It should come as no surprise to anyone really that communication is hard for somebody on the Autistic Spectrum. And I am already stumbling, because that sentence implies that the reader knows what it means to be autistic but also that all autistic people have the same issue over communication which can’t be true because we are all different. I feel so tired.

It is at this point that I have to get up from the sofa and go to the door. My dog is sitting outside it and moaning. He has been there a while now, since he returned with my daughter from his evening constitutional. The moaning or perhaps squeaking starts quietly when he knows I am available but he can’t get to me. Slowly the frequency and volume increases and after maybe fifteen minutes the frustration or perhaps need gets to a point where he is moaning at house raising volumes thrown in with the occasional anguished bark. He does this whilst sitting to attention, if that makes any sense.

I open the door a fraction and he stands up expecting to come in. I tell him to sit which he promptly does. He stares excitedly at me as I open the door fully. I explain to him that whilst I appreciate the fact that he is very undemanding once he is next to me, the whole squeaking outside a door thing is rather annoying and the opposite of what I need. He stares up at me. I stare down at him. I know he has got what he wanted but I make us pause for ten seconds or so whilst I ponder who is really in control here. I tell him to come in and he skips into the room, tail proud walking in a way that only poodles can. He sits by the sofa waiting for me to get comfortable.

We last went through this scene at 4.30 this morning. I couldn’t sleep and decided to sort something out on the laptop. I went into the room where my computer was sitting and started it up. I didn’t think the poodle had noticed me, but he had. Being in the kitchen behind a shut door was obviously wrong when I was in the room next door. The moaning started soon after. Rather than wake the rest of the house up, I left him in when the yaps started. Business concluded, I lay down on the sofa and he curled up on top of me.

It has been a tough long day at work and I am feeling fragile. I don’t know how else to describe it. There were eight people in the house when I returned home. Because I had left early to work and stayed late my wife was concerned and had already phoned me to see if I was okay. So on my return I accepted the offer of a hot drink and sat down at the kitchen table to hear from my in-laws about their day. They had taken my other daughter to the airport. Heavy snow had been predicted so I was concerned how the drive had been and whether my daughter had caught her plane. Writing about it reminds me that my daughter leaving probably contributed to my fragility.

We watched a Christmas University Challenge special and part of a programme on Mozart in London before it was time to have a communal meal. I stayed for food and chat but I could tell my temper was wearing thin over my reaction to some of the stories. I left for some solitude but my mind was restless. I needed to calm it down, to relax, to sooth the damage of the day. I put on the radio and listened to a BBC Prom which was a tribute to Ella Fitzgerald and Dizzy Gillespie. It was wonderful but not exactly calming. I tried to find a renaissance themed internet channel but the talking bother me. I tried a jazz one. Not right either. I tried a streaming service and eventually settled on “Classical for reading”. This one seemed right. I can process again, though the theme to Inception was rather notice grabbing.

I got distracted and looked at my WordPress Reader feed and read a few posts. I came across somebody talking about their WIP which I think means Work In Progress and considered my own last creative writing post. It was taking a simple experience and writing about it from a different viewpoint, perhaps I could do that again. I thought about travelling and how being able to transform into different energy states could facilitate that. Transformations are something that people do in maths. Transformations between different spaces are used to ease a calculation. I wondered if somebody could be a catalyst for that transformation. Would that then make them a magician? I wondered if that would make sense. It reminded me of the Technomages in Babylon 5 universe. I pondered the possible transformations but my brain started to protest.

It was time for some writing therapy which is what I have done. My dog provided some talking therapy I suppose, though now I guess you could say it is touch and heat therapy. I think I might be able to sleep now. I still haven’t heard from my daughter. Except now I have.