And, Moving On...

Nightingale in watercolour, Jan 2019

Yes, it’s time to say goodbye.  I started this blog on the 10th February 2010, exactly nine years ago, so it’s rather fortuitous that I should end it now; though I have to say that it was someone else who suggested that it was perhaps time to bring it to a close and start afresh, given that I don’t like endings (or beginnings, both of which denote change, a concept with which I’m not at all comfortable), and would therefore have carried it on, and simply tried to re-boot and re-purpose it.

But the fact is, it has fulfilled its purpose: which, according to the words of my first post, was “a vague hope that perhaps I might find my own voice, and it might help to re-ignite my enthusiasm for writing. Oh, and that maybe there will be someone out there with Aspergers whom it might help. You never know.”  So, basically, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was doing with it, and it shows.  Never was a blog more appropriately titled.

Having moved past the rambling stage (which at least denotes some form of movement), and got stuck in a circuitous holding pattern for some time now, I have decided to end this iteration of my blogging life and begin a new one, which will have a definitive, single purpose this time - to share my experience, strength, and hope as an autistic using the Twelve Step programme on everything, from my alcoholism, eating disorder, etc, to my autism and adhd.  And this time, God willing, I will stick to the point.  I’ll post the link here on this blog when I get it up and running.

I might also start another blog in which to post my artwork, poetry, and all the other creative and literary bits and bobs with which I sporadically littered this one.  If, or when, I do, I will also post that link here for anyone who might be interested in seeing how I progress along that journey, though it will mostly be to satisfy my desire to display my work (like many of my fellow/sister autistics, I do so love to display things).  But my focus will be primarily on the other new blog.

So here’s to new adventures.  I hope you’ll come along with me.  

Photo Fix It

This is just a brief post to say that I finally "fixed" the problem of not being able to get my photos of my artwork uploaded to my blog (as I reported in the post 'Still Alive!' in May), with a little help from my friend, who is the techno-loving polar opposite to my techno-allergenic self.  It turned out to be rather simple in the end - I just had to set up a Google Photos account and post my photos in there in order to be able to upload them on here, because Google won't accept them from iCloud, where they are now saved.  A bit of a faff, but there you go.

So here is some of the artwork I did during my three month painting period at the beginning of the year.  And just to note that I was trying to experiment during this period, attempting to loosen up and play a bit, and break free of the habit of rigidly trying to reproduce what I see in the photos I use as source material: hence the less-than-realistic colour schemes on some of them.  It was intentional and not an error on my part, brought about by a sudden bout of colour blindness!  Suffice it to say, I haven't done any more art since that period came to an end in May/June - as is my way.  As always, in this world of uncertainty, I can be depended upon to be reliably unreliable and consistently inconsistent.

    

Still Alive!!!!

This is just a quick note to say I am still here, I just haven't been doing any writing (well obviously).  I haven't abandoned my blog, I've just been caught up in doing art instead - every day for nearly the last three months.  Don't know what came over me!

Of course, this means that my writing has suffered because, as my best friend just pointed out, I cannot maintain focus on, and do, two things at the same time, much as I hate to admit it.  So I'm now going to have to let go of the idea that I can somehow fit both writing and art into every day, and instead do one or the other, as the inspiration flows between them.

And, in order to maintain this blog, I shall be trying to post both writing and my art in blog posts, instead of sticking to what has (inevitably) become a concretised idea that blogging requires me to always have to write stuff.

(I've just tried adding some of my recent artwork to this post, and there seems to be a problem, which I'm having trouble figuring out.  So I'll leave it for now, and hope that it isn't a permanent state of affairs. *the Voice of Doom, commonly known as Eeyore*).

Love's Labours Lost The Plot

Crikey!  That last post was rather laboured, wasn’t it?  I know my blog name includes the word Rambling in the title, but that felt more like a trek through untamed jungle, with only a butter knife to hack back the overgrowth.  

And, my God, was there a lot of overgrowth.  I know I said that I’d done a lot of editing to get it down to that size (four and a half pages… FOUR AND A HALF A4-SIZE PAGES!!!  I usually manage to stick to two), but obviously not enough: that was minor pruning, rather than the lopping with a machete which was really needed.  And perhaps a blowtorch.

I spoke with my friend about it after she’d read it, and she confirmed that it was as laborious to read as it had been to write.  I like that about her (among other things).  She always tells me the truth, without sugar-coating it; but it never feels like criticism (except when I’m having a really bad day, in which case saying hello to me could be misconstrued as a criticism).

