I’ve been flailing my arms about for the last few months trying to figure out What The Fuck?

I’ve always needed to get stuff done. I get depressed if I don’t. I need to solve problems and make things. Over the course of my life I’ve solved a lot of problems and made a lot of things! I solved the problem of my mom being verbally abusive when I was a teenager*, I made an engineering degree with my name on it, I made a kid (okay, I had some help with that one), my husband and I made a business, I painted, laid tile, made furniture, taught myself to solder so that I could make some stereo speakers. You get the idea.

Since my grandmother died this summer I haven’t finished anything really, at least not to my usual standards. I did manage to care of some feral kittens that happened in my yard and plan and take an amazing trip for my husband’s and my wedding anniversary, but everything else has been about as interesting as split pea soup spilled on the floor.

I thought it was just grief. It is grief. I thought it was the winter blues. It is the winter blues. I thought it was a minor midlife crisis. It is, maybe? But it’s bigger than that.

I’ve been feeling really good lately, at least when I get out and do stuff. As I do, I’m evaluating everything I do under the question “Is this autism?” Usually the answer is “yes.” Or at least it is Autism + Erin. IT IS SO WEIRD.

I took a couple of assessment tests and they say “yes” or “probably yes, maybe?” So now I need to learn how to take better care of myself, because I’ve been really inconsistent with that most of my life.

*I didn’t hurt her even though I wanted to. Worst I ever did was to throw a hot dog at her**. Also, I may have screamed “Fuck off!” at her a few times and slammed a door or two, an expected response from a teenager to verbal abuse, I think.

I solved the problem by moving in with my dad. That worked temporarily. Not being alone with her for more than a few minutes ever again, though, was what did the trick.



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