Going Full Aspie



I've failed miserably at being normal this week. It's as if the controls I've had in place broke just a little last week, then this week, as soon as I tried to use them, they fell apart in my hands. With no time to make more and no chance to calm down, I started jogging along and haven't stopped since.

Super-busy with my tuition, I've dashed about meeting new students and almost-new ones. Usually I come across as eccentric but okay: you know, eccentric in a good way (I hope) but still able to show children how to do their school work. Then this week the eccentric side took over and I've been running to keep ahead of it without realising it was already in front and waiting round the corner.

The control to stop me over-talking has gone - I think I heard a clunk as it hit the floor and rolled away. Wow, conversation anybody? No, me neither, you can just listen to me have enough conversation for both of us!

Desperately trying to make the best of over-talking, I filtered quickly so that the torrent of words was at least relevant. So the Maths lesson became Fast Maths because, with over-talking, you rarely have anything like slow.

Fast English too and Fast Parent-Speak after the lessons. What a mess!

Then as if that wasn't bad enough, I keep going the wrong way, getting lost, forgetting instructions, times, appointments, you name it. And how does that look?

No, running a business as an aspie is always a balancing game, always a gamble. Most often the gamble is seeing if you can keep it going, withstand the pressure and succeed in what you need to do. But this week the gamble has been going trying to do all of the above while in Full Aspie.

Door steps have waited to trip me so I fall into people's homes, my hair has been exciting, my file, books and papers have been like things possessed, escaping as soon as I stop looking at them. And don't even mention loose rugs.

That little detail in your ceiling is now my secret nemesis and I must not look at it through the whole lesson. Your child's drawing of an antelope is all I can look at. The child's father's teeth are all I can look at. My hand, my own hand in the middle of a lesson, like wow, look at my hand.

Anything and everything that can happen to distract me from behaving in a real-life, sensible way has happened.

The bonus is that I have a feeling my students have got through more work this week. Perhaps they've been somewhat rushed and with explanations decorated grandly by flailing hands, funny faces and hastily drawn diagrams. But they have worked, and looked exhausted, by the time we were finished

It still happened, you see. Full Aspie and the business carried on together; new students were inducted into the Hall of the Rainbow Spectrum and unsuspecting parents endured my Warner Brothers approach to social interaction.

Some of it was fun - young children react very well to Warner Brothers anything. And, oddly, my older students looked pleasantly surprised then amused, as if what they expected had not happened and instead they got an inappropriate version of Mary Poppins.

Now, this end of the week, I am exhausted but feeling calm again. Perhaps we all need to go Full Aspie sometimes, just to stay mostly sane. Or, more likely, working 6 days a week doesn't leave me enough time of my own to be myself so it leached out into the work time.

Whatever caused it, I made it through. I can now dance on a loose rug without falling, pick everything up I just dropped in record time, charm angry children (yes, of course I could do that already), ask strangers for directions (thanks to over-talking - yay!), turn round in very tight places and scream loudly while driving up unexpected alleyways that weren't meant for cars.

Really, I should have filmed it all and kept it for when life is dull. Maybe I should even throw off the shackles and go Full Aspie every week?

No, though, no, I shouldn't. There should be only so much edge of the seat excitement because if I carried on like this I would become a one-woman variety act and I do need to make a living.

That said, I've decided not to fix the whole of my broken control unit. I thought it might be better to leave some of it in pieces and have a little extra freedom in my working world. Then, when I need to be myself, I can let it happen without breaking anything and without having to run on the spot when I'm meant to be going somewhere.

And I can continue to charm angry children and their antelopes.

Amanda




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