We agreed it was not one of my better pieces, being somewhat lacking in the humour department (though I had intended for it to be funny; the initial idea was humorous, but the long, drawn-out execution kind of squeezed all the fun out of it, so it did end up feeling that way - like an execution).  And the length… 

I was thinking about going back and editing it some more, but she said to leave it: it would be a reminder of what I’d done ‘wrong’, and what not to do next time.

Because, you see, I have actually developed a set of principles or guidelines for writing my blog posts, despite the fact that it may all seem rather random at times.  And they actually fit into an alliterative list, which pleases the little linguist in me immensely.  So, they are:

Keep It Simple - basically stick to one main topic or theme within each post.  This helps me to stay focused, and there’s the possibility that I might get the thing completed within a week of starting it if I can stay on the path, and out of the forest of my distractions…

Keep It Short - I have found, through trial and error, that approximately two A4 pages is enough for me to say what I need to say: any more and I start repeating myself (just with different words, so I don’t notice it).  Plus, the long ones are usually a sign that I’ve shifted into lecture mode, where I’m now trying to teach something or make a point; I’ve grown attached to the sound of my own thoughts; and I feel the weight of their importance and the need to share them.  God, are those boring posts to write, and read…

Keep It Sweet - by this I mean funny, but the only alliteration I could come up with was either Sweetly Funny or Seriously Funny, and it spoilt the poetic metre I’ve got going on…  So, sweet it is.  Being rather a depressed donkey by nature, I didn’t want this to be a place where I got to cement my woes ‘on paper’, as it were, and share the gloom and despondency of life.  This was meant to be a place where I could share the hope, strength, and experience of having initially survived life as an undiagnosed autistic with adhd (now moving into thriving), and the sense of humour which is so intrinsically a part of that shift, and necessary to keep cultivating in order to keep that donkey at bay.  So the minute I feel myself labouring on a post, being driven rather than guided to write, and having lost interest in the topic, then the humour has gone, and it’s time to either reassess, or abandon post.  As my friend would say, “how important is it really, in the scheme of things, if you don’t finish it?”  This helps to put things into perspective, which is also what humour does.

    

And so, before I break one or more of my guidelines, here endeth the deconstruction of my last post.  May it rest in peace.

NO COMMENT

You may have noticed that I don’t allow comments on my blog.  Here’s why.

I am someone who cannot just ignore what people say about me, or what I write.  I know there are those who say you have to not take any notice of the negative comments; that it comes with the territory; and that you can’t let those people stop you from engaging with other like-minded individuals (unlike the trolls, who aren’t looking to engage in a conversation at all, but seem to simply enjoy posting inflammatory comments in order to incite an argument; and appear to like having the opportunity to express their opinions on anything and everything, no matter that they may be completely ignorant about the subject matter - which is more often than not).  

I have lived on this planet for forty-nine years now, and I have yet to be able to take anything “with a pinch of salt”.  Whoever said, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” was an idiot.  Or they had never met anyone like me, for whom words cause more harm than a bloody heat-seeking missile.  So I’m not about to give some negative arse-hole the key to the missile launcher.

There are also those well-meaning people (mostly non-autistics) who might misunderstand what I’ve written, and then say things like, “I know what you mean.  I do/feel/think that too.”  And then proceed to prove that they don’t know what I meant at all, but they’re just being neurotypical, doing that thing that so many of them find so necessary to do, which is to identify with everything in order to connect, make the writer feel better, included, the same.  Whilst I understand there is no harm meant, and that this is the basis of community to a neurotypical, this also drives me nutty - which would lead to even more time spent obsessing about what was written; or responding in an attempt to explain what I meant, and thus tying myself in ever-increasing knots.  

I’m also easily influenced, so anyone questioning what I’d written, or offering an alternative viewpoint, would inevitably spark into action Mrs Self Doubt, the part of my brain that can’t seem to hold onto one opinion for longer than sixty seconds before she’s wondering whether another one might be better.  She’s bad enough as she is: she doesn’t need a readily available source from which to choose, to make it worse.  I’m trying to train her to stick to one thing, thanks all the same.  It’s like potty-training a labrador puppy.  Or a cat.  Have you ever tried training a cat to do ANYTHING?

Also in the same vein, I would inevitably start questioning whether what I was writing was what people wanted to read.  I’ve seen other bloggers do this, though it’s been intentional with them - they ask their readers what kind of content they want to see.  But that’s not my intention with my blog, though it could inadvertently end up being.  It’s so easy to get caught up in the desire for ratings, and wanting to be popular.  

It’s happened to me a lot: I’ve found myself thinking about how to tailor my blog to appeal to more people.  It’s ridiculous: I’m a bloody autistic, meant to be writing from a specific, unique viewpoint.  Also meant to be writing, primarily, for my own benefit.  But no, I want to be more inclusive…  I sound like one of those neurotypicals I just described, who’re unconsciously suppressing individuality in an attempt to make everyone a part of the world-wide community.  See?  Easily influenced.  Get me around non-autistics, and I start forgetting who I am.   Before you know it, I turn into PSEUDO-NEURO-WOMAN!!

