The first sound of the day is water hitting the sink. Clothes feel right. Movements align. The body knows what it needs and delivers with certainty.
On the desk: a lined notebook, five pages deep into a thought that began last Tuesday. The idea keeps unfolding, gaining weight. Every hour adds something. A word. A shape. A connection. Thinking builds. Attention holds. The structure comes into view.
In the corner, a collection of objects that stay where they belong. A ceramic bowl. A square of soft fabric. A photo that answers something when the eyes settle on it. Everything has a role. Everything supports the day.
The walk comes next. Shoes laced the same way every time, perfect tension on the knots. The street opens ahead, familiar and constant. Pavement edges. Power lines. The same bird calls in the same sequence. These are part of the structure. They hold the line. They let the mind stretch.
A question surfaces mid-stride. Thought turns toward it, full and clean. A problem becomes a pattern. A pattern becomes a silhouette. An outline becomes an opening. The mind engages with full strength and is stable. There’s no leak, no drift—just full momentum.
Back inside, there’s still energy to focus. A shelf is adjusted by a few centimeters and now makes more sense. A spreadsheet from last month suddenly connects to something in a half-finished book on the floor. All of it threads through.
Lunch comes at the same time as always. Same ingredients, same bowl. Digestion happens easier this way. Nothing spikes or dips. It’s a perfect afternoon.
Later, a sound from across the room gets mapped before fully grounding. Not just heard—understood. A phrase from earlier produces its meaning in real time. A visual detail from a dream moves into a plan. The system continues to operate long after it has been given permission to rest.
In conversation, someone shares and the body catches it before the brain does. A moment forms. Attention sticks to it until completion. No modification. No interruption. Simply presence, undivided and sustained.
Evening holds it all in balance. The room is clean. Sound is low. Colors sit in the right places. The body winds down, and the framework of the day remains intact.
This is a good life.
— Autistic Ang
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Those days when our masks fit right,
the skeletons stayed in their closet being silent,
thoughts bounced around staying away from the skeletons memories,
the sun shone after a refreshing rain,
the world felt nice and comfortable,
then the skeletons started making noise and intruding,
the carefully constructed masks started to crack,
you made the tentative steps seeking help,
everything shattered,
you sent those skeletons packing,
you reconstructed some of the masks for use as needed,
others were swept up and put in the trash,
you looked at the world with childlike eyes again,
bird song, puffy cloud shapes, summer breezes, winter snowflakes, frost drawings on the windows...
all was right with the world again and those close to you saw that you were reborn and really at peace.