Greetings and salutations.
I’m the person currently known as Penelopurple. I’m 47 and mostly functional.
I’ve known about this place for a few years, but it just occurred to me recently that it might be somewhere I could find other people I might relate well to, people who think in unique ways, who think and perceive intensely. It’s been a while since I’ve hung out with anyone who ENJOYED my weirdness. (For some reason, they were easier to find in the people-packed places where I went to school. Since college ended, I’ve been a little lost at sea.)
My boyfriend of ten years is annoyed by my weirdness. He’s kind of awesome but also has some thorns that scratch me sometimes. He’s moving in a few weeks, to a job that’s thousands of miles away, out of this stifling city that we both want to leave.... but I’m stuck here for now. I plan to spend the coming weeks appreciating his friendship and wishing him well.
Back to my weirdness:
I’ve suspected for years, starting when my daughter was diagnosed, that I might be autistic, or on the spectrum. I didn’t really think about it much until lately, as my daughters have gotten older, and we all seem to all be slightly dysfunctional, but creative, in similar (but so unique!) ways. I think we might all three be autistic. It would explain a lot of things.
When I was a small child I used to lie in my bed at night wishing as hard as I could to just BE someone else. Because being me in the world was so hard sometimes, and all the people around me seemed to glide through the world. Talking to people, acting “normal,” making jokes...it felt like other people spoke a different language, lived in a different kind of reality than me, experienced emotions differently.
Over time I’ve taught myself a lot of social skills.
When I sat down to write this intro, the first thing that popped into my mind and onto the page was a little poem. It seemed cheesy and unworthy and I was about to delete it, but there’s something I like about it, and I think I made it a little better than it was at first. So here’s my bad poetry, perhaps as lovely as an ugly Christmas sweater.
——————-
I live on a lonely island planet
Holding my little bottle of me.
Messages mangled
On torn purple paper
I open my hand
And it rolls out to sea.
Green glass bottle
Bounces in the water,
Lurching dancer in dark choppy waves.
It Sparkles and sighs
Its moody goodbye
Wandering, wondering
Who will I save?
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I have a fluctuating flow of intensely favorite things. Recently/currently, they are
Notebooks and journals
Small, helpful lights
Sweaters
Clocks
Purple
Alliteration and metaphor
There are also things I have fixated on in the past that I now remember fondly.
Former fixations.
I make my pittance at home proofreading and teaching online.
My hardest job is being a parent; I have two teenage daughters, one who is trans/Aspie and one who I think is Autistic. I’ve learned that parenting is an intensely social activity, and perhaps why it’s been so difficult for me. But I do my best and try to be okay with that.
So....hello and goodbye to whoever has read this all the way to the end!
P.S.
Thank you, wrongplanet, for existing.
~