And finally, I want to say that I wish I could allow comments in order to be able to participate in ‘the conversation’ with anyone reading my blog (if there is anyone actually reading my blog who would even want to leave a comment, never mind have a conversation.  I could be worrying for nothing here).  But actually I don’t really want to.  This would just be my Politeness Gene popping up; and have you ever noticed how much shit being polite gets you into?  

Plus, I’d be suffering from one of my frequent bouts of delusion, where I think that I’m a social butterfly, and a people-person at heart; when, in fact, I’m useless at conversation (hello? Impaired social communication and understanding - two of the three defining characteristics of autism), and I much prefer to converse with myself.  I call it thinking.  Hell, I don’t need anyone else to debate with, I do a fine job alone.  Adding anyone else into the mix would just confuse me (more than I already am, if that’s possible).  Besides which, I do have someone (other than me) with whom to converse, which is enough for me.

So there you have it.  I hope that none of what I’ve said has offended anyone - unless you happen to be a troll.  In which case, please feel free to return to your bridge.

Though I can’t join in (other than in spirit), I wish you all many happy and productive conversations.

Namaste

Seriously Humourless

Hello, I’m back.  Fret-ye-not, I’m still here.  I haven’t fallen off the face of the earth, or into a black cloud of internet doom.  Or any kind of doom, actually.  Though I have to admit that part of the reason for my absence of late has been due to one of my tediously frequent world wide web wanderings.  

But that’s not all that I’ve been doing.  No.  I’ve also been getting myself entangled in the words of a post I’ve been labouring over (labouring being the operative word), which I finally worked out was not coming together because:

a) I was being literal in my interpretation of the words of the quote from which I was working;

b) I was thinking too much, and too hard, about the meaning of the words, and what I should write; the resultant dodgy combination equates to ‘me + thinking = catatonic inertia’;

c) I appeared to have misplaced my sense of humour.

This last point in particular is most important, as without it I’m only half a person (not literally, of course.  Think how weird, and confusing, that would be).  

I am extremely serious by nature, but God has seen fit to balance this out by bestowing on me a sense of humour.  It may be dry, irreverent, and impenetrable to a lot of people, but I’ve definitely got one.  I’ve checked with Someone Who Gets It.  It helps to keep me sane - as much as that is a possibility with a mind as loopy, and prone to depressive donkey mode, as mine (think Eeyore, without a balloon to cheer him up).  Can you imagine what I would be like without it?  Dead, probably.

Unfortunately, I sometimes forget that I’ve got one, and then life becomes REALLY hard work…  

And you can see when I’m suffering from a humour-bypass because it manifests itself in my writing.  My blog posts turn into laboured, tedious, repetitive, formal, clod-footed, minutiae-obsessed lectures.  

This particularly happens when I’ve decided that the topic on which I want to write is meant to be serious.  Like recovery, for example.  Hence ending up with the pompously meant-to-be-clever-but-is-actually-pretentious sounding title of ‘Recover Your Self’ for those segments of my blog.  Shoot me now.  (I am going to change the title.)  

It sounds like the name of one of those awful self-help books with which I used to be so enamoured, with titles like Dying Of Embarrassment (yes, that’s a real book - and totally useless for an autistic with anxiety); The Drama Of Being A Child; and all of those endless Co-dependent No More books with their sequels, prequels, and off-shoots - like one of those film franchises that never end, which are so prevalent now. 

And sure, recovery is important, but that’s not the same as serious. Don’t ask me what the difference is, because I’ll give myself an aneurysm trying to work it out.  I just know that it is.  Even reading the two words gives me a different reaction.  ‘Serious’ just sounds really heavy, and doom-laden.  I feel the weight of expectation in that word, and in that ‘Recover Your Self’ title.  And I never work well under those circumstances.  

All creativity flees screaming from my being when confronted with expectations, and seriosity (no, it’s probably not a real word, but who cares?  It’s my blog, and I’m in charge).  I’m beginning to think it has more sense than I do, the dodo who goes boldly (and stupidly, not to mention repetitively) forward to embrace such things as have been proven to be anathemas to my soul.

We have a quote in AA for this (we have a quote in AA for everything): “Recovery is to be enjoyed, not endured.”  (This can, of course, be interchangeable with the word Life, for those not in recovery from something - is there actually anyone out there who isn’t?)  

