Sand and the Beach

I have strived to avoid sand in all its gravel, grit and ability to sneak into places it should not be for as long as I can remember.  More than one pair of shoes and socks have been lost to the trash after a many fateful encounter at a beach.

I moved to the Pacific Northwest about seven years ago and found myself about an hours drive from the Mighty Pacif. On the dozen various trips to the Ocean, Autistic me ran in to a number of unexpected problems, sand being one of them. (Loud Ocean waves, fear of stinging danger water thingies, and a new terror called "sneaker waves" that can sneak up and steal you stealthily into the sea for drowning are some of the others.)

I would eagerly anticipate a romp at the beach only to get there, be filled with hypervigilance and anxiety, and leave in an uncomfortable, nervous, disappointed mess.

Then, this past Tuesday happened. I've been living a solitary life for about a year now. The kids are grown and away. I had spent 12 of the past 14 days under quarantine, in house, due to hazardous air quality. Tuesday, I decided to take off.

I drove the hour to Newport, a city I had visited probably a couple dozen times. Familiarity breeds less anxiety and more enjoyment so it felt good to go there. I stopped first at the Marina as my primary objective was to see oceanic fishing boats up close. Whilst I was walking the docks and taking pictures of the many vessels, I realized that I had not been to the ocean in months and that it was a very short distance away from my location. I was risking burnout and exhaustion because I hadn't ventured out in so long but i couldn't pass up the opportunity to at least view the Ocean from my car.

I pulled into the Nye Beach parking lot. It's apparently referred to as the "Historic Nye Beach", or so the signage states. (Why? Well, I have no idea but I digress...)

This was a new location for me. My previous beach ventures had been to smaller, out-of-the-way parks, however as I stood downtown I noticed the Yaquina Bridge in the distance. Man, that thing looks high, so high. I could remember if my fear of heights and bridges was a constant or intermittent but it certainly did make me take pause when I saw it. Nye is this side of the bridge so I wouldn't have to wager on panic attack or no panic attack. Nye it was!

It was a long winding path till my feet touched sand. I noticed the young couple that had preceded me had slipped off their shoes. I realized, well, I remembered how much sand in shoes freaks me out so I carefully removed both shoes and socks, managed to actually effectively tie the laces together and swung the shoes over my camera strap. Now, to see what it is like to walk barefoot, on sand.

Gingerly I started to step. I could seeby the darker coloring that some of the top layer was wet while under that the sand was dry. I took step after step noting my direction, toward the water, and being observant to each footfall so that I didn't step on anything sharp or potentially painful. Step by step, I strode.

The entire bottom surface of my feet made contact with layer after layer of wet dry sand. The ground molded around each foot like a slipper that only covered the foot to below the ankle. I could sense the various foot/ankle/lower leg muscles working and straining in new ways, positions they hadn't encountered in hard soled shoe. It was okay, though. Felt different and new but not alarming.

I observed the other humans to determine what was and what was not protocol at the beach since I was such a sand virgin. I wanted to touch the ocean with my feet but I wasn't sure how close I could get to the waves so I watched and made note of the others and their positions.

My theory was to get closer to the water but to make sure others were closer as well as performing this feat with others in the near area lest I run into trouble.

So I did.

It took a couple attempts before both feet became covered in the cool water but it did happen, and I have the photos to prove it.

I walked the beach for about an hour or do marveling at the near invisible horizon line between white water and cloudy sky. I was amazed at the Vast of it all. The infinite toward the horizon and to my right and to my left. The sky was immense and hung High.

I didn't want to leave, but my doggie was at home and needed me.

It was the first time that I ever enjoyed the beach without fear and without concern for sand. My tolerances are probably shifting. The beach was fun. The sand, no problem. 

Clarity

And all of a sudden everything stopped,

 the race was over, 

the war was done,

 the clouds parted 

and she found herself still standing

solid, like steel,

 no longer cheap wooden stilts

All the hassles, appointments, stuff we were working to get through or done on time

Stopped

These moments are so precious

When I can see clearly where I am

Unobstructed 

And I am free to pick and choose a direction 

Instead of it already being decided for me by circumstances, date, obligation or time

Deep breathing

In 

This 

Eye of the Storm place

I know the upcoming storm

Draws near

I know it must pass through me

To finally disperse and no longer harm

I stand

And I am so grateful

For this moment

I put the telescope down to my side

I drop the luggage

And pull out the backpack. 

