Imagine how many others never returned theirs.
“Theirs” means the you they got. The one you couldn’t meet because you were stuck operating it.
That version’s been busy.
Someone turns a corner and sees a house painted purple enough to be legally loud. They know you’d defend it. They can already hear your argument about how beige has had more than enough chances.
The person beside them has no clue who you are.
“You don’t know them, but they’d lose their shit over this house.”
Now your name’s out. A description follows. Nothing useful like your age or occupation. They explain the important parts: what catches your eye, how thoroughly you care, and the noise you make when delight gets past security.
A stranger stands in front of an obnoxiously purple house and learns how to recognize your joy.
That’s what someone kept.
They knew your delight well enough to find it without you.
And now a person you’ve never met knows where it lives.
What happens when they carry it away hasn’t happened yet.
— Autistic Ang
* Upgrade to Paid! Writing may be an art but National Grid is stubbornly pro-currency.
How many more “Wait, everybody doesn’t do that?” moments are we planning to collect? ⬇️
Adult Autism 101
Yup, it's so funny how people will latch onto something (or many things) they know about you—they are sticky little things—innocent—it becomes how they define you, and then they share that knowledge with others when something that comes up reminds them of you. I get tons of pictures and videos of donkeys from friends on social media; sometimes they are sharing something a friend sent to them to send to me because they told their friend that I love donkeys. (It’s touching and a little uncomfortable.) I've had friends and relatives explain to others the things I'm wild about (or things that have unpleasant associations), so when I've met them for the first time, they act like they know all about me (not quite, but it's a start); I get to fill in the blanks. It's an odd feeling to learn that I've been talked about (it’s a suspicious “check your shoe to make sure you didn't step in dog poo” sort of "sticky" feeling; I’ve scribbled poetry about this feeling over the years). Too many of these meetings require me to correct the story they've heard, or assumptions they've made; I want to give them context, but I know darn well they won't remember; they will remain stuck with what they first heard. I’ve experienced so many odd conversations about myself with people I barely know because of something somebody said. (Eye roll.) It's weird being the "weird girl." I'm very guilty of making an exit plan during these conversations, such as finding another person to join in so I can walk away and not feel bad about leaving. Jeez Christmas trees, navigating other people—it’s exhausting!
I can't tell you how much I love this 💜