The point is, it tends to get forgotten.  I certainly forget it.  Oftentimes I’m not even sure what it means…  “Enjoyment?  What’s that when it’s at home, then?”  And off we go on another existential tangent, seriously contemplating the meaning of joy.  An oxymoron waiting to happen if ever I heard one.

And the other reason for my absence from my little corner of the blogiverse is that I have been on a retreat from all things computer-related.  Again.  I have spent the bare minimum of time on here (which has meant one hour, three times a week, for my Skype sessions with my sponsor/best friend).  The rest of the time the computer has been switched off.  

I was intending doing some blog writing - just the ‘old school’ way, with pen and paper, ready to type up on the computer so that I wouldn’t be spending as long staring at the screen - but I haven’t felt much inspiration.  Instead, I’ve done a lot of journal writing, reading, and sleeping.  Yep, I give up the computer and, rather than the promised better sleep (in all of those articles I’ve read about digital ‘detoxing’ - now there’s a word that conjures up seriosity), mine goes to pieces.

Despite the sleep thing, I have felt better.  I’m always amazed at the difference in me when I manage to stay away from the internet, in particular, for any length of time.  It’s like a fog is lifted, one in which I wasn’t even aware of being engulfed, and I start to think clearly.  

It’s phenomenal.  I have my own thoughts and opinions!!  What the hell am I doing reading about the best jobs for your zodiac sign?!  Or the life-cycle of the lesser-spotted, three-legged, antipodean, ridge-backed newt?!!  Or how to cook lentils twenty different ways (I already know how to cook lentils; I don’t need twenty alternatives - having more than one option confuses my brain.  What, in the name of arse, am I doing)?!!!  

But then I forget what happens to me, and I want everyone else’s thoughts as well - except that it seems I have to let go of mine for theirs to replace them, because they can’t cohabit.  A bit like me.  It’s why I live alone.  Put me with someone else and I disappear.  

So, there we go.  Or that’s where I’ve been.  And now I’m here, but I’m going.  If I can manage to bring this to an end.  Which, at this rate, could take a while.

I wish you clarity and peace of mind, and time in your day to retreat from the world (especially the web part of it).  And may you find the humour in everything, to lighten your way.  (Sounding a bit Yoda-ish now.  Definitely time to go before I start sprouting tufty ears.)

Śanti  

Thought Bypass

This is what I need when attempting to navigate my mind...

“All action is born of thought.”  Author unknown

Okay, so I just checked my blog to see when I last posted, and it’s been just over a week, again.  It doesn’t seem that long, but then I have no sense of time, so how would I be able to tell?  This is why I now have a calendar notification set to alert me once a week: so I get the question, “When was the last time I wrote my blog?” popping up every Friday as a reminder.  I need something to prod me, given that my initial, over-enthusiastic posting has rather drastically waned to the more familiar dribble.  Ho hum.

This is not to say that I haven’t actually been writing this last week - or trying to.  I have started five separate pieces (they’re all sitting there, in various states of fruition, at the bottom of my screen - waiting…)  

But, unfortunately (as I mentioned last week), my attention has been divided between them and the Olympics - and when something like that happens then you can almost kiss goodbye to the writing; or, at least, to my being able to stick with one thing, and see it through to completion.  

My brain cannot cope with two things or more at once demanding my focus, and it will always choose the most stimulating, but least taxing - the one that gives instant, easier stimulation and gratification.  Writing does stimulate my brain, once I get going, and give myself over to it; but it requires no distractions, otherwise it just ends up as a sporadic, rambling mess, which needs a whole load of editing (if I even manage to complete it).  

It can also seem like too much effort when directly matched against the immediacy of the internet - one click of a button and I can be zoned out within seconds.  This is why I bang on so much about my problem with the internet - it’s a quick-fix to me, which is not good.  It certainly isn’t any good for my creativity and productivity. 

So, kind of moving on…  

... and this is what I imagine my mind looks like.  Scary.  No wonder I get lost.

… to the quote at the top of the page.  Whilst I agree wholeheartedly with this saying, I also think there should be a companion to it which goes, “All inaction is born of too much thought.”  This would perfectly embody my problem with thinking.  

I think too much.  I can think myself into, then out of, a course of action within seconds.  And then back in, and out, in and out, on and bloody on, ad nauseum…  I tire myself out with my thinking, which is why it’s never a good idea for me to give too much thought to what I’m going to do (or to anything at all, really, ‘cos by the time I’ve finished I’ll be too knackered to do much of anything).  

This is partly why I don’t do plans - ‘cos I think myself into and out of them, changing my mind about them every sixty seconds, redesigning them, changing the parameters, worrying about them, blah blah blah, and basically living in the future with the plan, and missing out on the moment: ’cos I am not one of those people who are able to make a plan, and then get on with what’s in front of them in the day.  

