Last we spoke, I told you that pretty much the only way the authorities
would swoop in to clear the crowd off our lawn would be if that crowd got to
be too big. They were invasive and annoying, but they weren’t doing anything
illegal, and they weren’t technically placing anyone in danger. I was
venting to my readers, but some of you took it as a call to action. You
flooded the neighborhood for the sole purpose of forcing the cops to shut
the whole thing down. They didn’t just remove you from the premises, but
everyone, because it otherwise would have been some form of discrimination.
I didn’t know that you were going to do that. I didn’t tell you the
“loophole” even thinking that that might be a possibility. And it’s not the
first time that’s happened. I have to be really careful about what I say to
people. They will do things for me without me explicitly asking for it, or
having any clue how they’re interpreting my words. Sometimes I just say
things about how I’m suffering, or lacking, and they’ll want to fix it. And
I never see it coming. When I was fifteen, a few weeks from my birthday, my
parents asked me to go on a road trip with them. My aunt was out of the
country, but she needed a car when she got back, and she liked a particular
make and model. This is something that I knew about her, so I wasn’t the
least bit suspicious that something else was up. They asked me to help them
make the drive up to, and back from, Minnesota, so I obliged without
question. We spent one night in a hotel, and when we woke up, we drove out
to a farm where the car was supposedly waiting for us. We saw dogs in big
pens, screaming at us for attention. So a farmer was selling their car, and
they had a bunch of dogs? Didn’t seem like that big of a deal. We got out,
and I was watchings those hounds bark their heads off when the owner came
out carrying a little puppy. My parents admired it, and asked me if I would
like to hold her too. I loved dogs, so I jumped at the chance. I had that
wee furbaby in my arms before they told me that she was mine. She was my
early birthday gift. It didn’t occur to me that the trip had anything to do
with me, nor that it was weird for there to be a car being sold at a farm
that also had dogs.
The point is, Sophie was a total surprise to me. I stopped asking for a dog
when I was young, but I would still talk about how much I loved them, and
all animals. I never asked for a bunk bed, but I got one around fifth grade,
because my parents knew that about me. Again, I have to be so careful about
what I say, but being autistic, I don’t ever think that my random musings
will have any real impact on the world. It’s caused other problems too.
Since I don’t think that way, it makes me less of an attentive person.
When someone else talks about how much they would like it if things were a
certain way, I hear them, I listen, but I don’t think to help them. The way
my brain works, if you want me to know something, then you should say it.
You should say it clearly and unambiguously. I sort of have a different idea
of rudeness. Well, it’s not different, it’s just not as broad. I don’t
notice subtext, and I don’t accept innuendo. Be honest and straightforward.
Or don’t. Just be the way that you are, and hope that I take the hint. I
probably won’t, but you can hope just the same. And me? I’ll try to keep my
mouth shut in case I say something that accidentally prompts a response.
We’re just talkin’ here. It’s only a blog. I appreciate what you did for us
with the lawn, but don’t worry too much about my needs. I’ll figure it out.
And if I ever do need your help, I’ll just ask.
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