current behaviour and is an easy instruction to both myself and the team for what has to happen next (I get to go eat and go to bed). I am, obviously, unaware that things are going badly, so a quick verbal cue gets me out before something goes really wrong and there's fences to mend (or ignore in grumpy ways).

So what happens when I hit peak traits? When there's no Bee to tell me to get to bed? I go completely non-verbal. Total silence. It's as if my jaw clamps shut, the nerves refuse to work and my voice box packs it in. At the same time, my internal voice ramps it up to eleven. I swear its Donald Trump acting like a lobotomised gorilla at a rally (OK, so acting like himself), loud enough for the person next to me to hear it. It's like my own boom box, and it goes right up my nose, because it says everything I wish I could verbalise. Last time it happened, my local shop worker commented that I always put food in for the Food Bank and how sweet I am for it. I COULDN'T PHYSICALLY THANK HER, so I smiled (and thanked her a few days later). I can guess this is how it feels to be non-verbal all the time, and as part of that I find texting valuable (have yet to text anyone "help I can't talk"). It's a basic coping mechanism used in non-verbal but because I have high functioning Aspergers, my verbal skills are generally good (I pass my sarcasm off as dry wit and the British eat it up). It also only lasts until after I've slept, so it's clearly a transient phenomenon (someone told me big words make me look clever).

So, thoughts to ponder.  In silence......

Please follow on Facebook (The Aspy Journey reloaded) and Twitter (@TheAspyJourneyReload) for articles, news, updates about my inability to get the name of the blof right, and stuff.

Yes, I know i said Sunday, but after last weeks schedule issue, I'm putting it up now.....

  

Reasons for returns

So last week, I rather lazily announonced that resolution one of the new year was restart the blog. Oh God how I regret that now, with the sheer empty headedness that comes from not having anything to say.

Well, it's said you should write and see what comes out, a bit like when you up your hand over your mouth when you're afraid that if you open it the truth will fall out. So let's start with a story.

First week of the new year, I was running the department, rather than just being a lazy slacker as always. This involved both office work (yawn) and being on the production floor. Two hours into my day shift on the floor and I feel something give in my left shoe. Hobble to the work station and get shoe off. My left foot strap on my orthotic had snapped where the bolt connected to the foot plate. 

Fantastic.

I have no shoes that fit my feet as I go up a shoe size to fit the orthotics, I can't spend another ten hours on my feet trusting my shoe to hold everything together, and I certainly can't go home (OK, that did cross my mind, I'll admit, the thoughts of a soft sweet bed, all ready for me to fall back into, but then I've survived long enough in the work environment and life without the plastic supports, and I'll be damned if a little damage is going to make me a helpless cripple now). Kiwi, my Oz colleague, throws gaffer tape at me. Only one thing to do now.

So I bind the orthotic, strap and all, together over my foot, get my shoe back on and get moving. To say the new hire was a little aghast is perhaps an understatement but he laughed as I hobbled back out onto the floor.

So, with one broken orthotic I can't go on indefinitely, I need to call for repairs. Taking a break, I rang orthotics in QMC (Nottingham) who booked me nine am the next morning for repair. I jog round to the general manager and let him know. I'll be in to do essential office work but I must be in QMC for nine. He was fantastic, checked I was ok to continue and told me if there was any issues I could go immediately. 

Things get better: arrived to QMC for repair, they took my legs with a smile and told me about forty five minutes. Time for a hot chocolate in the cafe. Now, I should explain I wear three piece suits when I'm doing office work. I feel that dressing up shows respect for the role, fellow managers and the staff. Also doesn't hurt I look human in a suit. Three times in QMC I got asked if I was a consultant. Now I have no medical knowledge or skills, so an apologetic "no" was all I could give.

Forty minutes later, warm from tasty hot chocolate, I arrive back to be handed orthotics that had not just had a strap repaired but had all four straps replaced, and new padding both lining the joints and in the straps. It was a full service and over hall, I'm now whisper quiet when I move (they'd taken to clicking at the hinge joint when I walked). It was like getting an only car that's had a full over haul.

So, I've been wearing them for a week and I've hit the down side, new straps eat into my feet, but it's a small price to break them back in. I also bought socks of various types to go with my refurbed legs.

So why restart the blog? To impress people and measure my self worth through page views......

I joke, mostly, but I thought maybe this journey isn't over. It will never be over. And I think the blog was beginning to touch subjects and ideas that could be greatly expanded. 

So, a minor mishap to start a blog.

Until next time, silent tread.

P.s. I've started a linked Facebook page: The Aspy Journey Reloaded

P.p.s: there is now also a Twitter @theaspyjourneyreload.

Follow those for photos, links to other sites, watch me fail to understand Twitter (I might read Trump Tweets to see how it works, I understand it s about being a big baby)!