It’s like giving my mind the opportunity to talk my way out of it in advance; much better to catch it unaware by simply living in the day,  trying to bypass the receptacle of noise that is my mind, and tune into my higher Self (God - who exists only in this moment, ‘cos this moment is all moments rolled into one - deep, I know) for direction on what to do now.  

Easier said than done.  But I keep trying.  Plus, it is the essence of yoga (and I am, supposedly, a yogi).  Note to self: this might explain why I’m taking so long to reach ananda (the state of bliss that comes with being one with the Divine).

Interestingly, the time when thinking before acting would come in useful is the time when I don’t do it - or, at least, not conscious, considered thought.  I’m talking about just before I leap onto the internet with gay abandon, which I do with the vague idea that it’ll be alright this time.  And it never is. *heavy sigh*

So, once again, as with everything else in life (it seems), it all comes down to balance: too much thinking, and I turn into a catatonic potato; too little, and I turn into a fried potato (from jumping into the frying pan without looking where I leap).  And I don’t do balance.  I do erratic swings and roundabouts.  I guess I’ll have to get used to being dizzy, then.  You’d think I’d have grown accustomed to it by now, I’ve been doing it so long.

Right, I’m off.  Hey, look at that, though.  I managed to focus, and get this written all in a few hours, on the same day.  And I didn’t give it much thought beforehand: just had the title and a vague idea this morning, and off we went.  Yep, thinking is definitely overrated, in my opinion.  Just wish I could get my mind to agree.

I wish you peace and blissful union in the moment you’re in.

Śanti      

Olympic Madness

Okay, so I’ve checked my blog to see when was my last post, and it’s been just over a week…  Classic Lisa, boundless enthusiasm for a short while, and then nothing.  So, to stop the rot, and do what I said I would do (post something regularly, to keep a sense of continuity), here are a few words.  Well, two words - Olympic Games.

Yep, that’s what has taken my focus this last week, and back onto the internet, to randomly, purposelessly trawl (thinking, as I do, that I could “just have a bit of a look”, and then come off and go straight back to being focused on my writing and whatnot.  Yeah, right: like that’s ever happened, or ever likely to).

And here’s the ridiculous thing - I can’t actually ‘watch’ the Games, because I don’t have a tv licence (along with not having a television, which I gave up about fifteen years ago), so instead I read the instant updates about it, and then watch the clips when they’re available.  And in between waiting, I drift off and look at some of the other topics I’m interested in/obsessed about (the most recent ones being books and reading).  Just my mind’s way of finding a way to get back on the internet.

The other ridiculous thing is that I don’t actually agree anymore with the idea of competitive sport, despite loving sport, and being competitive by nature.  I used to love doing sport at school, and I was good at it, but it brought out my competitive nature to the extreme - I was an appalling team player because I would even compete with my team mates.  I didn’t know how not to: I just am not a team person (like I’m really not a people person, though I’ve moved past the “I hate people” phase I was in for many years.  I’m just not comfortable or happy around them).  I’m not the type of person who should be let loose with a hockey stick… or any other piece of sports equipment that could double up as a lethal weapon.  

Even when playing ‘friendly’ games, I couldn’t help myself.  My friends hated having to partner me when we played badminton doubles, because I would simply take over the whole of our side of the court, and hardly allow them to get a touch of the shuttlecock.  I couldn’t share, I didn’t trust them, and I hated to lose.  And boy did I hate it when there were five of us, and I had to take my turn off the court…

And whenever I used to watch sport on tv, I would become vicariously competitive, and turn into one of those awful, judgemental, nationalistic fans, shouting at the television about how great my side were (I’m English when we’re playing Scotland, Ireland, or Wales, and British when we’re all clumped together, as we are for the Olympics; and if no-one from my nation is playing, I’ll ‘adopt’ someone else’s team/athlete); how shit the others were; and how they'd cheated if we lost.  Or I’d turn on our side if I couldn’t blame the others, and say how useless we were.  Such a lovely person.  Sport brings out the monster in me.  Here’s the irony - I’m actually a pacifist at heart.  I hate conflict.  

Having grown more thoughtful about what I do, think, how things affect me, and who I am, etc, I now understand that in order to not feed a negative character trait or behaviour, I have to do the opposite (yeah, I know - I should maybe give it a go with the whole internet trawling thing…).  It’s one of the reasons I don’t do sports anymore, and only do yoga.  

Mind you, there are people who have managed to corrupt yoga.  Can you believe there are yoga competitions, and people who actually want to turn it into a competitive sport?  Here’s where my tolerance of people gets a little flaky (where thoughts of violence float up, and I want to bash them over the head with their yoga mats, or maybe a bronze statue of Shiva - much more effective) - ARE THEY FUCKING BONKERS?!!

