We had the autism group last night. Sometimes I wonder if I should carry on going. We had a new bloke turn up - he would be about my age. He's got a high world ranking in the "hands" version of StepMania, something I'd never heard of before, and I never knew you could get a world ranking in what is basically an arcade game anyway. He also practises martial arts - he nonchalantly told us about a time when he was learning a type of martial art involving a stick, and the instructor cut off the ear of a supposedly disobedient student. "I had a lot of respect for him." What?!
It hasn't stopped raining all day. I got drenched, waist-down only, on the way to work today. It was like this when I arrived in Wellington three years ago.
Showing posts with label Asperger's. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Asperger's. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Game shame
Back to work today, and a reminder of why it was so nice to have that week off.
The autism Christmas party went well tonight I thought. There was plenty of food and plenty of chat. There were also a few games going on. Tom had brought along Cards Against Humanity, a game he'd printed off the internet. When I got the gist of the game (I'd never heard of it), I was really surprised he (and not Rob, a guy who might be into that kind of thing) had brought it. It's a party game, but certainly not a nice party game, and not (I would think) a game that anyone on the spectrum would enjoy. All the pop-culture references, the sexual themes, the potential to cause serious offence. It's an extremely "neurotypical" game and I'm glad I didn't play (the novelty would have worn off for me after ten minutes) but I must admit that hearing "bitches" followed by "crystal meth" followed by "a big black dick" coming from the next table, at an autism Christmas party, was hilarious. At our table we played Bananagrams, a fast-paced word game; 8:30 came around extremely quickly for me playing that, and I could quite happily still be playing now (it's ten past midnight but I couldn't sleep).
My dad has an exhibition in Timaru. It opened yesterday, with no shortage of food and wine to hopefully entice potential buyers. And they did buy: Dad sold six paintings on the day. That might (or might not) sound like a modest number, but some of those were the bigger, more expensive ones. There's definitely wealth in South Canterbury - people have sold farms and found themselves with big bank balances all of a sudden. As well as cars and (occasionally) paintings, they've been spending their money on overseas travel, and that might be why five the six paintings Dad sold were scenes from outside the country - in the past it's always been local scenes that have sold.
The autism Christmas party went well tonight I thought. There was plenty of food and plenty of chat. There were also a few games going on. Tom had brought along Cards Against Humanity, a game he'd printed off the internet. When I got the gist of the game (I'd never heard of it), I was really surprised he (and not Rob, a guy who might be into that kind of thing) had brought it. It's a party game, but certainly not a nice party game, and not (I would think) a game that anyone on the spectrum would enjoy. All the pop-culture references, the sexual themes, the potential to cause serious offence. It's an extremely "neurotypical" game and I'm glad I didn't play (the novelty would have worn off for me after ten minutes) but I must admit that hearing "bitches" followed by "crystal meth" followed by "a big black dick" coming from the next table, at an autism Christmas party, was hilarious. At our table we played Bananagrams, a fast-paced word game; 8:30 came around extremely quickly for me playing that, and I could quite happily still be playing now (it's ten past midnight but I couldn't sleep).
My dad has an exhibition in Timaru. It opened yesterday, with no shortage of food and wine to hopefully entice potential buyers. And they did buy: Dad sold six paintings on the day. That might (or might not) sound like a modest number, but some of those were the bigger, more expensive ones. There's definitely wealth in South Canterbury - people have sold farms and found themselves with big bank balances all of a sudden. As well as cars and (occasionally) paintings, they've been spending their money on overseas travel, and that might be why five the six paintings Dad sold were scenes from outside the country - in the past it's always been local scenes that have sold.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Human nature - isn't it weird?
Mum rang me yesterday morning. She was fed up with the golf club (a few years ago I didn't think that would ever be possible) but most of the conversation revolved around me. Mum made a comparison between me and my brother - he's more resourceful, more resilient, can handle "situations" more easily than me. He'll just "get out there and do things". Gah. "But it's not your fault that it's harder for you - that's just the way you're made." Right. As I see it, the difference is that my brother's "situations" are precisely that. They come and go. And he's got friends, connections, supports. My problems are a way of life (and the money thing just adds an extra layer).
As usual on a Saturday morning, there were some interesting programmes on the radio yesterday. One was about the rise of China. It was interesting talking to a Chinese woman at one of those meet-ups. She said that for centuries China had a collective culture, but in urban centres this culture has been overhauled by an each-man-for-himself culture that's (scarily) far stronger that we have in NZ. She was interesting to talk to; I later emailed her asking if we could catch up, but she ignored or deleted or didn't get my message or it went into her junk. Or something.
Later they interviewed Gary Greenberg, author of The Book of Woe, which talks about the DSM (the mental health manual if you like). It's fair to say he's not a fan of the DSM, which seems to be driven by big pharmaceutical companies. In the latest version Asperger's was controversially removed from the list of diagnoses, with all kinds of ramifications for people who had previously been diagnosed with the condition. Luckily for Kiwis we take less notice of the DSM than they do in America.
Yesterday was a bright sunny day and in the afternoon I sat on the freshly-mown bank of the Basin Reserve and read. A few others were doing the same. One bloke was practising his guitar. The groundsman was hammering in the advertising boards that had come down in the storm. I was attacked by a big bumblebee and didn't mind: it reminded me of when I was a kid - bees were more plentiful and life was simpler. (In China they don't just have bees; they have killer hornets.)
Work last week was tolerable. On Friday afternoon there was a scare as a suspicious white powder was found on the 18th floor. There were cops and people in orange hazmat suits. I was hoping we'd have to evacuate and could all go home. People get louder as the weekend approaches - Friday afternoon is the time I least enjoy being in the office.
My cousin's youngest boy has turned five and started school. Private school. The same place his older brothers go, although they just went to the local state school until they turned eight. I'm not convinced it's the right place for the little one. He's not academic like the other two. My cousin's husband said he never would have sent any of the boys to private school, not that he has anything against it, it just wouldn't have crossed his mind. There was a similar situation in my family. I went to a private school (public school as they illogically call it over there) from 11 to 16. I sat the entrance exam, the idea being that they'd only send me there if I got a scholarship. I passed the exam OK, but didn't get a scholarship, so that was that. But then Mum decided to stump up the money (she made all those kinds of decisions - paying for education would never have entered Dad's head), knowing that my brother sure as hell wouldn't pass the exam if he were to take it the following year. To me it felt like a giant waste of money. The school - which for so many parents was all about image - didn't do much for me.
I was thinking how much I'd like to get into psychology (although how could I study that at the moment?). It's something I've been interested in for years - far more so than goddamn life insurance. As Tracy has alluded to on occasions, if human nature isn't natural for you, and you have to learn it, you become an expert in it (it's a bit like when you learn a foreign language; you often end up knowing more about the structure and grammar of that language than your mother tongue). I don't think I'm an expert at all, but I do think my Aspie tendencies have helped my understanding of human nature. If it seems really bizarre that people happily pay a dollar more for the milk with the fancy label than the one without, even when they know both bottles have come from the same cows, you'll make a note of that. Or that if you can't remember last night, you must have had an amazing night. Or that you'll happily vote against something at a body corp meeting even though it doesn't improve your lot at all, it just makes someone else's lot a bit worse. The list goes on, and for me it's fascinating. (Occasionally I've been able to take advantage of other people's "weird" human nature, online poker being an example.)
In a few minutes I'll be going to Karori to play badminton.
As usual on a Saturday morning, there were some interesting programmes on the radio yesterday. One was about the rise of China. It was interesting talking to a Chinese woman at one of those meet-ups. She said that for centuries China had a collective culture, but in urban centres this culture has been overhauled by an each-man-for-himself culture that's (scarily) far stronger that we have in NZ. She was interesting to talk to; I later emailed her asking if we could catch up, but she ignored or deleted or didn't get my message or it went into her junk. Or something.
Later they interviewed Gary Greenberg, author of The Book of Woe, which talks about the DSM (the mental health manual if you like). It's fair to say he's not a fan of the DSM, which seems to be driven by big pharmaceutical companies. In the latest version Asperger's was controversially removed from the list of diagnoses, with all kinds of ramifications for people who had previously been diagnosed with the condition. Luckily for Kiwis we take less notice of the DSM than they do in America.
Yesterday was a bright sunny day and in the afternoon I sat on the freshly-mown bank of the Basin Reserve and read. A few others were doing the same. One bloke was practising his guitar. The groundsman was hammering in the advertising boards that had come down in the storm. I was attacked by a big bumblebee and didn't mind: it reminded me of when I was a kid - bees were more plentiful and life was simpler. (In China they don't just have bees; they have killer hornets.)
Work last week was tolerable. On Friday afternoon there was a scare as a suspicious white powder was found on the 18th floor. There were cops and people in orange hazmat suits. I was hoping we'd have to evacuate and could all go home. People get louder as the weekend approaches - Friday afternoon is the time I least enjoy being in the office.
My cousin's youngest boy has turned five and started school. Private school. The same place his older brothers go, although they just went to the local state school until they turned eight. I'm not convinced it's the right place for the little one. He's not academic like the other two. My cousin's husband said he never would have sent any of the boys to private school, not that he has anything against it, it just wouldn't have crossed his mind. There was a similar situation in my family. I went to a private school (public school as they illogically call it over there) from 11 to 16. I sat the entrance exam, the idea being that they'd only send me there if I got a scholarship. I passed the exam OK, but didn't get a scholarship, so that was that. But then Mum decided to stump up the money (she made all those kinds of decisions - paying for education would never have entered Dad's head), knowing that my brother sure as hell wouldn't pass the exam if he were to take it the following year. To me it felt like a giant waste of money. The school - which for so many parents was all about image - didn't do much for me.
I was thinking how much I'd like to get into psychology (although how could I study that at the moment?). It's something I've been interested in for years - far more so than goddamn life insurance. As Tracy has alluded to on occasions, if human nature isn't natural for you, and you have to learn it, you become an expert in it (it's a bit like when you learn a foreign language; you often end up knowing more about the structure and grammar of that language than your mother tongue). I don't think I'm an expert at all, but I do think my Aspie tendencies have helped my understanding of human nature. If it seems really bizarre that people happily pay a dollar more for the milk with the fancy label than the one without, even when they know both bottles have come from the same cows, you'll make a note of that. Or that if you can't remember last night, you must have had an amazing night. Or that you'll happily vote against something at a body corp meeting even though it doesn't improve your lot at all, it just makes someone else's lot a bit worse. The list goes on, and for me it's fascinating. (Occasionally I've been able to take advantage of other people's "weird" human nature, online poker being an example.)
In a few minutes I'll be going to Karori to play badminton.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
The too-hard (food) basket
After two good days (by my standards) at work, I crashed again on Friday. No energy at all. I also had a lot of sinus pain. At least it was Friday. Finding out that next Friday night's six-monthly awards dinner/party will be held on a moving boat didn't help either. The desirability to me of any work event is dictated by how easy it is to escape. Plus I've signed up for quite a hard tramp, starting early on Saturday, and the last thing I need is a hangover.
I'm skeptical about this paleo diet which I haven't yet started. My "different" doctor had these five words to say about it: "It will change your life." Well yes, not being able to eat such basic foods as grain or even most types of potato is life-changing. What makes it so hard for me is the very reason my doctor suggested I follow the diet: my depression, which makes everything take longer, which means I can't afford to spend extra time on food preparation (which might mean I'm half an hour late for work). Also how am I supposed to explain the reasons for my diet to other people? It's very strict, and even if you've followed the rules to the letter for 29 days out of 30, you're deemed to have failed. I don't understand this: we're not talking about smoking here. Still, I haven't dismissed the idea entirely, and I plan to make a start next weekend (this will mean my 30 days include five weekends; it's much easier for me to control my diet when I'm not going to work).
