Things matter to me. I cannot explain why, but physical things provide comfort and security. Sometimes, simply knowing where my things are is enough to calm my mind. There are days and nights, though, when I have to find something and see it to relax. My pens, notebooks, and favorite pencils are like that. Some nights, I have to check to make sure my writing materials are nearby and okay. I'm not sure what would happen to them, but after the flooding in the last house and this house, I worry about my writing being safe and secure. Last weekend, my wife and I planned to run errands. I wanted books on local plants, local birds, and I am still searching for a good Art Deco history text. When we were at the bookstore, I realized I didn't have my wallet. It wasn't a need — my wife had her keys and wallet — but I couldn't relax without having my wallet. It makes no sense, but I couldn't focus on the book quest or anything else. We ended up driving back to our house so I
At birth, doctors suggested I would be mentally disabled, in addition to the physical injuries I suffered. I have never been described as normal. “High-functioning autism” (HFA) is just another way to describe a few aspects of “me.” The autistic me is the creative me, the curious me, the complete me.