Do they not know the meaning of the word ‘yoga’, or the purpose of it?  It translates as ‘union’ or ‘yoke’, and means to unite the mind, body, and soul: to become whole, one with ourselves, God, and the rest of the universe - which includes other people.  Competition is about separation, trying to prove yourself to be better than everyone else.  How does that bear any relation to yoga?  ARE THESE PEOPLE DUMB, OR WHAT?  No doubt we’ll see it included in the Olympics some time in the future.

I know there are those who say that sport brings people together, and that it’s a safe way to channel and burn off energy.  And I agree that maybe it does for some people.  But I think for others it’s merely more fuel to the fire of their nationalistic pride, their hatred of others, and their desire to conquer and subjugate, just played out in a sports arena rather than on a battlefield.  

I don’t think you can make the blanket statement that participating in sport is a substitute for war - if that were the case, we’d have less wars going on: yet (unless I’m really missing something) that doesn’t appear to be the case.  For some people it seems as if sport is a substitute, but merely to pass the time, and keep in shape, for when the next war comes along.

And people wonder why our world is divided, and in such a mess, with countries, groups, and individuals all competing with each other for power, glory, and money/material gain.  And no, I don’t mean that sport is to blame (or the Olympics specifically).  I guess it’s just a microcosmic view of what goes on in the whole world; wherever there are people, there is competition, which can sometimes engender conflict.  It’s human nature.  It’s a bugger.

So there we go.  I’ve probably wandered from my original point, and said more than I set out to do.  It was meant only to be a brief update.  But what do I know about how to be brief.  And at least I’ve broken my duck (it’s a cricketing term, ironically - means to finally score after being on zero for a while).

I hope that if you are watching the Olympics, that you are enjoying them in the true, Olympic spirit - by that I mean that you are able to admire the skill of each athlete, regardless of which country they represent; embrace the ethos that says “it’s the taking part that matters, not the winning”; and not turn into a maniacal zealot.  

So, here’s something that confuses me, though - if it’s the taking part, not the winning, that counts, then why give out medals?

Wishing you peace, health, and wholeness.

Namaste

Obsessed Much?

Some of my obsessions

Why yes, now that you come to mention it, I believe I am.  Why do I sound so surprised by that?  After all, obsession is my brain’s default mode.  It’s not as if I discovered this only recently.  But there you have it: Lisa + obsession = surprised.

So it’s been just over a week since I had The Talk with my friend about my blogging, and decided to alter the way I approach it.  Since then I have posted four times in the last week - a bloody miracle!!  It usually takes me a lot more than a week to write one thing.  Last year I only managed to post four times in total - FOUR TIMES IN FIFTY-TWO WEEKS! - so I’ve already equalled that amount, and am about to surpass it in one month.  I must have had a REALLY bad year last year, ‘cos I also only managed to paint one picture, so I can’t blame it on the fact that I was doing more painting.  Bugger.

But it’s not only that I’ve posted more, there are also the photographs.  I can’t believe I’ve not tried that before!  It’s so much fun.  What is wrong with me that I’ve not thought to do it until now?  It’s not as if I haven’t seen other people doing it on their blogs.  It seems that nearly everyone does it.  And I like it.  It brightens the place up, makes it look more interesting than just a lot of words on a page.  

But no, for some reason to do with my one-track brain, I decided that I was going to stick to one form of illustration, and that was with my painting.  Keep it all uniform; boring; rigid.  Makes it a bit difficult as well when I’m not actually doing any painting.  I think I thought that this would serve as some kind of motivation for me to do more.  Yeah, that went well.

So yes, I’m obsessed with blogging.  It only took me ’til a week later to realise it.  But I got there.  And then I started worrying about it ‘cos obsessing is bad, right?  And what would happen if/when I lost interest (as I usually do), and then reverted to how it was?  How could I stop that from happening?  Blog more.  Panic blog.  Obsessively blog!  Hello?  Wasn’t that the thing I was worried that I was already doing?  Are there any brain cells at all inside my head not running around deliriously without a clue, like little people with their arms flailing about in the air?  Is anyone in charge up there??

I have a problem with the word ‘obsession’.  I will talk about being excited or enthused, but not obsessed - unless it relates to something negative, and then I will happily whip it out to beat myself around the head with.

Another obsession

I have come to associate it with negative connotations (due to a great extent to my time around the AA community), so I assume that it is a bad thing, which needs correcting.  To admit that I am obsessed is to admit that I am somehow at fault; that I am doing something wrong; that I have ‘allowed’ myself to get distracted by something that invokes the obsessive gene in me; that I am not using or applying my 12 step programme correctly.  