I take a good long drink

I Am

we could undo our violent ways; we are humans, after all, capable of choice and change

Again I say, do you remember back in the 80's and 90's when parents were concerned about how much violence was on the television? Parents, well, some parents limited their children's entertainment programs and monitored what they watched.

Now, not so much.

No one is speaking against the violence or, if they are, it isn't very loud.

Could we ever revert back to a time wherein violence was unacceptable? Could we ever agree to change what we stream, view, and listen to?

Could we ever become a society that frowned upon violence in all its forms?

Could we stop beating our kids because we were beaten and grew up passing that on because we had been hurt and survived and our parents were never wrong?

Could we just stop, look about us and see what is working and what is not?

Can an individual turn off a favorite violence strewn movie or show?

Could an individual decide that the gory, violent video game serves no purpose but to pass time and maybe, just maybe desensitize?

Could we look with simple kindness and respect at everyone we meet?

Could we become...different...aware...peaceful beings?

Sure, if we wanted to. The whole of society could, if one person at a time felt the current trajectory was off kilter, off course, and too painful to adhere to.

I don't know. I look around. I see people hurting other people and I wonder if that is inevitable. 

I remember the 80's when people were concerned the violence might make their kids violent or more tolerant and accepting of violence...those were the days.

I wish we could go back there.

The Remnants of Hurricane Hilary

The outside is awash with the stray winds from Hurricane Hilary in the Willamette Valley. 

The gusts of wind are small, erratic and laced with coolness, a depth of water vapor mixed with turbulence. 

The minor breezes flow together, then apart and split off in different directions as an atom, separating, distinct and robust.

The size of the varying winds, I feel in my skin. The different temperatures, the directions they flow in, as if I am a large mast of a tall ship and my sail stutters and knows not within which direction to actually go.

I smile. I'm amused in this winds. It was not a deadly storm as it's wake is lighthearted. A series of winds, a weather condition that actually makes me smile with amusement and mirth.

Or maybe its that I'm just so pleased the air quality has returned to it's not putrid state that it has been lingering in yet again, forcing me to stay in among shut.

The leaves are dancing not choking. Even the sunshine is enjoying the show. The leaves cast shadows upon my living room walls. Shadows that appear to flow like a midflowing stream, clean, crisp and quick.

What a sudden dramatic turn!!

Questions No One Can Answer or Help Me With

 As I stare out the locked, sealed window at the sun trying to set in the apocalyptic sky where the leaves hang listless and suffocating amidst the heavy yellow choking haze of smokesmog, I have fallen out of my weeklong emotional slow burn of a meltdown enough to get back to the starting line, my daily angst and saga of questions unanswerable (otherwise known as, what most people automatically know but Aspie Amy is clueless).

I do not know how I should be spending the hours of my days. How much time should I devote for maintenance and chores? How many hours should I spend engaged in reading books and magazines? How long should I watch a television movie or show? Walking is out of the question for today which leaves me one less query since one must be able to breath the air in order to walk. Should I play a video game? Online scroll? Write? Cook? Work on Project A or Project B or Project C? I don't know how or what should be prioritized. I don't know what to do. And no one can help with that.

I bought fruit to dehydrate yesterday. I'm not sure how often I should be buying fruit due to my budget. It's kindof like coffee in that I'll go buy some if I have the cash on hand but that doesn't really work well especially when I only get my disability check once a month. It's as if I live "high on the hog", an opulent lifestyle with red meat, fruit, coffee and dessert those first couple of monthly weeks and then things take a dastardly, poverty ridden turn. How much should I be budgeting for each week? 

It is a conundrum for which I have no solution.

Odd thought of the day (of course there are usually many but I shall limit myself to just a one): 

Do you remember when we were worried, back in the 80's and 90's about how much violence children were exposed to from television and movies? Parents, well, select parents seemed to care and try and limit children's exposure. Yeah, it turns out watching violence really has no effect and does not cause violence to be more tolerated and increase in society. Sarcasm. Yeah, no one cares about that anymore. And, we as a society, well we just grow more and more violent unchecked and unconcerned.

Happy thought of the day because I refuse to end this post on that sour note: I've been having fun creating holiday cards for the craft show in December.

Acknowledge your accomplishments

Little take huge amounts of effort when you are Aspie. It's so easy to overlook or disregard our work, the planning, the tremendous effort and will it oft takes to accomplish tasks that seem trivial by neurotypical standards.

