Every Little Thing She Does – Part 4
An Adult Aspergers Experience of Living in a Distracting World
We’re re-watching Seasons 2 & 3 of House of Cards, in anticipation of the upcoming release of Season 4…
Me: Listen to these guys! First it’s Feng, then it’s Fang, then it’s Fung. Why can’t they all say his name the same?!
Sally: (smiling) Aspie alert!
I live in two territories. Since I am, by trade, a “science fiction author,” I shall give them appropriately “syfy” names.
The Outerlands is the realm of physicality and other. It’s a place of body and sensation and inputs. A place of objects and light and sound and smell and texture. A place of other people, other lives, other needs, other values, other wants, other agendas. It consists of all that is not contained in the core of conscious self-awareness I know as “me.”
The Innerlands is the realm of personal consciousness and self. It’s a place of images and visions and creativity and connection to the great Mind-at-Large. A place of thoughts, musings, fascinations, interests, speculations, sensations, and emotions. A place of personal needs, personal values, personal wants, and personal agendas. A place of “doing what I came here to do.” It consists of my ongoing story of Self, the conscious self-awareness of “me” that maintains a sense of separation from that which it considers outside of itself.
I could stop at this point and try to unravel the many assumptions, delusions, and dangers contained in the paragraphs above. (Perhaps one of you could do that for me?) Though I’ve given them new names, the categories themselves are an old, old story, and there are plenty of other labels they could go by. But all of that would be beside my point, and I’m not the droid you’re looking for in any event, if you wish to get all philosophical and shee-it. My point is to try to convey how it feels.
It feels like I walk these two territories.
And I like the Innerlands way better than the Outerlands.
I want to explain why that is, and what it means for me, but I’m not sure, at this point, that I understand it clearly myself. So I’ll continue on, piece by piece, and see if I can make it clear, all the time keeping in the back of my mind my starting point: the fact that Sally is so utterly wrong about so many things. I need to hang out for a while in the movie theater of life with Donald Shimoda and Samuel Taylor Coleridge. I need to sit quietly and remote view my own story.
But in the meantime, here’s what I know right now: The reason it matters to me when House of Cards characters pronounce a name differently is the same reason it matters to me when Sally leaves the overhead light on in the kitchen. Both pieces of sensory input can “knock me out of the story.”
And I really hate being knocked out of my story.