On Friday's Millionaire Hot Seat (yes I watched that rubbish again), one contestant mentioned an autistic relative, saying that autism "is a disease with no cure". He wouldn't win any prizes for political correctness with that comment. Although to be fair, if you think about where the word "disease" comes from, autism makes life hard enough to certainly be a dis-ease. This morning's Attitude programme was devoted to Jimmy, a 22-year-old member of the Auckland group who I briefly met last week. You can instantly tell that he's on the spectrum. His big passion is films, and (all credit to him) he was keen to find work. He got a voluntary job at the Auckland Film Festival, ushering people to their seats in his typically brusque style. "Today I want you to smile," he was told. He then repeatedly got lost as he delivered flyers to shops and cafés. Jimmy's 18-year-old brother also has Asperger's; their mother said it was hard talking about her sons and having to explain everything. Their dad seemed quite outgoing and had a very good sense of humour.
It's that abrupt way of talking that I find most off-putting when I meet people on the spectrum. Tom was like that when I first got to know him. It was almost like talking to a robot. He's improved a lot in the last few months.
Yesterday I met Phil at the Café Breton in town. He was staying in Wellington for the weekend. I didn't mention that I was in Auckland last weekend (he might have thought I didn't care about him); he told me all about the big storm which I pretended not to know much about. The café was run by people from Brittany (hence the name) and I ordered my crêpe in French. It was close to the TSB Arena where the WOW (World of WearableArt) show was happening. It's the second-largest event in Wellington's calendar. There were crowds of people, mostly women in their late forties or older. That's a very different demographic to the one attracted to Wellington's biggest annual event. Phil talked about his struggle to buy property in the crazy Auckland market. He recently went to an auction for a place numbered 44 (that's "double death" in Chinese so he thought he might have stood a chance) but the bids got so high that he didn't even stay till the end. It sounded like my experiences in 2009, with an added $150,000 or so. As I sat at a café in central Auckland last weekend, I saw someone poring over the Chinese version of the Property Press (I didn't know that existed) and making phone calls. It's time they put a stop to foreign property ownership in NZ. Imagine a Kiwi trying to buy a place in Beijing or Shanghai.
Last Sunday's warm weather in Auckland took me by surprise after the storm we'd had hours earlier. I had a sinking feeling after talking to Mandy who updated me on various gossip from our ex-colleagues. She said she has no desire to keep in touch with them either, but feels obliged to from a professional perspective. I'm so glad I'm out of all of that. When she got back to her study I walked along Takapuna Beach, as I did most lunchtimes for about three years. I bumped into a woman who I used to see on the bus when I lived in Bayswater in 2004 (she had an intellectual disability and had supported employment) - I don't think she recognised me.
Judith Collins wants to revamp NZ's antiquated and horribly inefficient judicial system. About bloody time. Judges and lawyers do very nicely out of the current system.
I thought I heard on the radio yesterday that it was the tenth anniversary of Johnny Cash's death. This was actually a couple of weeks ago, not that it really matters. Here's the video of Hurt, which he did shortly before he died. It's hard to watch without getting a bit choked up.
I'm skeptical about this paleo diet which I haven't yet started. My "different" doctor had these five words to say about it: "It will change your life." Well yes, not being able to eat such basic foods as grain or even most types of potato is life-changing. What makes it so hard for me is the very reason my doctor suggested I follow the diet: my depression, which makes everything take longer, which means I can't afford to spend extra time on food preparation (which might mean I'm half an hour late for work). Also how am I supposed to explain the reasons for my diet to other people? It's very strict, and even if you've followed the rules to the letter for 29 days out of 30, you're deemed to have failed. I don't understand this: we're not talking about smoking here. Still, I haven't dismissed the idea entirely, and I plan to make a start next weekend (this will mean my 30 days include five weekends; it's much easier for me to control my diet when I'm not going to work).
On Friday's Millionaire Hot Seat (yes I watched that rubbish again), one contestant mentioned an autistic relative, saying that autism "is a disease with no cure". He wouldn't win any prizes for political correctness with that comment. Although to be fair, if you think about where the word "disease" comes from, autism makes life hard enough to certainly be a dis-ease. This morning's Attitude programme was devoted to Jimmy, a 22-year-old member of the Auckland group who I briefly met last week. You can instantly tell that he's on the spectrum. His big passion is films, and (all credit to him) he was keen to find work. He got a voluntary job at the Auckland Film Festival, ushering people to their seats in his typically brusque style. "Today I want you to smile," he was told. He then repeatedly got lost as he delivered flyers to shops and cafés. Jimmy's 18-year-old brother also has Asperger's; their mother said it was hard talking about her sons and having to explain everything. Their dad seemed quite outgoing and had a very good sense of humour.
It's that abrupt way of talking that I find most off-putting when I meet people on the spectrum. Tom was like that when I first got to know him. It was almost like talking to a robot. He's improved a lot in the last few months.
Yesterday I met Phil at the Café Breton in town. He was staying in Wellington for the weekend. I didn't mention that I was in Auckland last weekend (he might have thought I didn't care about him); he told me all about the big storm which I pretended not to know much about. The café was run by people from Brittany (hence the name) and I ordered my crêpe in French. It was close to the TSB Arena where the WOW (World of WearableArt) show was happening. It's the second-largest event in Wellington's calendar. There were crowds of people, mostly women in their late forties or older. That's a very different demographic to the one attracted to Wellington's biggest annual event. Phil talked about his struggle to buy property in the crazy Auckland market. He recently went to an auction for a place numbered 44 (that's "double death" in Chinese so he thought he might have stood a chance) but the bids got so high that he didn't even stay till the end. It sounded like my experiences in 2009, with an added $150,000 or so. As I sat at a café in central Auckland last weekend, I saw someone poring over the Chinese version of the Property Press (I didn't know that existed) and making phone calls. It's time they put a stop to foreign property ownership in NZ. Imagine a Kiwi trying to buy a place in Beijing or Shanghai.
Last Sunday's warm weather in Auckland took me by surprise after the storm we'd had hours earlier. I had a sinking feeling after talking to Mandy who updated me on various gossip from our ex-colleagues. She said she has no desire to keep in touch with them either, but feels obliged to from a professional perspective. I'm so glad I'm out of all of that. When she got back to her study I walked along Takapuna Beach, as I did most lunchtimes for about three years. I bumped into a woman who I used to see on the bus when I lived in Bayswater in 2004 (she had an intellectual disability and had supported employment) - I don't think she recognised me.
Judith Collins wants to revamp NZ's antiquated and horribly inefficient judicial system. About bloody time. Judges and lawyers do very nicely out of the current system.
I thought I heard on the radio yesterday that it was the tenth anniversary of Johnny Cash's death. This was actually a couple of weeks ago, not that it really matters. Here's the video of Hurt, which he did shortly before he died. It's hard to watch without getting a bit choked up.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Trapped!
One minute I'm sitting out on the balcony on an unusually balmy Sunday in August and the next ... oh dear. The door has locked behind me, the key's inside and I'm trapped. No phone, no nothing. What the hell do I do? I'm only on the first floor but there's also a step up from the ground. I'm looking at 13 feet. I think of ways down but decide there's no real way of getting down other than stepping out onto the beam that connects the balconies, and jumping. I use a long stick to knock on my neighbour's window but they're obviously out. Eventually I attract the attention of a Chinese family who live above me and are about to head off in their car. The mum phones the property manager, who I thought had a key to all the apartments, but apparently not. She tells me not to even think of jumping. "I'll call 111. The police." "Um, you should probably ask for the fire brigade." Oh god. Is this really happening? It's happened in bad dreams enough times. I hear her half of the 111 call. "Nothing's on fire and nobody's injured." Five minutes later three firemen are on the scene and I'm suitably embarrassed by the whole situation. They put a ladder up and I get down. I've left one of the downstairs windows open a few inches with the "security" stay which the firemen break very easily, and I'm back inside without having to shell out for a locksmith.
I bought the people upstairs some lilies and a box of chocolates but they haven't been back since. It makes a nice change to sense the aroma of flowers as I walk into my flat. There are a couple of things I can take out of being trapped (I was stuck for about an hour). One, I've locked myself out before (far less dramatically) and I'm bound to do it again. It's just too damn easy to do. Having flatmates will help but in the meantime I'd better make sure my property manager has one of my spare keys (there's no-one around here I really trust with them). Secondly the window stays are so feeble that I must never leave the downstairs windows ajar, not even an inch.
In other news, we had a very good session at last night's autism group. People have really come on in leaps and bounds. Tom, for instance, has become (and this sounds terrible) much less robotic and more human. This time last year he'd hardly say anything at the group and his face would be almost expressionless the whole time. Now he contributes quite a lot. He must have a good sense of humour, if all the comedy programmes he put on my computer are anything to go by, but up until recently you never would have known it. We talked about skills that people on the spectrum sometimes have. The date calculation thing always blows me away. In fact there is no calculation that I can see. You input a date, sometimes years into the past or future, and out pops the day of the week. Almost instantly. How? It's the same with mental arithmetic. I'm quite good at that (it's one of the few things I can confidently say I am good at) but I still have to calculate the answer, and I make mistakes sometimes. How some people are able to bypass all those calculation steps and get straight to the answer I have no idea.
One of the comedy shows Tom gave me was Look Around You. It's a spoof educational programme, where they do supposedly serious experiments that are in fact complete bollocks. It's a take-off of the programmes they produced for schools in the UK in the late seventies and early eighties, and must have repeated for a few years after that because it all seems quite familiar to me. The attention to detail is excellent and makes the whole thing even more hilarious. Here's the bit where they boil an egg. Enjoy.
We moved desks at work on Friday. I've now got less space but I've got a window. I'm now miles from the loo but people can't see what I'm doing very easily. You win some, you lose some I guess.
My chances of being stuck on the balcony were increased by Wellington's warmest winter on record. Climate change has all kinds of knock-on effects.
I've started caring about politics a bit more of late (and it's funny that after my last post when I talked about Key, and not trusting, I should lock myself out). We've got a prime minister who basically thinks he can do what he likes, and I don't like that. His comments about the GCSB bill didn't wash with me, and as for the saying "if you've got nothing to hide you've got nothing to fear", well that might be true, but the fact is we've all got something to hide, dammit, even if it's perfectly legal. I really hope that whoever wins the Labour leadership contest can shake things up at next year's election.
I haven't heard from Julie at all since I wrote that letter.
Mum and Dad arrive on Friday. I haven't told them about the lock-out incident.
I bought the people upstairs some lilies and a box of chocolates but they haven't been back since. It makes a nice change to sense the aroma of flowers as I walk into my flat. There are a couple of things I can take out of being trapped (I was stuck for about an hour). One, I've locked myself out before (far less dramatically) and I'm bound to do it again. It's just too damn easy to do. Having flatmates will help but in the meantime I'd better make sure my property manager has one of my spare keys (there's no-one around here I really trust with them). Secondly the window stays are so feeble that I must never leave the downstairs windows ajar, not even an inch.
