We would like to introduce ourselves, a married couple, my wife Magda and myself Peter.

This is what unbearably adorable looks like.

Double Pi

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Diagnosis is not an end point.

The other side

STU_1975DPP_001 Photo bu Stu Allsopp 

Diagnosis for autism was a surprisingly unequivocal call for my psychologist.

Ever since I’ve been filling in the gaps. As we approach February I’m shocked to find I’m almost a year old (diagnostically speaking). March 4th will be my birthday.

The other night I had a powerful dream that I was interviewed on national television about being autistic. To articulate what this means in public was clearly wish fulfilment of a kind. I guess I’m tired of being on the margins where I’m invisible and expected to be a good quiet autistic who continues to resemble the neurotypical person everyone (including me) thought I was.

You see I’m learning something important. I don’t want to be that person – one who has to work against my nature and cultural affinities.

Part of this is speaking up and out about everyday matters and expressing my preferences more…

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The Asperger’s / autism spectrum ~ the next evolutionary step?

the silent wave

The first time I heard this theory, it came from my partner, many years ago.  As usual, the threads of the same theory had been assembling in my head, too, but given my then-unknown tendency to separate thought from words/language, I could never quite express it.  When he proposed it, however, this instantly sparked the union of those thoughts and words.  I knew precisely what he meant.

Of course, neither of us made the connection to the Asperger’s/autism spectrum back then, but only because we didn’t know.  We had barely heard the term “Asperger’s”, and we knew the word “autism”, but for us, it conjured up the same imagery that it does for most people today, and back then, that certainly didn’t seem to hold any resemblance to a higher rung on the evolutionary ladder.  We seriously didn’t know.

What he had said, however, was that there had been certain…

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Sunday nights rarely end on time.

There is always one last drop of fun to wring from the few hours between Friday and Monday known as the weekend.

The chores that never seem to get caught up.

The kitty who wants to be the center of attention when my attention is firmly centered elsewhere.

The bottomless cup of distractions the Internet is spectacularly good at hurtling my way.

I make no excuses, nor offer any apologies. It is Sundays that have ending issues.

Perhaps they should see someone about that.

~insomNia Lorre