And what also confuses me, and makes this worse, is the fact that neurotypicals of all descriptions (even alcoholics, and suchlike) use the word arbitrarily, usually to describe something they’re really into - which sounds like what I’m experiencing, but isn’t quite.  But I just can’t explain what it is that’s different, so it sounds like I’m making a distinction based on a false technicality, in order to excuse myself for something which I think I should, actually, be able to get over if I really wanted to.

You have no idea how much I’ve really wanted to get over the way my brain works (or maybe you do, especially if you’re autistic or have adhd).  Except that the way that I stop obsessing about one thing is to move on to the next: there’s no break from it, no interim period of ‘normal’ thinking.  Just one thing after another.  

Now to a non-autistic this might sound really awful, or sad, or limited, or any number of things.  But the fact is that, unless I’m obsessing about the fact that I obsess, I don’t actually notice it because it is just the way I think: it’s as natural to me as breathing.  There is no ‘obsessive gene’, as such, which only gets triggered by certain things.  It’s not the things that cause the problem, but the brain.  I just think this way about everything.  

Nor is it always a problem to me, unless the thing I get obsessed with is negative, or leads to something negative (like internet trawling), or someone points it out (to basically let me know that I’m boring the arse off of them).  And then I start worrying about it: obsessively.  Endless fucking cycle. 

So, I have a pattern.  Lock onto something (yoga, for instance); get consumed by it (read, think, talk, possibly do if it’s action-based); either lose interest and move onto the next thing; or integrate it into my life, and gradually (hopefully) lose some of the initial intensity of the obsession.  This is what happened with yoga, and I now mostly just do it, and don’t talk or read about it because that just serves to fire up my obsession.

Much as I hate to admit it, I haven’t got a fucking clue how to manage this thing.  My go-to solution is always to follow a plan (another bloody obsession of mine - plans!), and the one thing guaranteed to fail is a plan.  I have yet to find a satisfactory method for dealing with this, other than the vague notion that I should be turning it over to God; but then I have no clear idea how that translates into practical action.  I’m not even certain that what I’ve just written about it in this post is correct.  What appeared to be a perfectly logical explanation seems to get all wobbly once it’s outside of my head.  Ho hum.

But apart from the whole issue of obsession, I have enjoyed my new-found enthusiasm for blogging this week.  I just would like for it to continue, and not to burn out from being so hyped-up.  I fear that the word with which I have but a fleeting acquaintance, in both understanding and practice (‘balance’), is going to make an appearance somewhere as part of the solution.  

I wish you peace and joy (and balance!) in your life.

Namaste

LITERARY INSPIRATION - AN INTRODUCTION

A small selection of my books, presided over by a small Pooh

I love quotes - which you may have noticed if you’ve looked around my blog.  Unfortunately, there isn’t enough room to fit in as many as I would like, otherwise there would hardly be space for anything else.  (I am thinking of adding another Page to the sidebar, for other random quotes I’ve collected.  Probably to be called “Quote Unquote”.)

I also love books.  And, since a lot of great quotes come from literature, I’ve decided to combine the two, and start what will hopefully be a regular series of posts where I share favourite quotes or passages from my books, with a few of my own thoughts about it, and a photo or two of said book attached (as it’s given me a reason to use the camera I’ve had, and hardly used, for nearly three years).

Just to reassure you, despite the possible implications of the title, this is not going to be filled with words from great, deep (the kind you need a JCB for to dig up the meaning), heavy, worthy, ’classic’ works of literature; nor, even, any such recent books.  

That is not the kind of stuff that I like: it bores the arse off of me, and I am hopeless at finding the deeper, symbolic meaning in those stories, despite the fact that I love the English language, and seem to have been born with a natural affinity for it.  Well, for using it: trying to understand everyone else’s use of it tends to leave me flummoxed.

I did take 'A' Level English Literature at college, where we studied and analysed great works of literature.  Well, at least, everyone else did: I simply floundered, and failed miserably at it.  I think it might have derailed my love of reading for a long time after that.  Mind you, for some perverse reason when I left college I started reading more classic books - like the whole of the Brontë canon, and Thomas Hardy, along with things we hadn’t studied, like Jane Austen.  I don’t know what’s going on in my brain half the time.  

A large Pooh with a different view

Ironically, despite it being thirty years ago since I left college, I do remember all of the books we studied; they were indelibly imprinted into my brain through repeated analysis.  Therefore, I thought I’d take a trip down memory lane, and share the joy with you.  So here they are:

The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer 

Thankfully we only studied one of them (can’t remember the name now, but it was one of the lesser-known ones).  It was in the original “olde" English, which we had to translate into modern English, before having to interpret the bloody thing!  The only thing I can remember is that there was an old, blind man with a very young wife, and she was having an affair with some young bloke.  The husband found this out in an embarrassingly explicit scene when, having had his sight come back, he went to tell her, only to find them having sex in a tree.  Bizarre.  And tedious.  And completely mind-boggling to me: why, and how, would anyone have sex in a tree?  