I have to consciously tell myself when I've done a good job. It isn't as if there is anyone outside of my being that would be able to notice and remark upon my missions accomplished.

I did a couple of small mountain tasks. I went to the local Farmers Market. The downtown corridor where it is held, was the most densely packed crowd I have ever encountered there. No worries, methought as the produce stand that usually carries my broccoli is near the entry.

Well, usually it has it. Not today. Yes, the thought of chalking it up as a loss and going home empty-handed crossed my mind but there was another two blocks full of vendors. If I carefully staggered my way through the crowds, I was optimistic that I could acquire my produce. That was the move I decided to make.

Sure enough, all the way at the end of the street market, I found the only vendor who had broccoli. I grabbed a couple stalks, paid and high-tailed it back to the car. As I sat in the car, I took a couple of deep calming breaths and said quietly aloud, You Did a Good Job. I'm proud of you, a few times so it would sink in.

It felt good to get that chore done and done to the best of my ability.

Well, I guess I did three noteworthy missions. After the Market, I went straight to the mountain and proceeded to walk hike, not the 1.55 miles I did yesterday, but rather 2.4 miles. It was indeed crowded there, as well, with a large number of hikers with dogs, bicyclists and even a couple of horses. Again, once the chore was complete, I told myself I did good.

My third challenge was going to the local food pantry. I've picked up food there about 4 or 5 times now, and it gets easier and more familiar with each visit.  I'm learning what food items work for me, which ones to avoid, and which ones that it is appropriate to ask for.

It was wonderful and tummy warming to arrive home with two grocery bags of vittles. 

It was a highly productive day. Some days I accomplish one, two or three things. Other days I'm just glad I can get out of bed, walk the dog and feed myself.

Victories come in large, medium, and small.

The Sound Indoors

 Today ended the 72 siege of being forced to stay indoors due to the obnoxious, toxic outdoor smokesmog air. I like breathing and that wasn't going so well if I ventured outside for even a few minutes.

The sounds of indoors with air conditioner, shuttered windows had a sharp hum, a drone and blow. It felt or rather sounded isolated, muffled, muted, and confining. The blowing air conditioner coupled with the solidly locked windows was a barrier like a heavy wall of insulation against the outer world. 

I missed the noises of outside: the leaves rustling telling me there was wind; cars driving by indicating what time of day it was; the train rattling day and night giving me pause and a reason to stop and listen; the birds, the sad absence of any bird calls was obvious and forlorn.

Casually, I wondered how many days it would be before anyone noticed my car hadn't moved or my shades no loner opened and closed each day. 

As soon as the temperature dips below 70, I will actually be able to open the long shut windows. I'm sure it will feel foreign, if ever so briedly.

And trust, hmm, I have to go back to not trust the air to be pleasant and breathable. I have to check places online and take testing sniffs and whiffs when I step out. I'm leery. I forgot, you can't always trust the air quality. Damn, this seems to be a reoccurring theme playing in different avenues of my life. Trust, safe, choice all are taking turns center stage and needing my attention. That's what therapy is for, too. See the pattern. Talk about it. Move on. This train of thought station is a bugger to get out of. 

I like being sequestered when it is my idea not external, uncontrollable forces outside of myself.

I was kinda content, just short of happy, that I had a reason to stay in.

Outside is risky and unpredictable and some days I wear my armor better and stronger than others.

Choice. It is nice being able to decide whether I go out or stay in.

Oregon fire season, I don't think I'll ever like it or get used to it.

So much taking place in my internal world. 

Rainman Rainman

I am definitely in the throes of Rainman days.

So grateful for this movie.

I'm so f*ckin weirdy!!!

Nope, just Aspie as hella

Observations from the Puddle, the Saga of the Most Alone Multiple Autistic continues to no fanfare or likes

 Observations from the Puddle called August 17, 2023

It's Wet

The journey continues. The outside unbreathable, smoke and smog filled air assisted in keeping me indoors the past two moons, however, I needed to force venture Out to get some food. I've noticed, over the years, that if I don't grab my anxiety by the collar and drag it out in the open and shake the Hell out of it, "air it", acknowledge it, what have you, then it grows like a decaying roadkill carcass until it explodes and becomes completely unmanageable and hella messy. Thus, I clutched my anxiety, put it on a strong leash and hauled it and myself, kicking and screaming to not one but two public stores.