In other news, we had a very good session at last night's autism group. People have really come on in leaps and bounds. Tom, for instance, has become (and this sounds terrible) much less robotic and more human. This time last year he'd hardly say anything at the group and his face would be almost expressionless the whole time. Now he contributes quite a lot. He must have a good sense of humour, if all the comedy programmes he put on my computer are anything to go by, but up until recently you never would have known it. We talked about skills that people on the spectrum sometimes have. The date calculation thing always blows me away. In fact there is no calculation that I can see. You input a date, sometimes years into the past or future, and out pops the day of the week. Almost instantly. How? It's the same with mental arithmetic. I'm quite good at that (it's one of the few things I can confidently say I am good at) but I still have to calculate the answer, and I make mistakes sometimes. How some people are able to bypass all those calculation steps and get straight to the answer I have no idea.
One of the comedy shows Tom gave me was Look Around You. It's a spoof educational programme, where they do supposedly serious experiments that are in fact complete bollocks. It's a take-off of the programmes they produced for schools in the UK in the late seventies and early eighties, and must have repeated for a few years after that because it all seems quite familiar to me. The attention to detail is excellent and makes the whole thing even more hilarious. Here's the bit where they boil an egg. Enjoy.
We moved desks at work on Friday. I've now got less space but I've got a window. I'm now miles from the loo but people can't see what I'm doing very easily. You win some, you lose some I guess.
My chances of being stuck on the balcony were increased by Wellington's warmest winter on record. Climate change has all kinds of knock-on effects.
I've started caring about politics a bit more of late (and it's funny that after my last post when I talked about Key, and not trusting, I should lock myself out). We've got a prime minister who basically thinks he can do what he likes, and I don't like that. His comments about the GCSB bill didn't wash with me, and as for the saying "if you've got nothing to hide you've got nothing to fear", well that might be true, but the fact is we've all got something to hide, dammit, even if it's perfectly legal. I really hope that whoever wins the Labour leadership contest can shake things up at next year's election.
I haven't heard from Julie at all since I wrote that letter.
Mum and Dad arrive on Friday. I haven't told them about the lock-out incident.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Pants
July has been a record-breaking month of blogging for me. That's a shame because my writing has been decidedly pants this month.
There are a few other things I was too tired to mention last night. Last Thursday we had our body corporate meeting. Guess what - for seismic purposes my apartment block is two separate buildings, and the one I live in is safe. Not safe safe, but above the magic 34% threshold, while the other building is a few points below. Unfortunately that doesn't mean a whole lot. A prospective buyer isn't going to think, you know what, that great big yellow sticker there only applies to half the block so this flat should be fine. And because it's a body corporate, we'll all have to chip in whether we're in the safe part or not. The costs of earthquake strengthening could easily run into seven figures. Heck, it's costing us $40,000 just to find out how much it will cost. Most people - myself included - don't have this sort of money, and there are thousands of us in the same boat all over Wellington. The government will surely have to step in. Where will the money come from? Well they could have used that few hundred million they spent on the America's Cup, so now I have to hope they win the bloody cup and can use the money from that.
My brother had an accident on his last scheduled skydive. I think there was some problem with the parachute not inflating fully, he had a very hard landing and was extremely lucky to only have bruises and no fractures. I hope we can stay in touch from opposite sides of the world. Despite a nightmarish last seven months for him, I'm optimistic of his future in the UK.
Last night we had another big turnout at the autism group. One bloke, who was a regular member back in the "old" days, made his first appearance for about 18 months and was taken aback by the sheer numbers. He used to be on the board of Autism NZ. We now have three facilitators including an Irish bloke of about my age. As usual we did our "what we did at the weekend" bit, in turn, and as usual our male facilitator said he played football. I always imagined it was some social team, but last night he said his team won through to the last four of the Chatham Cup. This comment went by almost unnoticed, but the Chatham Cup is a pretty big deal. A quick Google tells me that he's the captain of the team who came back from two goals down to win their quarter-final 3-2, and he scored the goal that sparked their fightback. For just about anyone on the spectrum, experiencing that level of success at a team sport is hard to imagine.
I just finished P G Wodehouse's golf book. Golf lends itself so well to amusing anecdotes. It's so full of jargon, even more so in Wodehouse's time when the clubs had names like niblicks, mashies and brassies.
There are a few other things I was too tired to mention last night. Last Thursday we had our body corporate meeting. Guess what - for seismic purposes my apartment block is two separate buildings, and the one I live in is safe. Not safe safe, but above the magic 34% threshold, while the other building is a few points below. Unfortunately that doesn't mean a whole lot. A prospective buyer isn't going to think, you know what, that great big yellow sticker there only applies to half the block so this flat should be fine. And because it's a body corporate, we'll all have to chip in whether we're in the safe part or not. The costs of earthquake strengthening could easily run into seven figures. Heck, it's costing us $40,000 just to find out how much it will cost. Most people - myself included - don't have this sort of money, and there are thousands of us in the same boat all over Wellington. The government will surely have to step in. Where will the money come from? Well they could have used that few hundred million they spent on the America's Cup, so now I have to hope they win the bloody cup and can use the money from that.
My brother had an accident on his last scheduled skydive. I think there was some problem with the parachute not inflating fully, he had a very hard landing and was extremely lucky to only have bruises and no fractures. I hope we can stay in touch from opposite sides of the world. Despite a nightmarish last seven months for him, I'm optimistic of his future in the UK.
Last night we had another big turnout at the autism group. One bloke, who was a regular member back in the "old" days, made his first appearance for about 18 months and was taken aback by the sheer numbers. He used to be on the board of Autism NZ. We now have three facilitators including an Irish bloke of about my age. As usual we did our "what we did at the weekend" bit, in turn, and as usual our male facilitator said he played football. I always imagined it was some social team, but last night he said his team won through to the last four of the Chatham Cup. This comment went by almost unnoticed, but the Chatham Cup is a pretty big deal. A quick Google tells me that he's the captain of the team who came back from two goals down to win their quarter-final 3-2, and he scored the goal that sparked their fightback. For just about anyone on the spectrum, experiencing that level of success at a team sport is hard to imagine.
I just finished P G Wodehouse's golf book. Golf lends itself so well to amusing anecdotes. It's so full of jargon, even more so in Wodehouse's time when the clubs had names like niblicks, mashies and brassies.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
It's a me problem
I'm making some progress with the puzzle stuff. It's given me - for the first time in years - a reason to want to get out of bed in the morning, even if I can't work on the puzzles until the evening.
I went to the autism group again on Monday. I keep asking myself, should I keep going? I haven't had a diagnosis, and have no real intention of getting one, so part of me feels like a fraud. But it gives me the chance to meet people (I haven't done much of that lately) and hopefully, in a very small way, even help one or two of them.
I talked more than usual at Monday's session, maybe because some of the louder ones were absent. We talked about the rules of the group: no religion, no politics, and now no sex. And no "inappropriate" interruptions, a rule which one bloke, who's been going since last September or so, had difficulty with. He seems to have problems that go beyond just the autistic spectrum (and his unibrow). Out of nowhere he'll butt in to talk at length, in his staccato style, about some bad childhood memory. He often talks about "unfinished business" from his childhood, even though he's now 38. He reminded me of the movie Eagle vs Shark where Jarrod is desperate to get back at the kid who bullied him at school. I should also mention that he has an obsessive fear of contamination.
Our previous facilitator is about to return from maternity leave; this meant that her temporary replacement was there for the last time. She was in tears; she'd become quite emotionally attached to her role at Autism NZ and the people at the group. When she started she had a bad habit of treating people on the spectrum as if they were kids, but she's improved since then. It was sad to see her have to make such a reluctant departure.
John Key's recent comments that Wellington is dying (which were tongue-in-cheek I think, but still not clever) have made Wellingtonians stand up and think, shit, we're pretty lucky to be living here. For a city of under half a million, there's heaps going on. It sure as hell ain't dying. OK it hasn't all been beer and skittles for me in the two years I've lived here, and I haven't made a lot of friends, but that's mostly due to a me problem, not a Wellington problem.
We had an earthquake on Monday afternoon, a short sharp shake that only lasted a second or two. It was a 3.6 but felt bigger to me.
I went to the autism group again on Monday. I keep asking myself, should I keep going? I haven't had a diagnosis, and have no real intention of getting one, so part of me feels like a fraud. But it gives me the chance to meet people (I haven't done much of that lately) and hopefully, in a very small way, even help one or two of them.
I talked more than usual at Monday's session, maybe because some of the louder ones were absent. We talked about the rules of the group: no religion, no politics, and now no sex. And no "inappropriate" interruptions, a rule which one bloke, who's been going since last September or so, had difficulty with. He seems to have problems that go beyond just the autistic spectrum (and his unibrow). Out of nowhere he'll butt in to talk at length, in his staccato style, about some bad childhood memory. He often talks about "unfinished business" from his childhood, even though he's now 38. He reminded me of the movie Eagle vs Shark where Jarrod is desperate to get back at the kid who bullied him at school. I should also mention that he has an obsessive fear of contamination.
Our previous facilitator is about to return from maternity leave; this meant that her temporary replacement was there for the last time. She was in tears; she'd become quite emotionally attached to her role at Autism NZ and the people at the group. When she started she had a bad habit of treating people on the spectrum as if they were kids, but she's improved since then. It was sad to see her have to make such a reluctant departure.
John Key's recent comments that Wellington is dying (which were tongue-in-cheek I think, but still not clever) have made Wellingtonians stand up and think, shit, we're pretty lucky to be living here. For a city of under half a million, there's heaps going on. It sure as hell ain't dying. OK it hasn't all been beer and skittles for me in the two years I've lived here, and I haven't made a lot of friends, but that's mostly due to a me problem, not a Wellington problem.
We had an earthquake on Monday afternoon, a short sharp shake that only lasted a second or two. It was a 3.6 but felt bigger to me.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Side(burn) bets
After missing the session a fortnight ago I decided to attend tonight's autism group. I'm glad I did because we had some interesting discussion. I got lucky with the subgroup I ended up in.
On Saturday I went tramping. We ascended Mount Climie, which was a bit of a climbie, to an altitude of 840 metres. The autism group is starting to take over the tramping club: of the seven who did the walk, three of us attend the group (Danielle, Tom who has been to my flat a couple of times, and myself). We were blessed with good weather.
I saw Julie at her rest home on Saturday evening. It was the first time I'd seen her after her shoulder operation. She was in a lot of pain - more than before - and didn't think it would improve. It was sad to see her life reduced to an eight-foot-square "cell", especially as she's still got all her mental faculties. She talked about ending her life; it's hard to know how to respond to that. She was struggling to sleep so I gave her seven sleeping pills (they were prescribed to me years ago but I never took them). She's since taken them all - presumably one at a time - but it probably wasn't a clever idea for me to supply them to her.
This third test between NZ and England has been a great battle which the Kiwis have dominated. They ran the English bowlers ragged earlier today and then held two stunning catches just before stumps. NZ now need "just" six wickets in the final six hours of play tomorrow to secure a shock series win. I hope they do it (I suppose I should have mixed feelings about that, but I don't, probably because NZ were huge underdogs before the series started).
Update: What a match, and what an absorbing last three days. Forget the "tee twenty" crap, this was proper cricket. It was a shame the Kiwis couldn't quite finish England off but both sides performed admirably today. Just when the game appeared to be fizzling out into a slightly tame draw, Kane Williamson popped up with two quick wickets to create a grandstand finish. The NZ team go to England fairly soon - it's a shame they'll only play two tests over there. To me a proper test series needs to be three matches at a minimum. And they're playing the shorter formats after the tests - what's all that about?
