I'm glad that my daughter and I have resurrected our living room discos. When I was pregnant with her brother, we stopped. And for a long while afterwards we didn't do it. But over the past few months, even as my mood has gradually darkened, we've been dancing again. And tonight, I dance with sweet abandon. The physicality is all. My very being craves it. And afterward, I feel replenished, nourished, and full of love.
As a kid, most of my spare time was spent drawing. It was my earliest passion. I was no savant. But I suppose, on reflection, I did have at least some innate "gift". The people I colourfully produced aged just three, in bright felt tip, were anatomically correct (in as much as having, for example, … Continue reading A passion, stolen
[Author's note: I'm publishing this post almost simultaneously with a previous one because I had both stored up as drafts in my paper notebook, but hadn't had sufficient "get-up-and-go" to publish them until now. This is the more recent of the two.. However, I felt that the other post was sufficiently time-specific to need publishing … Continue reading It’s never all bad.
[Author's note: I'm publishing this post almost simultaneously with a subsequent one because I had both stored up as drafts in my paper notebook, but hadn't had sufficient "get-up-and-go" to publish them until now. This was written a few days ago, and it doesn't quite fit my current mood – the accompanying post does. However, … Continue reading Picture this.
[Author's note: I'm kind of less happy with this article the more I reflect upon its subject matter. I fully acknowledge it's not entirely credible from an 'academic' standpoint - I kind of didn't get what "gifted" meant in technical/clinical terms. I've had a few conversations with folks more tapped into the research behind, and … Continue reading I’m not “gifted”.
I talk to myself. An awful lot. When I do this, I'm almost invariably verbalising my thinking about, and processing of, the thing I'm doing at that particular moment. This isn't the same as the inner monologue that runs incessantly over everything that I do; the one I hear at every waking moment, but which … Continue reading Director’s Commentary
[Image description: a collage of four photographs, depicting freshly harvested produce from a small personal garden. Clockwise from top left: a hand holding five ripe red strawberries; a lime green plastic bucket, about a quarter full of new potatoes, still with soil on them; a metal colander containing an assortment of fresh salad leaves and … Continue reading Our little patch of green
I can never do enough. I can never be a good enough employee. I can never work hard enough I can never be organised enough I can never teach well enough Never quite convey my points well enough I'm never creative enough Never convincing enough Authentic enough Inspiring enough I can never do enough. I … Continue reading We can never do enough.
In the early days of this blog – just one day, in fact, before I was assessed for, and received, my official diagnosis – I wrote a post about how I considered myself to be not an introvert but an "autistic extrovert". I now realise that I was mistaken. I've been meaning to write about … Continue reading So it turns out that I was never an extrovert after all…
This morning, I walked to work, as usual. The weather, the subject of so much small talk on the at times beautiful but still beleaguered isle I call home, was sleety. Wet. Grey. Cold-but-not-that-cold. And yet, on cars, gardens, and rooftops, there were the still remnants of a light coverage of real snow from the night before. And the … Continue reading Can you ever tell?