If it looks like Rainman

and it doesn't talk like Rainman

Is she really Rainman? 

Kindof, yeah. I walk funny these days, all stiff and non-swinging arms and upright and like ready to run or fight. My watery tears, crying situation, wherein I start crying sogging, opulent tears, continue to happen without warning and multiple times within each day. Today, I noticed whenever anyone was near me in the aisle or speaking to me, like the cashiers and clerks as are required, then I would be fighting to hold back them tears. Not fun, but whatev.

I heaved myself out because I fear this current shaky, fragile, nervous state I currently wear may very well be my near-normal and I must get used to it instead of "waiting for it to abate". It's been a couple of weeks and it hasn't abated yet. The eggshellic condition has improved a bit in that the tears seem slightly less in volume and occurrence. In a weirdy sense, I have a bit more control over the uncontrollable watery falls.

I've realized that I need to write out, figure out the "baseline" for our food needs. Like, what do I absolutely have to have, bare minimum, to sustain myself each day, week, and month.

My volumous public post for help was met by assistance from five kind souls. Therefore, the paying of of the debt card will continue for the forseable future and my disability check needs to be further stretched to success. 

I have short term and long term additional finance ideas. Whether they work or not largely depends on how much ass I can kick out of this lingering, heavy, couch-worthy, depression and malaise. It's a lot of work to be me.

And, yeah, I get it, if I dropped off the face of the earth tomorrow, two people would notice. I get it that I am alone with my own resources and no one to assist. I get it, there are no friends nearby or to talk to and ask questions or advice from. I am well aware of my little cage I call home. And it is the exact place that I have found myself in through most of my life. Therefore, I have come to the conclusion that this is where I am supposed to be.

This Is Where I Am Supposed To Be

because I keep ending up here. Because my current aloneness seems to be the most consistent, stable thing in my life. The pattern repeats For A Reason.

Do I like it? F*ck no.

Do I recognize it after time and time and time and time...ad nauseum?

Yep

So, the Observations from the Puddle, I lovingly (blech) call home is that It Is Indeed Wet but it is Indeed My Home.

peace out bitches

Incredibly Strange and Totally True

To say I've been in a melancholy state of mind the past week would put an obviously optimistic slant on my current state of affairs.

Yesterday, in the depths of my daily dark despair, I went into my kitchen and promptly soundly struck my left shin against an open dishwasher door.

Normally, I would have screamed or emitted an unpleasant and painful sound however, upon this unexpected event, I looked at my shin and thought to myself, "Oh, look, I've ran my leg into the dishwasher door," in a matter-of-fact fashion.

Incredibly strange. A most novel reaction.

It was a sort of relief, pseudo a smack across the head which actually cleared my head and mind and brought me back to reality.

It hurt physically but in the mildest of ways. I felt more gratitude and clarity than any thing else. Maybe that's why I awoke, for the first time in days, weeks and words filled my cranium longing to be free and written.

In my depressed emotional state, the sharp pain was more of a help than a hindrance.

Honest. True.

no one loves me

I Do Welcome Your Comments and Feedback

 Unfortunately, the amount of spammers and criminals requires me to filter each comment. So, when you write one, it is emailed to me first and then I will "approve" it, basically, say it is not one of the spammers, and then it will publish under the post. 

I deplore having to censor or give authorization to anyone's thoughts but my own. Living in a digital age where people choose to invade and corrupt an other's privacy is sad but necessary. I apologize.

I Loved Book Reports, the Halcyon Days of Youth

 I remember the halcyon days of fourth grade and book reports. Information required, the Book Report Format was an Aspergian Dream. 

Title

Author

Characters

Story

Plot Summary

This was grand, succinct, to the point, all-inclusive, no questions or explanations required.

I handed in Book Reports every week, oft more than two or three a week because books were one of the accepted public forms of escape from cruelty, neglect, starvation, parentally inflicted, family-accepted pain.

It would be nice to say that as a child I was loved, but that was not the case. I was not loved, nor was I cared for. Of those two I am crystal clear. Umm, I was wanted because my parents needed someone, some thing to push upon all of their decades of pain and torment. Yes, that is the magic sentence. Okay.

I was not seen or acknowledged. I was, basically, used. A receptacle, an object, the oldest daughter, second oldest with all the perverse job activities required thereof.