Yesterday I saw my cousin and her husband (I attended their wedding three years ago) with their two daughters, the eldest two-and-a-bit, the youngest just six weeks old. They now live in Auckland having returned from an extended OE in London. The puzzle stuff has given me a chink of light on the horizon; that's probably why all that family stuff yesterday was just about bearable for me.
Mum is coming up here on Thursday. My sideburns have got even bushier since she last saw them. If I were a betting man (!) I'd put up odds of 3/1 that she mentions my sideburns within the first five minutes. I'm probably being generous with those odds. I'd give at least 8/1 that she doesn't mention them at all in the time she's here. I'm looking forward to seeing her though.
I spoke to my brother tonight. He's staying with Mum and Dad, just for one night, and will be off in the morning. Until last Christmas I'd never known him to have a sustained period of unhappiness. It's upsetting to see it now. He plans to fly back to the UK, permanently, at his earliest opportunity.
On Saturday I went tramping. We ascended Mount Climie, which was a bit of a climbie, to an altitude of 840 metres. The autism group is starting to take over the tramping club: of the seven who did the walk, three of us attend the group (Danielle, Tom who has been to my flat a couple of times, and myself). We were blessed with good weather.
I saw Julie at her rest home on Saturday evening. It was the first time I'd seen her after her shoulder operation. She was in a lot of pain - more than before - and didn't think it would improve. It was sad to see her life reduced to an eight-foot-square "cell", especially as she's still got all her mental faculties. She talked about ending her life; it's hard to know how to respond to that. She was struggling to sleep so I gave her seven sleeping pills (they were prescribed to me years ago but I never took them). She's since taken them all - presumably one at a time - but it probably wasn't a clever idea for me to supply them to her.
This third test between NZ and England has been a great battle which the Kiwis have dominated. They ran the English bowlers ragged earlier today and then held two stunning catches just before stumps. NZ now need "just" six wickets in the final six hours of play tomorrow to secure a shock series win. I hope they do it (I suppose I should have mixed feelings about that, but I don't, probably because NZ were huge underdogs before the series started).
Update: What a match, and what an absorbing last three days. Forget the "tee twenty" crap, this was proper cricket. It was a shame the Kiwis couldn't quite finish England off but both sides performed admirably today. Just when the game appeared to be fizzling out into a slightly tame draw, Kane Williamson popped up with two quick wickets to create a grandstand finish. The NZ team go to England fairly soon - it's a shame they'll only play two tests over there. To me a proper test series needs to be three matches at a minimum. And they're playing the shorter formats after the tests - what's all that about?
Yesterday I saw my cousin and her husband (I attended their wedding three years ago) with their two daughters, the eldest two-and-a-bit, the youngest just six weeks old. They now live in Auckland having returned from an extended OE in London. The puzzle stuff has given me a chink of light on the horizon; that's probably why all that family stuff yesterday was just about bearable for me.
Mum is coming up here on Thursday. My sideburns have got even bushier since she last saw them. If I were a betting man (!) I'd put up odds of 3/1 that she mentions my sideburns within the first five minutes. I'm probably being generous with those odds. I'd give at least 8/1 that she doesn't mention them at all in the time she's here. I'm looking forward to seeing her though.
I spoke to my brother tonight. He's staying with Mum and Dad, just for one night, and will be off in the morning. Until last Christmas I'd never known him to have a sustained period of unhappiness. It's upsetting to see it now. He plans to fly back to the UK, permanently, at his earliest opportunity.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Just a sniff...
Since I last posted there has been a development with my puzzles, provoking an unusually high level of excitement in me. There's the faintest sniff of a possibility that this development could substantially alter my life, hence the excitement.
I didn't go to the autism group last night. I'd made up my mind not to go, and emailed Tracy the night before, then she texted me at half-five yesterday trying to convince me to change my mind: her dad would be there, he didn't really know what Aspies were like, and apparently I'd balance out some of the more extreme personalities on show. She failed to convince me. I went to see Against the Wind, quite a sad French movie, at the Paramount instead.
I saw Die Hard 5 with the depression group on Saturday. The movie didn't do it for me. It was good to catch up with some people though.
Julie is having an operation on Thursday, the first of two days I'm taking off from work. I'll be picking her up from her rest home at 6:30am to take her to hospital. She's hardly in the best physical condition to have the surgery but doesn't feel she's got much to lose. I'll then be going to see the opening day of the second cricket test between NZ and England at the Basin. I'm not a huge cricket fan (I've never seen live test cricket before) but because it's this particular match-up, and right on my doorstep, I feel almost obliged to go. One complaint I hear a lot regarding test cricket is "it's too long". Well yes, in the third millennium, with all our busy lives, who can afford to sit through all five days of a test match? But my answer to that is, who says you have to watch the whole thing? It's a story; what's wrong with dipping in and out, like you might do with Coronation Street? Miss an episode or two, you can catch up later. The times I've most enjoyed following test cricket have been listening to radio commentary (which can be brilliant) while doing something else.
I've been thinking about the bloke from the autism group who came round to my flat twice. Why did I find him hard work? I think it's pretty simple: very little warmth radiates from him. That must make it very hard for him to form relationships. It's not an uncommon trait in Aspies of course (some of whom do have relationships and even children) but it's by no means universal; Richard is a good counterexample.
I'll miss Richard when I fly up to Auckland after the cricket. He's going down to Rotorua for his sister's 40th birthday; he gets on well with her and should have a good time. I'll be attending the autism group on Saturday and catching up with one of the facilitators beforehand. Apart from that, my weekend is unplanned as yet.
I didn't go to the autism group last night. I'd made up my mind not to go, and emailed Tracy the night before, then she texted me at half-five yesterday trying to convince me to change my mind: her dad would be there, he didn't really know what Aspies were like, and apparently I'd balance out some of the more extreme personalities on show. She failed to convince me. I went to see Against the Wind, quite a sad French movie, at the Paramount instead.
I saw Die Hard 5 with the depression group on Saturday. The movie didn't do it for me. It was good to catch up with some people though.
Julie is having an operation on Thursday, the first of two days I'm taking off from work. I'll be picking her up from her rest home at 6:30am to take her to hospital. She's hardly in the best physical condition to have the surgery but doesn't feel she's got much to lose. I'll then be going to see the opening day of the second cricket test between NZ and England at the Basin. I'm not a huge cricket fan (I've never seen live test cricket before) but because it's this particular match-up, and right on my doorstep, I feel almost obliged to go. One complaint I hear a lot regarding test cricket is "it's too long". Well yes, in the third millennium, with all our busy lives, who can afford to sit through all five days of a test match? But my answer to that is, who says you have to watch the whole thing? It's a story; what's wrong with dipping in and out, like you might do with Coronation Street? Miss an episode or two, you can catch up later. The times I've most enjoyed following test cricket have been listening to radio commentary (which can be brilliant) while doing something else.
I've been thinking about the bloke from the autism group who came round to my flat twice. Why did I find him hard work? I think it's pretty simple: very little warmth radiates from him. That must make it very hard for him to form relationships. It's not an uncommon trait in Aspies of course (some of whom do have relationships and even children) but it's by no means universal; Richard is a good counterexample.
I'll miss Richard when I fly up to Auckland after the cricket. He's going down to Rotorua for his sister's 40th birthday; he gets on well with her and should have a good time. I'll be attending the autism group on Saturday and catching up with one of the facilitators beforehand. Apart from that, my weekend is unplanned as yet.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Putting it out there
We had another big turnout at tonight's autism meeting. Seventeen showed up including a stand-in facilitator from South Africa who did a good job I thought. We were split into two groups - the loud group and the one I was in. Being in the quiet group gave me the opportunity to talk more than usual; I talked frankly about my inability to form relationships and my desire to work for myself some day. I took the email address of a timid guy who's had as much success in relationships as me (albeit in less time); I'm hoping we can share some ideas. Tracy was there - she really hasn't been well lately. Her number one goal was to start a family. Another woman had a goal (or rather an un-goal) never to have kids. The South African woman said to me, "you seem to lead a pretty normal life" when I told her about my job and my flat. But that's exactly it. It might look normal but it sure as hell ain't.
I've been feeling a bit low the last couple of days. Yesterday was another beautiful day. I went to the waterfront market, bought lunch (a butter chicken wrap) and enough fruit to feed a small army (the stonefruit has been great this summer), then took a walk along Oriental Parade. They were taking the Hobbit frontage down from the Embassy with a giant crane. There were a lot of teenagers milling about by the waterfront, doing all the things I never did at that age, and that's often a trigger for a downswing in my mood. Bizarrely I'll sometimes feel better in bad weather because I won't see so many people out enjoying themselves to compare myself against. I slipped and slapped yesterday but neglected to slop - as a consequence my knees and ankles turned bright red.
I've just finished another book. This one was a true story about a group of MIT students who lived the high life for a couple of years by beating blackjack for millions of dollars. Word of their exploits gradually got around, they had to take more desperate measures (like wearing disguises) to keep their operation going, and eventually they packed it in. Fascinating stuff, and I was firmly on the side of the students while reading the story because card counting (in my book) isn't cheating at all. I had no idea quite how sophisticated the big casinos' camera networks were (and that book was written ten years ago).
Julie, who turned 67 last week, goes into a rest home on Wednesday. I hope it's just a temporary measure. It's so sad to see someone in that much pain, with no friends or family for support. I'll still pop in to see her every Tuesday.
The Solomon Islands were hit by a massive earthquake last week. The quake caused a tsunami and for a short while New Zealand was on a kind of yellow alert. Nothing came of it and we could all just carry on with our lives. In the Solomons, where they keep getting strong aftershocks, the situation is rather different.
I've been feeling a bit low the last couple of days. Yesterday was another beautiful day. I went to the waterfront market, bought lunch (a butter chicken wrap) and enough fruit to feed a small army (the stonefruit has been great this summer), then took a walk along Oriental Parade. They were taking the Hobbit frontage down from the Embassy with a giant crane. There were a lot of teenagers milling about by the waterfront, doing all the things I never did at that age, and that's often a trigger for a downswing in my mood. Bizarrely I'll sometimes feel better in bad weather because I won't see so many people out enjoying themselves to compare myself against. I slipped and slapped yesterday but neglected to slop - as a consequence my knees and ankles turned bright red.
I've just finished another book. This one was a true story about a group of MIT students who lived the high life for a couple of years by beating blackjack for millions of dollars. Word of their exploits gradually got around, they had to take more desperate measures (like wearing disguises) to keep their operation going, and eventually they packed it in. Fascinating stuff, and I was firmly on the side of the students while reading the story because card counting (in my book) isn't cheating at all. I had no idea quite how sophisticated the big casinos' camera networks were (and that book was written ten years ago).
Julie, who turned 67 last week, goes into a rest home on Wednesday. I hope it's just a temporary measure. It's so sad to see someone in that much pain, with no friends or family for support. I'll still pop in to see her every Tuesday.