Othello by William Shakespeare 

Early example of interracial marriage, and the power of jealousy to destroy.  And a symbolic description of a slimy toad.  Again with the having to translate it first, though not so dense as Chaucer.  Nothing could be so dense as Chaucer.  Not too bad after having the imagery and language explained (so that basically covers the whole thing then), though I wouldn’t understand it by myself.  But I remember the main characters - Desdemona, Iago, Cassio, and, of course, the eponymous Othello.  And there’s dying.

Richard the Second by William Shakespeare 

The less famous of the two Richards (the other one being the Third, and having a hump).  Sad bloke, bit whiney, completely lacking in any self-awareness, especially of how he got himself in this mess.  Vaguely recall the famous speech about “this sceptred Isle, this England…”, and characters called Bolingbroke, and John of Gaunt.  And Richard dies in the end.  Of course.  

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë  

Oh my God, one of the most torturous, tortuous, and utterly tedious books I’ve ever read.  I just wanted to slap Cathy, and drop Heathcliff off a cliff.  I’m happy to say I think they both died in the end.  

The Go-Between by L. P. Hartley  

I think we must have really hammered at this one because not only do I remember the plot (boy goes to stay with his friend, falls in love with friend’s much older sister; sister is having affair with local farmer, which is forbidden ‘cos he’s lower class; sister and farmer use boy to deliver messages between them; sister and farmer get caught in flagrante delicto; all goes pear-shaped, blah blah blah.  All very heart-wrenching and tedious), but I also remember the first line: “The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.”  Plus a scene with a red bicycle, which is meant as a phallic symbol, ‘cos it’s just before the sister and the farmer get caught having sex.  Went right over my head.  No death, just heart-wrenching separation and longing.  I longed to be separated from the book.

Volpone by Ben Jonson  

About a man (a costermonger, I think) whose name (the title of the book) reflects his character - literal translation ‘the Fox’: wily, sneaky, sly, and untrustworthy.  I think he tries to seduce the daughter of some wealthy merchant, but I’m not certain.  By the time we got to this book in the course, I think I’d lost the will to live.  And the ability to retain any more information.

The Return of The Native by Thomas Hardy  

I mistakenly thought this was going to be about a black person in Africa (I had a one-dimensional interpretation of the word ‘native’ at that time).  So you can imagine my surprise when it turned out to be about some white woman returning to her home somewhere in England (or was it Wales?  It eludes me, the tale was so riveting.  Perhaps I’m getting confused because I think there was a t.v. version made with Catherine Zeta Jones, who is Welsh).  And that’s about as much as I can remember, other than that, as with all Hardy books, it was terribly fraught, dark, and depressing, and someone probably died at the end.  Oh, and lots and lots of symbolism, to do with the scenery.  Which was dark, dank, and donk.*

A few more books

And there you have a brief history of my literary history.  Thankfully I eventually moved on from all of that, and I found stuff that I really liked (as opposed to more of the stuff I thought I should like, due to my literary aspirations, and my unfortunate autistic propensity for absorbing and copying whatever I come into contact with).  This means Terry Pratchett, and a whole lot of children’s books - especially Winnie the Pooh (the REAL one, NOT the Disney one), The Secret Garden, and The Chronicles of Narnia.  Expect lots of quotes to be culled from these.

In keeping with my newly discovered enthusiasm for blogging, based on the principle of NOT following a plan, I will not be making proclamations about how often, and on what day, I shall be posting these snippets.  That way lies madness - and the inevitability that I shall end up doing the opposite, which could mean not at all, ’cos that’s in my nature.  

I am hoping to post them regularly, but that could mean anything from once a week to once a month, or even (God forbid) once a year, and anything in-between: so expect them when they arrive.  I’m also hoping that, in the new spirit of continuity I am attempting to achieve, they will serve as inspiration for me to stay connected to my blog, giving me something to write if I run out of ideas for a random post.  I guess we’ll see.  I’m trying to go with the flow, and let things evolve organically, rather than attempting to force them to follow a path I’ve dictated is the right one (which is based on what I’ve read about how everyone else does it).

So there we go.  I’ll shut up now.  This was meant to be a short introduction, but see what I mean?  I say I’m going to do one thing, and the opposite occurs.  I will shut up now.  Bye bye.  Happy reading. 

* This is a line from one of The Goon Show episodes.  I can’t remember which one.