Springingtiger's Blog


My Skin Crawls

Skin crawling,
Muscles aching,
Lights glaring.
Voices blaring.
Not much fun,
Need a gun.
In my defense
I’d plead silence.

My skin feels as if a billion tiny insects are crawling over it, I desperately want to scratch, but once I start, I will find it hard to stop. I do not think there is any sensation worse than this whole body itch. Pain is not as agonizing as this, my every nerve is stretched tighter than a violin string on the point of snapping. On the point of snapping is where my temper sits just now; when I describe myself as ‘irritated’, I am not speaking metaphorically. Perhaps worst of all, I am itching inside my ears where my fingers are too fat to scratch.

This itch is unfortunately accompanied by excessive photosensitivity so that my eyes are prickling and watering. I have tskem refuge behind dark glasses, but they feel heavy and uncomfortable on my nose, and they make my eyebrows itch. The best thing about them is that they keep the world out.

At a time like this my sensitivity to noise becomes almost unbearable. It sounds as if everyone is shouting whereas , in reality, they are merely speaking, and there are altogether too many people speaking. The sound of passing traffic is deafening, fortunately it is nearly midnight so the traffic density is light. The photocopier on the other side of the room is far too loud for comfort. I wish everyone would just shut up.

My joints and muscles are suffused with a constant ache which every movement transforms into severe burning stab wound, but it’s not as bad as the itching, nothing is as bad as the itching.

It is a day since I wrote the above and I have hardly slept because of the over sensitivity. The strange thing is the way my wife beside me on the bed can hardly hear the sounds and voices irritating me. It’s hard to sleep when you’re itching all over and all the places your body touches the bed actually hurt. The good thing is, as I know from experience, this will pass.



Sound and Vision

Before NaPoWriMo it would never have occurred to me to try and rhyme either Pythagarean or multidimensional, it’s not easy!

I love to see the shape of sound
That resonates and shines around
My house; and, with shapes, fills my head,
From before dawn til time for bed.
Shapes reflecting all words said;
Pythagorus has never known
Some of the structures I’ve been shown.
In a concert there may be an
Abundance of new and strange forms
Far beyond Pythagorean
Imagination, which transforms
Music merely sensational,
Into something which may be found
To be multidimensional.

It’s a different perception
Of any sounds reception
That has music, so often felt,
Be something seen and even smelt.



Through a Glass Darkly

Sometimes there is a dichotomy
Between what is there for me,
And what you know to be true;
A wall my mind can’t break through,
And a truth it cannot see.

Nothing’s wrong with my perception,
But a break with my conception.
Thus nothing makes any sense
And all is confused, so hence
Senses find no reception.

Like looking out through a glass
On worlds of another class,
Another reality,
Or an abnormality
Where unreason comes to pass.

Literally losing my mind
And the reason I would find;
Although my eyes can well see,
Mind can’t interpret for me
I might just as well be blind.

New deep thoughts form in my brain
Then to express them I strain,
I struggle, but cannot reach
The shapes that make up my speech;
And so I retreat again.



Obsession

I forgot to eat today, as I sometimes do, when my mind is on other things. Our weather has been miserable for so long, since last Spring, that many garden jobs remain undone. Today the sun came out and so I set about tackling a to do list that makes War and Peace look like a Post It note.

I decided to paint my fence, a task delayed by two wet summers, and started straight after breakfast. I had already brushed it, in the teeth of a gale, with a wire brush, some days ago, before the rain interrupted me. I finished my wire brushing and then started to paint, intending to pause for lunch. Neelam came home in the afternoon and made a cup of tea, I drank it and continued. I continued until I ground to a halt, too tired and too sore to do anything more.

It was only after all my things were away and my brushes washed that I realised I was hungry. This is not a new thing, I have always had the gift, or curse, of getting so absorbed in what I’m doing that everything else escapes me. When I am absorbed there is little point in talking to me because I cannot hear you, I am unlikely to hear anything which is strange as I tend to be oversensitive to sounds. I really don’t know how this works, it is as if my senses have an off switch. In meditation one of the goals is to withdraw the senses from their objects; who needs meditation when you can have a good book or even a paint brush and a fence.