The Solomon Islands were hit by a massive earthquake last week. The quake caused a tsunami and for a short while New Zealand was on a kind of yellow alert. Nothing came of it and we could all just carry on with our lives. In the Solomons, where they keep getting strong aftershocks, the situation is rather different.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Autism - it's not just for kids
On the radio this morning Kim Hill interviewed Graeme Simsion, the NZ-born Australian author of the successful novel The Rosie Project. The main protagonist in the book has Asperger's, although Simsion doesn't explicitly mention it. It sounds like a good read - I must look out for it. Simsion ran an IT business, earning good money, before (in his fifties) turning his hand to writing. I was intrigued by two things he had to say. First that to become an expert at something (to the point of making a living from it) requires 10,000 hours of practice, whether that's writing or painting or golf or whatever, and since most of us can't afford to give up our day jobs we need to find those 10,000 hours on top of our full-time employment. So if I could manage thirty hours a week, that's seven years! I'll be forty by then, and probably overweight, living alone in a complete pigsty. His other comment related to people with Asperger's: they can (1) choose to remain social outsiders, or (2) learn what to say at parties and, as he put it, what wine to serve with which cheese, and gradually "grow out of it". That's all a serious oversimplification. It's possible to do something in between (have social contact without being the life and soul of the party) and for some people on the spectrum, fitting in is extremely difficult if not impossible no matter how hard they work at it. As for the "grow out of it" bit, that's a great way to perpetuate the myth that autism is "something kids have".
Yesterday our work team went out for lunch. I had a rather yummy lamb shank. I've given some thought to how easy or hard it would be to give various things up for a year. Alcohol: pretty easy; I enjoy a glass of wine or beer but I could easily go without. Online poker: harder, but I've managed fine so far and never get the urge to play. Meat: now there's a toughie (typing that has got me thinking of steak). Meat-free days are extremely rare for me (I'm still thinking of steak). Mmm. To be honest I don't eat huge amounts of meat but that's more a financial decision than anything else.
On Wednesday we had the day off to celebrate Bob Marley Day. I spent some time on my puzzles - I'm submitting some to an Australian publishing company - and had fun and games with my printer. I decided to cut my losses and buy a new (cheap) one. I also bought some extra ink that cost more than the printer.
Yesterday our work team went out for lunch. I had a rather yummy lamb shank. I've given some thought to how easy or hard it would be to give various things up for a year. Alcohol: pretty easy; I enjoy a glass of wine or beer but I could easily go without. Online poker: harder, but I've managed fine so far and never get the urge to play. Meat: now there's a toughie (typing that has got me thinking of steak). Meat-free days are extremely rare for me (I'm still thinking of steak). Mmm. To be honest I don't eat huge amounts of meat but that's more a financial decision than anything else.
On Wednesday we had the day off to celebrate Bob Marley Day. I spent some time on my puzzles - I'm submitting some to an Australian publishing company - and had fun and games with my printer. I decided to cut my losses and buy a new (cheap) one. I also bought some extra ink that cost more than the printer.
Last Saturday I went on a tramp to Belmont trig station. It was good walk through a very pretty part of the world, if a little on the warm side: my nineties Barkers track pants are great for winter but for that kind of weather I really need a decent pair of shorts. Part of the track was called Baked Beans Bend. By now I'm used to names like Dead Man's Creek and Skull Gully, but Baked Beans Bend? Did the pioneers experience flatulence problems along that stretch? Or maybe they had issues at both ends, hence the Puke bit.
Last weekend there was a seven-hour doubles match in the Davis Cup. It was the longest ever doubles match and second-longest tennis match of all time. Stanislas Wawrinka (who lost that marathon to Djokovic at the Australian Open last month) was again on the losing side as he partnered Marco Chiudinelli, playing for Switzerland against the Czech Republic. The Czechs won 24-22 in the final set on their 13th match point. The sheer number of match points might be a record in itself. Gustavo Kuerten needed eleven to get past Magnus Norman in the final of the 2000 French Open; I remember that match because I bet on Norman to win the tournament before it started - he was in amazing form but seemed to be battling stage fright and a partizan crowd in the final.
My parents are coming to stay on Thursday for four nights. My flat needs a serious clean before then.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Heading down the right track
Saturday's tramp on the Akatarawa ranges was billed as "easy". It wasn't. Nor was it what I'd call a tramp. It was a rather arduous bush-bash. We followed the main path for all of fifty yards before our experienced leader said we'd gone the wrong way and led us down a "track" that we wouldn't even have noticed had it not been pointed out to us. He said he hadn't been down that track in four years; I don't think anybody else had either.
We then followed a creek, rock-hopping until that was no longer an option. Soon we were wading through two feet of water; I just managed to keep my undies dry though one or two others were less fortunate. My boots (which I got in 1997, were made in Bulgaria and have Cyrillic writing on them), my socks and most of my trousers were obviously soaked.
The idea was to reach a spectacularly wide rata tree - "it's another 45 minutes" but after 90 minutes we were still some distance from the tree and would have needed to scale a very steep bank, so that plan went out the window. As it was, there was plenty of crawling through vegetation and at one point we descended a bank with the aid of a rope. At least we went at a sensible pace and took short breaks every now and again. After six hours we finally clambered out of the woodland to the "bibeep, bibeep" of civilisation as someone received a text.
I must say it was a most satisfying feeling to have been on that tramp - an all-too-rare sense of achievement. I'd used muscles that hadn't been flexed in years and in some cases didn't even know existed. It felt great to get away from the internet, the phone, work, men in suits, my flat... Best of all the fact that I am able to feel good is indicative of an improvement in my mental state. Twelve of us did the trip. Due to work commitments Danielle unfortunately couldn't make it.
I slept for 9½ hours the following night. On Sunday I saw the Lorax with my cousin, her three boys and one of their friends. I suggested it to them because I knew they had a few of Dr Seuss's books including that one. I'd never read the Lorax myself but I pretty much knew the story anyway, largely thanks to this song and video. It was a good film with a pretty important environmental message which is even more relevant now than it was forty years ago when the book (and Cat Stevens's song) were written.
Last night I attended the autism group for the first time in six weeks. There was an American bloke who was new to the group and certainly didn't mind talking (especially when the facilitator asked each of us in turn to say what we were good at).
We then followed a creek, rock-hopping until that was no longer an option. Soon we were wading through two feet of water; I just managed to keep my undies dry though one or two others were less fortunate. My boots (which I got in 1997, were made in Bulgaria and have Cyrillic writing on them), my socks and most of my trousers were obviously soaked.
The idea was to reach a spectacularly wide rata tree - "it's another 45 minutes" but after 90 minutes we were still some distance from the tree and would have needed to scale a very steep bank, so that plan went out the window. As it was, there was plenty of crawling through vegetation and at one point we descended a bank with the aid of a rope. At least we went at a sensible pace and took short breaks every now and again. After six hours we finally clambered out of the woodland to the "bibeep, bibeep" of civilisation as someone received a text.
I must say it was a most satisfying feeling to have been on that tramp - an all-too-rare sense of achievement. I'd used muscles that hadn't been flexed in years and in some cases didn't even know existed. It felt great to get away from the internet, the phone, work, men in suits, my flat... Best of all the fact that I am able to feel good is indicative of an improvement in my mental state. Twelve of us did the trip. Due to work commitments Danielle unfortunately couldn't make it.
I slept for 9½ hours the following night. On Sunday I saw the Lorax with my cousin, her three boys and one of their friends. I suggested it to them because I knew they had a few of Dr Seuss's books including that one. I'd never read the Lorax myself but I pretty much knew the story anyway, largely thanks to this song and video. It was a good film with a pretty important environmental message which is even more relevant now than it was forty years ago when the book (and Cat Stevens's song) were written.
Last night I attended the autism group for the first time in six weeks. There was an American bloke who was new to the group and certainly didn't mind talking (especially when the facilitator asked each of us in turn to say what we were good at).
Monday, March 5, 2012
Onwards and downwards
I've got two more days in my current role at work. On Thursday I'll be moving downstairs - 24 floors downstairs to be precise - to start a role in New Business. I'll have that job for a month, perhaps more, but after that (if there is an after) my salary will be slashed - in half I imagine. To be honest I'm relieved.
Julie decided to come to the Asperger's group. I was a little peeved by that and I'm not sure why. Perhaps it was because I didn't feel I could quite be myself.
Would you believe it, Mandy (one of my old colleagues from Auckland) recently won another ten grand on Bullseye, to go with the forty grand she won last August. I've since been asking her for the Bullseye number in advance: "you don't have to be spot on, just kind of close would be fine."
The big news story in Wellington today was that eight-year-old boy who drove an SUV through the middle of town early this morning. Clever little chap isn't he?
Julie decided to come to the Asperger's group. I was a little peeved by that and I'm not sure why. Perhaps it was because I didn't feel I could quite be myself.
Would you believe it, Mandy (one of my old colleagues from Auckland) recently won another ten grand on Bullseye, to go with the forty grand she won last August. I've since been asking her for the Bullseye number in advance: "you don't have to be spot on, just kind of close would be fine."
The big news story in Wellington today was that eight-year-old boy who drove an SUV through the middle of town early this morning. Clever little chap isn't he?
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
It's all too much
Things have gone from bad to worse I'm afraid. The last few days have been pretty trying all round, and especially at work. My attempt to meet that work deadline last Thursday by putting in some extra hours was all in vain. I'd got work done alright, but it was all wrong. I'd based everything on the eighth version of a previous spreadsheet - the supercharged V8 - when there was a V9 I should have used that I hadn't even noticed. Then I'd updated the figures using a file with dodgy data in it. My boss asked me how confident I was of having everything correct by 3pm the next day; when I said fifty-fifty he promptly took the task off me.
On Thursday I picked up a cold which got worse during the night. I'm not sure if it was flu or just a bad cold, although I did have a slight fever. I hadn't slept much and the next morning I wasn't in any state to go to work. I listened to the eight o'clock news on the radio in bed. About the tenth news item was the horrific prison fire in Honduras that killed 359 people. Because they were prisoners that nobody cared about in a country that nobody cares about, the NZ media weren't going to care either. The Guardian however did that horrific event justice. I needed to call in sick but I didn't know any of my colleagues' desk phone numbers, couldn't get through on the big boss's mobile, and couldn't email (I had no internet). I found the reception number in the White Pages and got through to my boss (it is a bit crazy that I don't know any of those numbers but I never thought to write them down or commit them to memory).
I had a doctor's appointment booked (for my other problem) and somehow made my way over to Brooklyn. It felt swelteringly hot outside that day but it was probably only 20-odd degrees. I saw a woman doctor this time; from experience (small sample size) female doctors are more understanding of mental health issues. It perhaps helped that on Friday I also looked sick. After I rambled for a bit (I can't remember what I said), she increased my dose of Efexor from 300 mg to the maximum 375. I said I could probably take the whole packet and it wouldn't make any difference. She then wanted me to see a psychiatrist next month; she thought my bipolar diagnosis in 2009 was a load of tripe (I happen to agree). She also mentioned Asperger's without any prompting from me, although I must have given her a few clues.
I picked up my extra pills from the pharmacy near the surgery; they had a set of scales which still measured stone and took two-cent coins which haven't been in circulation since the late eighties. I didn't happen to have any obsolete coinage handy but the scales weighed me anyway. I was twelve stone two; the scales agreed exactly with my digital ones at home. That's a perfectly fine weight for my height (nearly six foot) but it's where the weight is that I need to watch. I've now got a spare tyre which I didn't have before I came to Wellington. My new place has a gym and I need to start using it. Realising my food stocks - and petrol - were low, I went to Pak 'n' Save. After buying a few groceries I tried using their totally unmanned petrol station. It was bad as trying to figure out some of the spreadsheets at work. I felt completely washed out by the time I got home. That day I really just needed to rest. Then one of the new tenants at my old flat - she's Indian and eight months pregnant - came round to look at my fridge. I ended up with two fridges and she wanted to buy the older one off me.
