Last week, I started preparing for the fall 2013 class I am teaching at a local university. Working on the syllabus this week has been a "good thing" because it justifies, at least a little bit, the time, money, and energy invested in the doctorate. The school routine has long been comfortable, a familiar grounding for my mind. The "year" to me remains the academic year, with August marking the start and June marking the end. I'm not sure what July is, other than filing the last year away and preparing for the upcoming year. School was not fun or enjoyable for me as a student. I was just another student, neither one of the popular people nor a complete social reject. I wasn't part of any clique, not even among the honors students. I had friends and people with whom I shared interests. As a teacher and professor, I enjoy the classroom. The workplace remains a challenge, but I anticipate it being much, much better at the new university. In part, that...
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.