Since I’m not out and about anymore, I’ve been trying to pick up the housework slack. Mind you, I’m not crazy about housework in general, but I’m giving it an honest try. I’ve actually been able to load the dishwasher without Vin rearranging it, and can turn it on without needing written instructions.
Vin chops up all the week’s vegetables on Sundays. He always says he’s afraid of me doing it because I’ll cut myself and he doesn’t want to have to take me to the emergency room. (Geesh, need stitches on a sliced finger once and you never live it down!) But I’ve been making the salads and chopping up fruit for quite some time without incident. Well, maybe he’s on to something, because the first Sunday he lets me chop vegetables, I slice into a finger. I guess I’ll just stick to fruit.
And dusting. I really hate dusting, but with all the dog fur, it has to be done. We used to joke about dusting every Thanksgiving holiday, whether the house needed it or not, but I am trying to dust way more often, at least one room every week. This past week I did the dining room, which is where the thermostat is kept. Hmm, didn’t realize that thermostats are so sensitive. Did you know you can change the temperature setting by running a rag over the top of a thermostat? Right, I didn’t know that either. No wonder it was so stinking HOT in the house even though the air conditioner’s been running and this past week’s heat wave ended. Having the heat set to 75 degrees at the same time will do that. Good thing Vin heard the furnace kick on, or we might have had the heat wave longer than the rest of Massachusetts.
Yes, I am on the autistic spectrum. I have what used to be referred to as Asperger’s Disorder. No, you can’t tell by looking at me. In fact, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell even by spending time with me.
Women/girls are harder to diagnose and recognize with Autistic Spectrum Disorder than men/boys.
That is a fact.
Here are some things that have been said to me when I have disclosed my disorder:
- No you don’t [have Asperger’s]. My [male relative] has it and I know what it looks like.
- (After I smiled at a joke.) See? You’re social!
- Oh, is that the diagnosis-du-jour?
And even after hearing that I have a disability, harsh words have been used to describe me rather than understand a lot of what makes me appear to be difficult IS the disability.
Our cat Diamond was 19 years old when she left us in September.
This cat was one in a million. Kerri was her human, and Diamond was very possessive of her. Diamond would attack her American Girl doll, another Native American doll she owned with hair down to her ankles, puppets, electronics, anything that Diamond viewed as a threat. But when Kerri got sick at age 14 with with an immune deficiency that would keep her home for 5 years, the first 2 practically bed-ridden, Diamond was with her nearly every minute of every day. On the days Kerri was home in bed or on the couch sick, and that was most days the first 2 years, that cat was on her all the time. When Kerri would move from the couch to bed at night, Diamond would go up with her. After about 15 minutes, Diamond would come back downstairs looking so proud of herself, like she was saying “There, the child is asleep. Now for a cup of tea!”
Diamond was also a weird cat who loved Romaine lettuce and other greens, a bitch kitty who wouldn’t let anyone touch her while she was sitting on her human (except Vin; she bit him once, just once), a spritely cat who climbed our Christmas tree every year until she passed that tradition along to Pixel, a very spirited cat who used to have to get her veterinarian shots through the cat carrier slots, and the perpetual “big sister” cat who was always being tormented (all in good fun) by the other pets Buster, Jack, Dot, Maggie and Rollie.
When Kerri moved to London for graduate school and stayed, Diamond was heartbroken. We weren’t even sure she’d survive the transition! But we coddled her and gave her anti-anxiety drops, and she ended up living for several more years. Anything Diamond wanted, we gave her: eating ice cream out of our bowl, licking the butter if we left it on the table, lying on my desk when I was working, and even stairs to climb up to her bed on top of a cabinet and a litter box up there so she wouldn”t have to walk through the dogs to get to the laundry room. This was one cat that truly had earned her keep.
Rest in peace, my sweet honey.