Sunday Cross Words – #1 Across
Little Rants from the Aspergers Experience
You know what I really hate? Cold. And hot. And I hate humid. And swampy. As a kid, I used to keep fish in an aquarium, and was struck by the narrow temperature ranges they required. I remember teasing them for being such entitled babies. Now I realize that I’m the same way. I need my aquarium to be kept between 65°F and 72°F, preferably with full sun and a moderate, dry breeze. Call me Goldilocks: I want things “just right.”
Anything other than that and it might as well be a full-on, gut-wrenching, in-your-face storm, which I love: a hurricane, a tornado, a blizzard, maybe even an alien invasion. If I can’t have my aquarium “just right,” then give me weather that’s dramatic and exciting, that holds the promise of a “snow day,” which gives me permission to relax the rules. Well, some of the rules…
One reason I hate certain conditions is that they create a sensation on my skin that is distracting and difficult for me to tolerate. Hot, humid weather feels like slathering on a layer of lotion. It makes my whole body feel like I’ve just eaten a huge cheeseburger and I cannot wait to get to the bathroom to wash my hands, even if I have to use that horrible liquid handsoap from the dispenser, which I also hate, because the toxic odor lingers for so long and does not wish to be rinsed away. Such things make me feel like I’m wrapped in plastic, like I’m suffocating, like my skin is gasping for air. Help me!
Another reason I hate extremes of temperature is that often I fail to notice them right away. I’m sitting there, working on my computer, reading, watching television, whatever, and slowly I’m getting irritated, or anxious, or feeling sick to my stomach, and sometimes it’s not until Sally asks me about it that I realize that it’s fucking freezing in here, and that I’m wearing nothing but shorts and a t-shirt, and that I could, actually, if I could be bothered to, get up and put on a sweater or some socks or even, gads, some long pants.
They say this has something to do with “deficits in executive function,” but c’mon. I’m like, really, Universe? You can’t manage to maintain a constant agreeable temperature and humidity for me so I don’t have to be distracted? Really? I’m busy here. Really?