Well. Maybe a latte instead. I love you, Melbourne coffee.

Melbourne can’t work out if it’s beautiful or the dreariest, coldest fog bank this side of the Pacific. Both make my current job temping at a giant insurance agency somewhat unbearable, as it is either all sparkling sunlight from the roof of Southern Cross catching my attention and begging I go play, or the sort of chill that makes getting up at 6 in the morning intolerable. Despite my protests to myself that I’ve gotten up far earlier for work, it was in a job I enjoyed and valued. This job is sending rejection letters to people who just wanted some massages or glasses or anesthetic for their brain surgery and who, for a host of reasons from filling out the forms wrong to simply not being insured, I must cheerfully and politely deny. Previously, I thought my job in Staunton, working with mentally ill kids who needed hugs, not locked rooms, was the most evil job, but this might actually be worse because it’s dissociated from the pain I know I must be causing.

It turns out that what I thought would have been a good environment for me, a quiet office with cubicles, is utter torture. I have spent much time lamenting the noise levels of previous jobs, and how standing all day hurts my legs and feet, but sitting all day in one spot has me a fidgety, stimmy mess. It’s blissfully quiet, except for the other hundred people typing and sighing and making far more noise than seems reasonable. I could tune out others’ conversations in the bustle of work before, but now they are bright spots in otherwise uninterrupted tedium.

So I need a job on my feet, doing things with my hands, even the same boring thing over and over. Soon, please. It’s getting hard to pass off the stimmy stuff.

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2 Responses to I’ll take a cappuccino

  1. Hi! Sorry I’m not here to comment on this specific post… I’ve responded to one of your comments over at TPGA (http://thinkingautismguide.blogspot.com/2011/09/advocateparent-dialogues-day-seven.html) and am *way* too impatient to see if you pick up the 7 week old conversation again!!

    While I’m here I just wanted to say that I red fluffy heart your very short explanation of autism… Would it be okay if I lifted it and posted it on a page on my blog (of course giving credit and linking it back to you?) I don’t really do concise. I wish I did. But if you follow the above link you’ll see that no matter how hard I try to do it: “concise” usually fails me.

    I also wanted to say that I *love* your jewelry!! It’s so cool!! Will definitely visit your Etsy store in the not too distant future!!

    Best,

    MM

  2. Ali says:

    Hi, thanks for coming by. I’m not really interested in picking up that argument again at length, though I will say that I disagree with your position that a white parent of a black child becomes defacto part of the black community. They still experience white privilege regardless of their child (and I’m not sure I’m at all comfortable with the implication that who they are ceases to exist outside of their child). They may experience pushback and be placed in a very tough situation in which they are welcome in neither community, but that doesn’t automatically grant them a right to the less privilged community. As an allistic parent, you are more aware of ableism and the many ways that society privileges people who are neurotypical by virtue of your position, but you do not ever personally experience those things except through the lense of others. You can’t truly be part of the autism community the way you and other parents want because the autism community must be made of autistic people.

    It’s about centering. Autistic people should be at the centre of our own community. Deaf people should be at the centre of the Deaf community (and for many years were not–and, like many autistic people, most Deaf people do not consider themselves inherently disabled). Black people should be at the centre of the black community. We can’t spend our time, as oppressed groups, worrying about making sure our allies are okay. Being a true ally means listening and supporting, but it doesn’t mean you get to decide you are a part of an oppressed group because you relate to them.

    You’re welcome to spread the somewhat consise autism definition far and wide, and thank you for the compliments.