I was able to recharge my batteries over the weekend. I worked on the PowerPoint presentation for the business idea my cousin has for me, read large chunks of Tony Attwood's book on Asperger's, but best of all didn't see or get phone calls from anybody. Not having the internet had its advantages too. The most strenuous thing I did all weekend was pick up some fruit and vege from the market. I still have a whole load of boxes that I've yet to unpack.
I felt far from 100% on Monday but went into work because after what had happened the previous week, and the whole Friday/Monday thing, I didn't want them to think I was skiving. I still didn't have a phone in my flat then - Dad rang me at work having returned from his not-exactly-a-holiday. I went to the Asperger's group that night. Nine of us were there. We decided to make a list of all the subjects covered in the meeting. I started off writing on the blackboard but I couldn't keep track of all the topics, such is my memory (or forgettory) at the moment. Tracy, who has an almost photographic memory, took over and put me out of my misery.
Tuesday was a bad day. I slept through my alarm and got up just before eight. I still got to work at an acceptable time but felt quite disoriented. I was functioning on 10% of capacity, knowing that I'd need to be at 200% to keep up with my boss. He got me to do what I thought was just a copy-and-paste job but ended up being a lot more. I was doing my absolute best to get it done but I couldn't remember where things were and it was like I was running uphill backwards through treacle. There seemed to be a lot more noise than usual and of course so much Mandarin. The incessant talk from the three women in Finance about the Big Four accountancy firms was becoming repulsive. I feel more and more isolated with each passing day in that place. I also feel exceptionally stupid the whole time I'm there. I had to come home at lunchtime to get my phone connected. In the afternoon I asked my boss something about the job I was trying to do. He asked me when I'd have it finished. I told him I really didn't know. "But you've already spent four hours on it!" "Look. Just coming to work is a success for me at the moment." "WHAT!" I spent the next few minutes in the toilet, then calmly said to him that I really wasn't that well and that I was going home. He just laughed at me. "What about work?" "I could be here all night. I won't make any difference. As I said, I'm not very well." Again he laughed. "If you don't understand that, you're obviously very ignorant." Then I went home. He gave me a sarcastic wave.
As soon as I got home my bloody mobile rang. It was an 09 number. Phew. It happened to be Vodafone, not my boss or anybody ghastly like that. Five minutes later it rang again. This time it was my boss, or rather the big boss. I ignored it. Then he rang again. I picked it up. He was a bit more sympathetic than my other boss. He told me to take two days off work and even asked if I had anyone in my apartment block I could talk to. I wish I did. After dinner my other phone rang and it was Julie, hoping that my number hadn't changed. She said she was in a bad way. I tried to listen and agreed to meet her on Thursday. I managed to end the conversation, then my mobile rang again. Who can this be? I'd totally forgotten about the people coming to pick up the fridge. Three blokes came round, gave me $170 (I think they got a good deal), and would somehow lug the fridge the 500-odd metres back to my old flat. They had only just hauled the fridge into the lift when Mum and Dad rang me. I didn't mention work.
Many organisations offer an external counselling service; I was advised to make an appointment which I had at 12:30 today. My cousin rang me at about 11:15 to talk about the business idea but I couldn't take in half of what she said. It was quite a long phone call which meant I was running late for my meeting. I did make it on time but must have looked quite dishevelled. It was a useful meeting if only to get one or two things off my chest. He did say I need to learn to say a particular two-letter word. This afternoon was a bit of a write-off although I did send a useful email to my cousin saying that we need to back off from the business thing because I'm clinically depressed and struggling to cope. Tonight I went to the tramping club. I met Danielle and signed up to a day trip next month but there were hordes of people there and it was good to get home.
On Thursday I picked up a cold which got worse during the night. I'm not sure if it was flu or just a bad cold, although I did have a slight fever. I hadn't slept much and the next morning I wasn't in any state to go to work. I listened to the eight o'clock news on the radio in bed. About the tenth news item was the horrific prison fire in Honduras that killed 359 people. Because they were prisoners that nobody cared about in a country that nobody cares about, the NZ media weren't going to care either. The Guardian however did that horrific event justice. I needed to call in sick but I didn't know any of my colleagues' desk phone numbers, couldn't get through on the big boss's mobile, and couldn't email (I had no internet). I found the reception number in the White Pages and got through to my boss (it is a bit crazy that I don't know any of those numbers but I never thought to write them down or commit them to memory).
I had a doctor's appointment booked (for my other problem) and somehow made my way over to Brooklyn. It felt swelteringly hot outside that day but it was probably only 20-odd degrees. I saw a woman doctor this time; from experience (small sample size) female doctors are more understanding of mental health issues. It perhaps helped that on Friday I also looked sick. After I rambled for a bit (I can't remember what I said), she increased my dose of Efexor from 300 mg to the maximum 375. I said I could probably take the whole packet and it wouldn't make any difference. She then wanted me to see a psychiatrist next month; she thought my bipolar diagnosis in 2009 was a load of tripe (I happen to agree). She also mentioned Asperger's without any prompting from me, although I must have given her a few clues.
I picked up my extra pills from the pharmacy near the surgery; they had a set of scales which still measured stone and took two-cent coins which haven't been in circulation since the late eighties. I didn't happen to have any obsolete coinage handy but the scales weighed me anyway. I was twelve stone two; the scales agreed exactly with my digital ones at home. That's a perfectly fine weight for my height (nearly six foot) but it's where the weight is that I need to watch. I've now got a spare tyre which I didn't have before I came to Wellington. My new place has a gym and I need to start using it. Realising my food stocks - and petrol - were low, I went to Pak 'n' Save. After buying a few groceries I tried using their totally unmanned petrol station. It was bad as trying to figure out some of the spreadsheets at work. I felt completely washed out by the time I got home. That day I really just needed to rest. Then one of the new tenants at my old flat - she's Indian and eight months pregnant - came round to look at my fridge. I ended up with two fridges and she wanted to buy the older one off me.
I was able to recharge my batteries over the weekend. I worked on the PowerPoint presentation for the business idea my cousin has for me, read large chunks of Tony Attwood's book on Asperger's, but best of all didn't see or get phone calls from anybody. Not having the internet had its advantages too. The most strenuous thing I did all weekend was pick up some fruit and vege from the market. I still have a whole load of boxes that I've yet to unpack.
I felt far from 100% on Monday but went into work because after what had happened the previous week, and the whole Friday/Monday thing, I didn't want them to think I was skiving. I still didn't have a phone in my flat then - Dad rang me at work having returned from his not-exactly-a-holiday. I went to the Asperger's group that night. Nine of us were there. We decided to make a list of all the subjects covered in the meeting. I started off writing on the blackboard but I couldn't keep track of all the topics, such is my memory (or forgettory) at the moment. Tracy, who has an almost photographic memory, took over and put me out of my misery.
Tuesday was a bad day. I slept through my alarm and got up just before eight. I still got to work at an acceptable time but felt quite disoriented. I was functioning on 10% of capacity, knowing that I'd need to be at 200% to keep up with my boss. He got me to do what I thought was just a copy-and-paste job but ended up being a lot more. I was doing my absolute best to get it done but I couldn't remember where things were and it was like I was running uphill backwards through treacle. There seemed to be a lot more noise than usual and of course so much Mandarin. The incessant talk from the three women in Finance about the Big Four accountancy firms was becoming repulsive. I feel more and more isolated with each passing day in that place. I also feel exceptionally stupid the whole time I'm there. I had to come home at lunchtime to get my phone connected. In the afternoon I asked my boss something about the job I was trying to do. He asked me when I'd have it finished. I told him I really didn't know. "But you've already spent four hours on it!" "Look. Just coming to work is a success for me at the moment." "WHAT!" I spent the next few minutes in the toilet, then calmly said to him that I really wasn't that well and that I was going home. He just laughed at me. "What about work?" "I could be here all night. I won't make any difference. As I said, I'm not very well." Again he laughed. "If you don't understand that, you're obviously very ignorant." Then I went home. He gave me a sarcastic wave.
As soon as I got home my bloody mobile rang. It was an 09 number. Phew. It happened to be Vodafone, not my boss or anybody ghastly like that. Five minutes later it rang again. This time it was my boss, or rather the big boss. I ignored it. Then he rang again. I picked it up. He was a bit more sympathetic than my other boss. He told me to take two days off work and even asked if I had anyone in my apartment block I could talk to. I wish I did. After dinner my other phone rang and it was Julie, hoping that my number hadn't changed. She said she was in a bad way. I tried to listen and agreed to meet her on Thursday. I managed to end the conversation, then my mobile rang again. Who can this be? I'd totally forgotten about the people coming to pick up the fridge. Three blokes came round, gave me $170 (I think they got a good deal), and would somehow lug the fridge the 500-odd metres back to my old flat. They had only just hauled the fridge into the lift when Mum and Dad rang me. I didn't mention work.
Many organisations offer an external counselling service; I was advised to make an appointment which I had at 12:30 today. My cousin rang me at about 11:15 to talk about the business idea but I couldn't take in half of what she said. It was quite a long phone call which meant I was running late for my meeting. I did make it on time but must have looked quite dishevelled. It was a useful meeting if only to get one or two things off my chest. He did say I need to learn to say a particular two-letter word. This afternoon was a bit of a write-off although I did send a useful email to my cousin saying that we need to back off from the business thing because I'm clinically depressed and struggling to cope. Tonight I went to the tramping club. I met Danielle and signed up to a day trip next month but there were hordes of people there and it was good to get home.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Nonna
In 2008 Gran published a book which covered her long, interesting and varied life, concentrating mainly on her childhood which was spent in Wales. She wrote very well I must say, even if the motivation to write eluded her at times. I took my copy of the book up to Auckland with me – I thought some of my friends might find it interesting, especially the photos.
My grandfather was a Squadron Leader in the RAF. In the sixties they were based in Naples, which sounds like a crazy but beautiful place, if that makes any sense. My grandma liked to be known as Nonna, the Italian word for grandmother; that’s what we called her most of the time. I was taken by surprise, therefore, when I saw this shop a couple of minutes’ walk from the motel I stayed in:
What, if anything, the shop is selling I really haven’t a clue, but it’s full of old guitars, amps and Radiohead memorabilia. Not a granny to be seen. The umlaut is a bit of a mystery too.
I’d planned to make a (bad) joke about her becoming a Nonna-genarian at her next birthday but alas she died four months too soon. I’ll miss her a lot. She was very good to me as a boy: she (embarrassingly) favoured me over her other two grandsons.
In 2000 I flew with her to Cairns to visit my parents (Mum did a year’s teaching exchange over there). We spent a week in Penang on the way over there. Later that year she visited me in Lyon and almost died on the flight. Her heart had stopped beating for an extended period although she didn’t know that at the time. I vividly remember her being wheeled out, well after all the other passengers had gone through, looking almost unrecognisable from the Nonna I knew. She seemed to perk up though, so I took her around Lyon’s attractions, oblivious to how ill she was. In the summer of 2001, when she realised what was up (after one or two more episodes), she got a pacemaker fitted. The four-hour-plus operation was not without a hitch – afterwards she said it would have been nice to have “sailed away” then, as she put it, but she still had six or seven good years left in her. She visited New Zealand for the third time in 2005, having come here in ’89 (with my grandfather, while we lived out here) and ’98 (with Dad). In ’06 I made a trip to the UK; she and I spent a week in Paris. In ’08 I made another trip to England and went on a short holiday to Italy with a university friend; in those four days Nonna had slipped a lot – she must have had a stroke while I was away. A week earlier she was hooning around town in her Nissan Micra (well, not exactly: she went at about the same speed as farmers go in their tractors, but at least she was driving) and now she was trying to make phone calls using a TV remote or a calculator. Knowing the importance of one’s independence I tried to convince her to get back in the driving seat – she went 100 metres down the road and that was the last time she ever drove. She did bounce back but was never quite the same. I’m so glad I managed to see her in 2010 – although she’d slipped a long way, she was still her at that stage.