Going Home

I quite enjoy flying when I get a window seat, but airports can be traumatic. Above all, for me there are two main danger points, queuing and security, I hate going through security. No matter what I do I nearly always have to submit to a search, which I always find stressful, but before I even reach the metal detectors, I am already tense from the anticipation, the emptying of pockets and removing of shoes. Last year when we went on holiday, Neelam was concerned that I was about to hit one of the security men, fortunately, so far, it has not come to that. I hate queues but I think most people do. It’s not so much the pace, as the press of too many people that upsets me. Our arrival today was much better, instead of having to wait for the seats in front of us to file out, the back doors just behind us were open so we could walk across the tarmac. I do dislike waiting for my cases in Baggage Reclaim, but today they came through quite quickly.

Although the plane was later than we expected, and the rush hour had begun we were not greatly delayed and got done all we needed to do on the way home. No sooner had I got home than I was on an inspiring telephone call about the possibilities for the long poem I’m writing. The call finished and just when I thought the day couldn’t get any better, my wife told me Margaret Thatcher had died. I am sorry I’m missing the street party and the half price drinks on the pub, but I shall shed no tears. Perhaps the only person more hated around this part of Scotland is Hitler and, to hear some people talk, that’s not certain. However while she is hated up here, she has family who probably love her and friends who appear to hold her in affection (although they seen mostly to be English Tories). It seems to me a little insensitive to vilify her quite as viciously on social media as some are. Thatcher is dead, surely it’s time to turn our hated against David Cameron, who has all Thatcher’s unpleasant political beliefs, but only a fraction of her presence and personality.



Yesterday
April 7, 2013, 09:05
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , ,

Yesterday, was a wonderful day.
Yesterday, my back pain disappeared.
Art Giser  did the process
That disappeared it, yesterday.

Yesterday, was a fabulous day.
Yesterday, we met with my brother
And his wife  Beverley
In Covent Garden, yesterday.

Yesterday, was a lovely day.
Yesterday, we dined in Gaby’s.
As always the food was good
In Gaby’s Deli, yesterday.

Yesterday, was a secure day.
Yesterday, I felt safe and happy
Tho’ surrounded by people
In London City, yesterday.

Yesterday, was a fortunate day.
Yesterday , I did not feel confused
Tho’ it was loud in the crowd
That was around me, yesterday.

Yesterday, was a happy day.
Yesterday, I felt  appreciated
And loved by people who matter
To me personally, yesterday.

Yesterday, was a wonderful day.
Yesterday, was one of the best ever.
But I know for sure today, is going
To be much better than yesterday.



Pain
April 6, 2013, 08:40
Filed under: asperger's syndrome, autism, disability | Tags: , , ,

There is the pain of awakening
And the pain that awakens me
At four o clock in the morning,
Before the birds begin to sing,
Shooting through my back.

It’s not enough to make me weep,
Or indeed, to worry me,
But it’s enough to banish sleep,
Enough to have me keep
Vigil until the dawning.

Only the pain that is acute
Really impacts upon me,
The sudden agony that shoots
Through my being’s very roots
And destroys my sleep.

I am hyposensitive,
Fortunately for me,
With chronic pain I’ll live,
But I’d rather not, I give,
So I shall undo it.

I shall use exercise ,
Avoid the pills that slow me.
No relief, that way lies..
The meditation of the wise
Shall be the life I live.

And so I go into this day,
Nothing can stop me.
I am determined to play
With fascination on the way,
It’s the way to really live.



Emotional Stuff

I may have mentioned before that I really find emotions difficult. I think my difficulties with understanding how actions give consequences may be a part of my difficulty with emotions. When I am presented with other people’s they are almost always unexpected, if I knew someone else was likely to be upset by a chain of events, I would be prepared and handle it better. There is an argument that says that when my wife is upset I should be prepared, but I still get surprised.

When my wife’s iPhone got soaked, i shrugged it off as a minor inconvenience, which to me it was, it was not my phone. I stupidly failed to realise that Neelam might see the possible loss of everything she had on the phone, as more than a minor inconvenience. Neelam has had that phone for a few years and has been asking me to sync it for most of that time. I have little sense of the passing of time and had no sense of urgency, I fully intended to sync the phone, I just hadn’t got around to it. All would have been ok if it hadn’t fallen in the water. On reflection I can see why she was less than pleased with me.

Fortunately Neelam’s phone problems appear to be resolved, however trying to sort out one problem ate up time she needed for other things. Right in the middle of sorting out bags today, we had a power cut for several hours. My response to other people’s upset is to withdraw into myself, to some extent to avoid making things worse, but that meant I was not proactively offering help when she wanted it. Sometimes, actually a lot of the time, I need to be told specifically what I should do. Sometimes I feel that whatever I say or do will be wrong so I do nothing; sometimes nothing is worse than the wrong thing. And so I tread on eggshells wondering what will happen next, an indeterminate apprehension of impending emotional storms restricting my ability to act.