I was a thing, an object, a babysitter, a place where dad could..., my mothers relief pitcher and stand-in. I didn't have feelings to be asked about, considered or heard. Inanimate. Hmm, yes, I was not allowed to have any thoughts or feelings or emotions regarding the crimes done to me. I said little. I was little, enslaved. Showed no emotion and managed to somehow live through it enough to escape the family house of carnage and ill repute at 18 and runoff with an older male counterpart.

Life doesn't make sense like book reports.

There is no standard form; there are hundreds and thousands. Each person, each situation is different and unique. I have but one pen. I know but one form. Most of my time is spent lost, if I am honest.

But I do exist. So, when able, I will write.

I don't have to have a point, an angle, a cute and corrupt way of writing that entertains...I just have Aspie me.

I write to know I am

because I am and I matter

to me

Report from the perverse fringe of Nothingness, Help Is Not On The Way

 And the Aspergian, upon stumbling out of the muted dankness, finds her treasured lockbox of words, open and spewing and spilling forth, tumbling like unpolished gems of all colors, shapes, sizes and sounds..

Does she makes sense? 

Probably not

I'm not interested in politics as much as I am keen on not starving. To that end, I entered a plea, a slightly demoralizing plea for assistance on the platform of the public social media. 

I wanted to be able to eat. I wished to be able to pay my rent.

But, alas, the valiant effort, one of the few noble overt gestures this being has ever uttered aloud, was met with muted silence amongst the 50 or so odd "friends and family".

Sigh.

I had not gotten my hopes up yet, I was disappointed. I thought that if I needed help to sustain myself, that, maybe there was a being or beings who might want to help me. 

Sad but life.

Being alone is grand if your greatest desire is to be able to walk around naked and sputter insanity aloud but, those are not my desires.

I could tell the air outside was bad the moment I peered out the glass. Yellowish, fog tinted, and hanging heavy in the atmosphere told me to check the latest forecast before venturing out. The leaves droop, listlessly blowing in slight breeze. You can practically hear their angst and dismay as they slowly suffocate, but just a little, not enough to cause choking death and the morbid spiral from limb to ground.

Sure enough, unbeknownst to me, forecasters and half of the applications on the comphone device, the air quality has fallen to above danger levels but below deep, easy breathing markers. It appears a combination of nearby Oregon fires, as this Is fire season (a valid, noteworthy and dangerous season of the year within the state), mingled with high temperatures, a stagnant, stubborn wind, and the handfuls of smog have produced a less than ideal mix and tint to the surrounding air.

It is advised to stay indoors and limit outdoor activity.

I procured a delicious lunch. The blessing of food stamps allowed me my final incursion to the grocstore for vittles yesterday. I selected the finest of broccoli, as it has been days or weeks since my last green veg crunch, along with celery and canned salmon for salmon cakes to be made, in addition to a pound of hamburger for four scrumptious patties that had not been formed, cooked and et in this kitchen in a month, and two bananas and two apples, for I have always felt deliciously rich and wealthy when I can devour Both an apple and a banana within the same day. Ahhh, indeed, I Am Rich for two days and starvation is yet again kept at  bay with whip, chair and an ounce of hope.

Now, now, I sit and write as the once locked verbiage flows and runs fast and deep. It's almost as if all the thoughts I was unable to spew forth verbally the past seven or so days, simply were displaced within a back room for me to find once the key was obtained to open the lock.

I was deeply awash in the depths of emotional wells. The Dark Night of the Soul seemed to be the preferred wording for the putrid pain inflicted, felt, relived and cast off and out.

When one relies completely within and withon oneself for all that one needs, requires, hopes and can live with, one must be exemplary, and oh so extremely capable. This Autistic....this extremely alone, living on a small disability income from the blessed state, without resources or any being to turn to...this Autistic struggles. Sometimes the struggles are so heavy, I am weighted down unable to get up off the floor or venture out the door or out from under the potential heft of daily functions that prohibit my rising from bed, couch or ground.

Asking for help has proven to be an exercise in futility and, to be honest, highly depressing. Tis be much easier to imagine help is available if needed than to test the theory and find out it is false, nonexistent. And that is where I am at.

I have fallen and I have to figure out a way to pick myself up knowing it is just and only and singularly Me.

The aloneness, remote. The depth, beyond measure. 

Yeah, when you discover the truth about the help...devastating.

Truth be told. Now you know. Move on and deal.