I’ve been staying at a hotel on Great South Road, close to Remuera train station and only a few doors down from the offices of Lifeline, which I unfortunately pulled the plug on half-way through the training programme.
Richard and I met up in Newmarket on Saturday before attending the Asperger’s group at their first meeting at the new location. Unlike the old place it doesn’t have an outdoor area, which is a shame, but its acoustics are much more suitable. About 25 turned up – I’d almost forgotten how positive an experience those monthly meetings were for me. It was really good to see Chris in a more positive frame of mind – 2011 was something of an annus horribilis for him I think. I felt a certain sense of shame as I made less than positive noises about my work when others in the room would have given their right arm for any kind of job.
On Sunday I took the train to Papakura to see Bazza. He’d obviously been busy cleaning – his flat had a strong smell of disinfectant. He hasn’t done a bad job with his place really and for somebody who doesn’t drive he’s got everything close at hand. He doesn’t have a lot of mod cons but he’s got Sky, so we watched some of the Aussie Open which, unlike in past years, I haven’t been following closely. He has a habit of talking incessantly during the game, and calling balls out that are in (which he also did in matches involving him!). His pronunciations of players’ names and nationalities can be amusing at times. For instance I never knew that Djokovic came from Suburbia. I’m glad I caught the match between Na Li and Kim Clijsters – a repeat of last year’s final – in which Clijsters dodged four bullets to come from 6-2 down in the second-set tie-break, sneaking through in the end as the Chinese launched a fightback of her own in the deciding set.
On Monday I met Mandy, my old work colleague, in Takapuna. Unlike me she’s making big positive strides in her job and is even dating one of her high-flying workmates. We had pizza at Mac’s bar – or whatever it’s called – on the main drag.
Today I’ve been catching up with Richard, who showed me his wonderful drawing of Emma, and I’m now sitting peacefully in Cornwall Park – one of the best bits of Auckland I think – writing this on my laptop. My flight goes at seven. It’s back to work tomorrow and who knows what’s in store for me there.
My grandfather was a Squadron Leader in the RAF. In the sixties they were based in Naples, which sounds like a crazy but beautiful place, if that makes any sense. My grandma liked to be known as Nonna, the Italian word for grandmother; that’s what we called her most of the time. I was taken by surprise, therefore, when I saw this shop a couple of minutes’ walk from the motel I stayed in:
What, if anything, the shop is selling I really haven’t a clue, but it’s full of old guitars, amps and Radiohead memorabilia. Not a granny to be seen. The umlaut is a bit of a mystery too.
I’d planned to make a (bad) joke about her becoming a Nonna-genarian at her next birthday but alas she died four months too soon. I’ll miss her a lot. She was very good to me as a boy: she (embarrassingly) favoured me over her other two grandsons.
In 2000 I flew with her to Cairns to visit my parents (Mum did a year’s teaching exchange over there). We spent a week in Penang on the way over there. Later that year she visited me in Lyon and almost died on the flight. Her heart had stopped beating for an extended period although she didn’t know that at the time. I vividly remember her being wheeled out, well after all the other passengers had gone through, looking almost unrecognisable from the Nonna I knew. She seemed to perk up though, so I took her around Lyon’s attractions, oblivious to how ill she was. In the summer of 2001, when she realised what was up (after one or two more episodes), she got a pacemaker fitted. The four-hour-plus operation was not without a hitch – afterwards she said it would have been nice to have “sailed away” then, as she put it, but she still had six or seven good years left in her. She visited New Zealand for the third time in 2005, having come here in ’89 (with my grandfather, while we lived out here) and ’98 (with Dad). In ’06 I made a trip to the UK; she and I spent a week in Paris. In ’08 I made another trip to England and went on a short holiday to Italy with a university friend; in those four days Nonna had slipped a lot – she must have had a stroke while I was away. A week earlier she was hooning around town in her Nissan Micra (well, not exactly: she went at about the same speed as farmers go in their tractors, but at least she was driving) and now she was trying to make phone calls using a TV remote or a calculator. Knowing the importance of one’s independence I tried to convince her to get back in the driving seat – she went 100 metres down the road and that was the last time she ever drove. She did bounce back but was never quite the same. I’m so glad I managed to see her in 2010 – although she’d slipped a long way, she was still her at that stage.
I’ve been staying at a hotel on Great South Road, close to Remuera train station and only a few doors down from the offices of Lifeline, which I unfortunately pulled the plug on half-way through the training programme.
Richard and I met up in Newmarket on Saturday before attending the Asperger’s group at their first meeting at the new location. Unlike the old place it doesn’t have an outdoor area, which is a shame, but its acoustics are much more suitable. About 25 turned up – I’d almost forgotten how positive an experience those monthly meetings were for me. It was really good to see Chris in a more positive frame of mind – 2011 was something of an annus horribilis for him I think. I felt a certain sense of shame as I made less than positive noises about my work when others in the room would have given their right arm for any kind of job.
On Sunday I took the train to Papakura to see Bazza. He’d obviously been busy cleaning – his flat had a strong smell of disinfectant. He hasn’t done a bad job with his place really and for somebody who doesn’t drive he’s got everything close at hand. He doesn’t have a lot of mod cons but he’s got Sky, so we watched some of the Aussie Open which, unlike in past years, I haven’t been following closely. He has a habit of talking incessantly during the game, and calling balls out that are in (which he also did in matches involving him!). His pronunciations of players’ names and nationalities can be amusing at times. For instance I never knew that Djokovic came from Suburbia. I’m glad I caught the match between Na Li and Kim Clijsters – a repeat of last year’s final – in which Clijsters dodged four bullets to come from 6-2 down in the second-set tie-break, sneaking through in the end as the Chinese launched a fightback of her own in the deciding set.
On Monday I met Mandy, my old work colleague, in Takapuna. Unlike me she’s making big positive strides in her job and is even dating one of her high-flying workmates. We had pizza at Mac’s bar – or whatever it’s called – on the main drag.
Today I’ve been catching up with Richard, who showed me his wonderful drawing of Emma, and I’m now sitting peacefully in Cornwall Park – one of the best bits of Auckland I think – writing this on my laptop. My flight goes at seven. It’s back to work tomorrow and who knows what’s in store for me there.
Monday, October 10, 2011
I don't get it
I've never been diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome and I don't plan on getting a diagnosis, but lately I've been pondering a few of the things so-called "normal" people do that I find quite baffling:
1. Dancing.
I can't remember when I last danced. It was definitely in 19-something. Unlike some of the other items on my list, I really wish I did get dancing because some people really seem to enjoy it. In a way I do get it - music is extremely evocative; hear a song on the radio and I'll be transported back to where I first heard it, possibly ten or twenty years ago. Sometimes I'll involuntarily tap my foot to music I like, and dancing is just an extension of foot-tapping. But the bit I really don't understand is when everyone decides to dance in a big group at a nightclub or somewhere similar. Why there, why not at Pak 'n' Save or any of the other places you hear music? Someone once tried to explain it to me along the lines of "Pak 'n Save is shopping, nightclubs are social" but that didn't cut any ice with me.
2. Buying clothes.
This could be a man thing as much as an Aspie thing, but why do people keep buying new clothes to replace their perfectly good "old" (but really still quite new) ones? I understand that clothes serve various purposes - to keep you warm and to express oneself being two obvious ones - but buying the latest style achieves very little by way of self-expression. Plus getting rid of perfectly good clothes is very wasteful. I do buy clothes from time to time, mostly from second-hand shops or on TradeMe. On the odd occasion I buy something from a standard clothes shop, it's usually for work purposes.
3. Leaving someone's house.
When I was growing up, I could never understand why someone would say "right, I'd better be off now" at 8:30 and still bloody well be there at five to nine. It still confuses me now. What is it, some kind of game? If so, how come nobody explained the rules to me.
4. Watching sport on TV.
I watch less sport than I used to, but the rugby World Cup has made me think of this. I've never seen the attraction of watching sport on TV in a large group, such as in a pub, when I can do so from the comfort of my home where I can see the screen and hear the commentary but can't smell other people's bodies.
5. Weddings.
Do I really have to elaborate? One of the (male!) presenters on breakfast TV recently said "weddings, they're just so much fun" and I had to switch over. However, if a really close friend of mine were ever to get married, I'd be so happy for that person that I'm sure I'd find the occasion a very joyous one.
1. Dancing.
I can't remember when I last danced. It was definitely in 19-something. Unlike some of the other items on my list, I really wish I did get dancing because some people really seem to enjoy it. In a way I do get it - music is extremely evocative; hear a song on the radio and I'll be transported back to where I first heard it, possibly ten or twenty years ago. Sometimes I'll involuntarily tap my foot to music I like, and dancing is just an extension of foot-tapping. But the bit I really don't understand is when everyone decides to dance in a big group at a nightclub or somewhere similar. Why there, why not at Pak 'n' Save or any of the other places you hear music? Someone once tried to explain it to me along the lines of "Pak 'n Save is shopping, nightclubs are social" but that didn't cut any ice with me.
2. Buying clothes.
This could be a man thing as much as an Aspie thing, but why do people keep buying new clothes to replace their perfectly good "old" (but really still quite new) ones? I understand that clothes serve various purposes - to keep you warm and to express oneself being two obvious ones - but buying the latest style achieves very little by way of self-expression. Plus getting rid of perfectly good clothes is very wasteful. I do buy clothes from time to time, mostly from second-hand shops or on TradeMe. On the odd occasion I buy something from a standard clothes shop, it's usually for work purposes.
3. Leaving someone's house.
When I was growing up, I could never understand why someone would say "right, I'd better be off now" at 8:30 and still bloody well be there at five to nine. It still confuses me now. What is it, some kind of game? If so, how come nobody explained the rules to me.
4. Watching sport on TV.
I watch less sport than I used to, but the rugby World Cup has made me think of this. I've never seen the attraction of watching sport on TV in a large group, such as in a pub, when I can do so from the comfort of my home where I can see the screen and hear the commentary but can't smell other people's bodies.
5. Weddings.
Do I really have to elaborate? One of the (male!) presenters on breakfast TV recently said "weddings, they're just so much fun" and I had to switch over. However, if a really close friend of mine were ever to get married, I'd be so happy for that person that I'm sure I'd find the occasion a very joyous one.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
It's snow joke
I'm hunkering down in my Wellington pad (what a great word "hunker" is) with the temperature hovering at just one degree. We had a few flurries of snow this afternoon - not an everyday occurrence on even a once-a-decade one. The sun did come out earlier in the day but since then it's felt like England in February.
Great news: Common sense has finally prevailed in the Arie Smith-Voorkamp case (the Asperger's chap who "looted" those two light bulbs after the Christchurch quake). The police have "dropped it". Thank heavens for that.
Great news: Common sense has finally prevailed in the Arie Smith-Voorkamp case (the Asperger's chap who "looted" those two light bulbs after the Christchurch quake). The police have "dropped it". Thank heavens for that.