I also have problems with the expression of emotions. A clear explosion of anger is understandable, but what I cannot do is read subtle expressions. I know that something is wrong but I am not sure what or how to respond to it. Somedays I feel that when I was sent to earth, the dispatcher on the mothership forgot to give me the guide book that explained humans. I don’t know about other people but I find emotions exhausting. but the most exhausting of all are the emotions of other people. Someone please beam me up, now!



The Writes of Spring.

We have snow, but I’m not complaining, Glasgow has come out of this winter with rather less bad weather inconvenience than most of Britain. What I really would like to know, is what has happened to our Spring. I look out of the window and I am not seeing Spring, I’m seeing snow, rain, the wind lashing the trees. March is supposed to “come in like a lion and go out like a lamb” but this year it seems intent on hanging around like a polar bear. The frozen ground and snow make it impossible to really get much done in the garden. I suppose I could get some of the outstanding clearing up done, but the weather is so bitter I am disinclined to spend much time outside. It’s not all bad news, of course, as the extra time indoors allows me to continue my quest to publish a daily blog.

That quest is slightly frustrated by our temperamental internet connection; there are days when, were it not for my phone – with its nifty Google Drive, WordPress and Blogger Apps – I would have to admit defeat and not post. I am determined that some day soon I am going to write my blog entirely on my phone and, rather than edit the text, publish it with the word suggestions made by predictive text intact. I use Swype most of the time rather than Samsung IME; I love the speed of Swype, but it has to be watched, it uses words I don’t intend to! As a general rule even when the Internet is cooperating, careful editing is called for as my fingers tend to rearrange letters; some days it’s not so much editing as translating and, if I’ve forgotten what I intended to say, rewrites of whole sentences.

I had hoped by now to perhaps be able to use my garden as a source of material, regaling you with a novice’s struggle to tame nature. I am sorry to say nature has very much the upper hand. I know my weeds understood “Companion Planting” long before I did, why else do they hide close to the thorns of my roses?

My project for this year is to give my granddaughters their own garden. I have a raised bed ready to erect, but I need to get a shift on and get some seeds germinating. As well as flowers, they want “little roses” and strawberries, I’ll need to buy some plants. Lidl has an offer coming up on children’s garden tools, so my first step will be a shopping trip; I’m not sure where I can get children’s gardening gloves, but I’m sure they are available somewhere.

The Wrongs of Spring
Having written the above I returned home and went to bed, I got up at 17:30 with a migraine starting; how does that work? I thought one went to bed to get rid of a migraine, am I living my life backwards? I had thought to write a second half to this post on awakening, but in all honesty, even with the screen dimmed, I find looking at a screen uncomfortable. Time for dark glasses and painkillers, I think.



Nothing is Real!

Today I am having a stupid day, but it probably started yesterday when I put the bins out a day early. It was a great day Neelam and I went out to celebrate her birthday, first to the cinema to see Les Miserables and then to Dino’s for a very enjoyable risotto. A great day, but one into which the confusion ultimately set. I went to bed thinking it was Wednesday and all today I have been slipping between Wednesday and Thursday, sometimes via Tuesday – does Doctor Who have days like this?

I was supposed to be starting work at 19.00 today but somewhere along the line I had swapped my shift. Unfortunately beyond noting the change in my diary it made little impact on my consciousness, it made so little impact I didn’t even double check my diary because I knew I started at 19.00, admittedly I knew wrong, but no one can accuse me of lacking certainty.

I arrived at work to discover someone was sitting in my chair and the positions I habitually occupy were already taken, not a good start. Rather than sit between two people I went to another row which necessitated some heavy duty cleaning before I was comfortable enough to use the position. At last I was ready to start, but then I was unable to log on. Panic set in – actually that’s not strictly true, but for some people it might have – eventually at 19.10 I managed to log in only to discover I was ninety minutes early. Sadly by the time I noticed, I had logged an exception explaining my lateness, I may not hear the end of this very soon.

No, this is definitely one of those days when your reality and mine are slightly out of sync and the harder I try to lock into your world, the less certain I am of when I am, or is that where? This is very much a Strawberry Fields Day, “Nothing is real” it’s all very strange.




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