Friday, July 22, 2011
The Big Smoke
I touched down at Auckland airport on Saturday lunchtime; from there I made my way to the autism group. I'd forgotten what a head-spinning occasion it can be, and that's speaking as someone who has never been diagnosed with any form of autism. Trying to keep track of ten conversations (or monologues) at once is no easy task. But for all the acoustic challenges the monthly meeting presents, it's still a wonderful thing they've got going up there. Autistic adults need all the support they can get. The Arie Smith case was a major topic of discussion again. The point I made (when I finally got a word in edgeways) was that Cantabrians are less tolerant of people who are a bit "different" than those from other parts of the country. In addition to having Asperger's, Arie is gay, and I'm sure that doesn't help his cause in red-and-black territory. Whatever, it should be blindingly obvious to police that he has a disability, and they should show some compassion (and common sense) by dropping the case.
That evening I settled into my hotel room in Parnell. The woman at reception wanted to know my ZIP code, then told me my room was on the first floor when it was on the ground floor. She sounded perfectly Kiwi to me, so what was with all the American terminology?
On a sunny Sunday morning I went to La Cigale, the popular French market nearby. I only bought some odd bits of fruit but was fascinated by their wine cellar. When it comes to the price of vintage wines it appears the sky's the limit. I couldn't figure out why a bottle sometimes differed in price by $100 from a seemingly identical bottle right next to it. Maybe Richard (who is something of a connoisseur) could give me some idea.
This 1957 Chevy was parked outside the market. A beast of a car with a number plate to match. Forget all those vowelless what-the-hell-does-that-say combinations you see so often; this one gets straight to the point. On the subject of plates, the letter G has started to appear as the first letter of standard (non-personalised) issues. It took a long time to get through the F's in spite of all the combinations like FAG and FUK that they must have skipped over - a sign of the tough economic times I guess. My Camry dates from the two-letter system - appropriately, given my reluctance to make decisions, those two letters are UM.
On a sunny Sunday morning I went to La Cigale, the popular French market nearby. I only bought some odd bits of fruit but was fascinated by their wine cellar. When it comes to the price of vintage wines it appears the sky's the limit. I couldn't figure out why a bottle sometimes differed in price by $100 from a seemingly identical bottle right next to it. Maybe Richard (who is something of a connoisseur) could give me some idea.
This 1957 Chevy was parked outside the market. A beast of a car with a number plate to match. Forget all those vowelless what-the-hell-does-that-say combinations you see so often; this one gets straight to the point. On the subject of plates, the letter G has started to appear as the first letter of standard (non-personalised) issues. It took a long time to get through the F's in spite of all the combinations like FAG and FUK that they must have skipped over - a sign of the tough economic times I guess. My Camry dates from the two-letter system - appropriately, given my reluctance to make decisions, those two letters are UM.
Sunday afternoon was a bit stressful as I hung around in the city, not really knowing what was happening. This wasn't anybody's fault but by the time we saw the final Harry Potter movie (Richard, another member of the Aspie group and myself) I was really past caring. The film was good, I think, but I hadn't seen any of them since number two and I struggled to concentrate. I was feeling a bit low and my mind was in a dozen other places.
Monday was an unusually busy day for me on the social front. First I met Julie in Devonport for coffee. The mental health system in Auckland has failed her, she's seen six figures disappear in failed finance companies, and most recently her dog (which he was very fond of and gave her some purpose in life) has been put down. She was understandably upset when I saw her. The good news is that she intends to leave Auckland and make a new start (at the age of 65) in Wellington.
I then met Mandy, the only contact I've kept from my last so-called big job. She left the company last September, nine months after I made my exit. She now works for another insurance company and is much happier there. We walked along Takapuna Beach in the sunshine, something I used to do regularly before our offices moved to an impersonal business park where there was nothing to do at lunchtime but attempt the crossword. As a side note, who should I meet on the bus from Devonport to Takapuna? None other than Bazza, for whom going to the shore is almost a day trip.
I then met Mandy, the only contact I've kept from my last so-called big job. She left the company last September, nine months after I made my exit. She now works for another insurance company and is much happier there. We walked along Takapuna Beach in the sunshine, something I used to do regularly before our offices moved to an impersonal business park where there was nothing to do at lunchtime but attempt the crossword. As a side note, who should I meet on the bus from Devonport to Takapuna? None other than Bazza, for whom going to the shore is almost a day trip.
I had a quick catch-up with a guy from an employment agency who I still keep in touch with, and then met Andy in the Mad Dogs and Englishmen pub in Wairau Park for a drink. In his life things are moving at breakneck speed: he's got engaged (he met his fiancée just six months ago) and there's talk of houses, kids and all those things normal people have. Andy left shortly after six but I stuck around and ate a lamb shank (tasty and more meat than I'd bargained for). I got back to the hotel at around nine and eventually fell asleep watching darts on TV in a flashback to the early nineties.
On Tuesday I met Richard at his new flat in Greenlane after losing my bearings a bit on the way. He lives with three females if you include the Siberian Husky. I think it's a very positive move for him. We had lunch at a nearby eatery and a decent chat. He hopes (as do I) that he can make a trip to Wellington in the coming months. I then hung around town, which is something I did quite a lot of over the long weekend. When the time came to catch the Airbus I was very glad to leave: I find central Auckland an incredibly soulless place.
On Wednesday - my first day back at work - I felt pretty low. All my thoughts were a function of the state of my mental health. That evening though I spoke to someone in the UK about my business idea, and since then I've been back almost to normal, whatever normal is any more.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Arie Smith-Voorkamp: for heaven's sake let him go
Last night I attended the Wellington Asperger's group. The hot topic of conversation was Arie Smith-Voorkamp, the young Asperger's man who "looted" two light bulbs from a vacant building following the February 22nd earthquake in Christchurch. I was moved by last weekend's Sunday programme in which he and his partner were interviewed; it was upsetting to see how the police had treated him. Public opinion has been highly supportive of Arie since the programme aired. I hope that common sense prevails and the police decide not to waste any more hours and taxpayer dollars on this case. Let the man go.
Here's an interesting autism-based website - humans.org.nz - which has an article on Arie.
We had two new members at last night's group. It was a pleasure to meet them. This Saturday I'll be at the Auckland group for the first time in four months. I'm looking forward to that a lot.
My boss left last Friday; work has already ratcheted up a few notches since then. In the last two days all my feelings of inadequacy have flooded back. A short break from the office (I'm taking next Monday and Tuesday off) could be just what I need.
Here's an interesting autism-based website - humans.org.nz - which has an article on Arie.
We had two new members at last night's group. It was a pleasure to meet them. This Saturday I'll be at the Auckland group for the first time in four months. I'm looking forward to that a lot.
My boss left last Friday; work has already ratcheted up a few notches since then. In the last two days all my feelings of inadequacy have flooded back. A short break from the office (I'm taking next Monday and Tuesday off) could be just what I need.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Putting my own job into perspective
Some not-so-great news this morning. My brother is off to Afghanistan. Mum and Dad only found out when a pile of bumph from the British army arrived in the mail. He's already put his body on the line enough thank you very much, which is why he wanted out of the army. But they recently persuaded him to stay by giving him a new (supposedly front-line-free) role. Of course my brother (thirty next month) is experienced and a very useful man to have on the front line, so they'd love him to go. My own job feels pretty damn good all of a sudden.
Last night I attended the Asperger's group, which took place at their offices in Thorndon instead of at a pub. There were five of us, a massive improvement on the previous turnout. Unusually for Asperger's groups, women were in the majority. The other bloke wasn't your typical Aspie at all (there's no way I would have picked him) - I wondered if he had ADHD instead. The two women I hadn't met before were both in their twenties and very easy to get along with. The topic of conversation changed at lightning speed; not every topic would be printable in your local gazette.
My car failed its WOF in style; I was quoted a ridiculous amount to get it up to scratch. I took it in on the way to work and was wearing a suit so perhaps they saw me coming. I don't trust car mechanics any further than I can throw them so I'll get it tested somewhere else, hoping all the "failure notes" didn't get permanently stored in the system, and see what happens.
Being able to survive without a car is one of the (several) great things about Wellington. It's also just as well I've got off-street parking or else I'd face a $200 fine. I'm amazed the local council can issue fines for expired WOFs - it should be a police matter surely. Parking fines for expired WOFs and registrations are a regressive form of tax for two reasons: people with lower incomes are more likely to have to park on the street and get clobbered with the fine in the first place, and of course if you earn less the $200 is a bigger proportion of your income.
Wimbledon is in full swing but it's not the big deal to me it once was. I no longer meticulously write out a draw sheet with all the winners and losers and scores. I no longer bring my bedroom TV down to the living room so I can watch two matches on different channels at the same time. My move to New Zealand didn't help. But still I've been keeping vaguely up to date with the action. The top women's seeds have been dropping like flies. Sharapova must be the favourite now, but I'm rooting for Marion Bartoli. Her unusual playing style and bouncing around between points make her seem completely mad. We need more of that in tennis. She plays her quarter- final tonight. After her last three matches (saving three match points, then winning 9-7 in the third, then beating Serena) she probably thinks she can't lose.
Update: I put the mockers on Miss Bartoli. All that bouncing around caught up with her in the end. She saved three more match points in the second set against Sabine Lisicki, then levelled the match on a tie-break only to lose the third 6-1. Sharapova on the other hand stormed into the semis, beating Cibulkova 6-1 6-1.
Last night I attended the Asperger's group, which took place at their offices in Thorndon instead of at a pub. There were five of us, a massive improvement on the previous turnout. Unusually for Asperger's groups, women were in the majority. The other bloke wasn't your typical Aspie at all (there's no way I would have picked him) - I wondered if he had ADHD instead. The two women I hadn't met before were both in their twenties and very easy to get along with. The topic of conversation changed at lightning speed; not every topic would be printable in your local gazette.
My car failed its WOF in style; I was quoted a ridiculous amount to get it up to scratch. I took it in on the way to work and was wearing a suit so perhaps they saw me coming. I don't trust car mechanics any further than I can throw them so I'll get it tested somewhere else, hoping all the "failure notes" didn't get permanently stored in the system, and see what happens.
Being able to survive without a car is one of the (several) great things about Wellington. It's also just as well I've got off-street parking or else I'd face a $200 fine. I'm amazed the local council can issue fines for expired WOFs - it should be a police matter surely. Parking fines for expired WOFs and registrations are a regressive form of tax for two reasons: people with lower incomes are more likely to have to park on the street and get clobbered with the fine in the first place, and of course if you earn less the $200 is a bigger proportion of your income.
Wimbledon is in full swing but it's not the big deal to me it once was. I no longer meticulously write out a draw sheet with all the winners and losers and scores. I no longer bring my bedroom TV down to the living room so I can watch two matches on different channels at the same time. My move to New Zealand didn't help. But still I've been keeping vaguely up to date with the action. The top women's seeds have been dropping like flies. Sharapova must be the favourite now, but I'm rooting for Marion Bartoli. Her unusual playing style and bouncing around between points make her seem completely mad. We need more of that in tennis. She plays her quarter- final tonight. After her last three matches (saving three match points, then winning 9-7 in the third, then beating Serena) she probably thinks she can't lose.
Update: I put the mockers on Miss Bartoli. All that bouncing around caught up with her in the end. She saved three more match points in the second set against Sabine Lisicki, then levelled the match on a tie-break only to lose the third 6-1. Sharapova on the other hand stormed into the semis, beating Cibulkova 6-1 6-1.
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