Buying Balloons
October 11th 2006 04:58
My stepmom has a friend with an autistic three year old grandson that I've been spending some time with lately. Today, I got to get out of the house and go into town, to Portland, for a couple hours. I got my usual smoothie at Smoothie King and then headed down to Communiques to see if they still had all the balloons they used to. Which, indeed they did, thirty different kinds. I stood in front of the display for ages trying to pick out the best ones, eventually settling on a big yellow smiley face, a red one, and a tie-dyed one.
Two smiley faces, actually: One for him and one for me.
The young man who was working at the store was very friendly and we had some good conversation while he was blowing up my balloons, which I enjoyed. We talked about the Beatles, because they were playing on the oldies station he had on. He was gentle and kind and took pleasure in helping me find the right color ribbons, balloons, etc. There should be more people in the world like that.
I got my friend's grandson balloons because last Saturday when he came to my house, he had a balloon with him that he lost at our house and he was quite distraught over it. I went up to the roof to try to get it but to no avail. So I bought him the smiley face because that's what the balloon he lost looked like, and a red one because he said he wanted a red balloon. And the tiedyed because I love tie dye. Hehe.
I marched proudly out of that shop with four huge balloons, two in each hand, floating out above me. I got some smiles as I made my way up the street, and in O'Naturals where I stopped for some flatbread, the balloons were admired and merriment occured as I tried to figure out how to hold onto the balloons and pay for my bread. At the library and then the metro stop, as well as CVS, I was asked if it was my birthday. When I went to get on the metro bus, and asked the driver if it was okay to bring them on, he replied "Bring some joy in here? Of course!" which was a cool answer. There was a little boy sitting at the back where I was sitting, and I made brief conversation with his father and pointed out the balloons to the kid. I wished I had an extra one to give to him.
Sitting on the floor of that shop, I did feel a sense of joy choosing out my balloons and talking to the goofy fellow at the front desk. I love socialization whenever I can get it, and it's fun to do something reminscent of childhood like picking out balloons. When I got home, though, with my stepmom, around 6:30, I felt a heavy sense of foreboding and emptiness as I walked into the house. All those hours to kill in the evening, nothing to do until dinner, nothing to do after dinner. Feeling out of place and unnecessary. Nothing to do but go in my room and lie in bed, under my covers, taking refuge from both the cold weather and, more importantly, my own feelings.
All that goes to show that I can enjoy things like going out and buying balloons, and that indeed I try to come up with and make the most out of small diversions like this that anyone else would probably think no more than a chore or not think anything special at all - because most people can get out of the house when they want to! - but when all is said and done I need a life that consists of more than this. I need a purpose in my life.
I fell asleep tonight before I had a chance to call anyone. I usually try to talk on the phone around 9 or 10 to either someone in my family or a friend, because I enjoy it and it helps me feel more connected for the half hour or so that we talk. At 9 I attempted to call but my phone was not working; I fixed it half an hour later (I STILL dont know what I did to fix it, either, every time this particular problem happens it seems to spontaneously fix itself but I wish I could reliably do it) and remember noting that it was 9:30 and I should call someone before it got too late; but the next thing I knew I was hearing the news watch on the radio and concluded it must be midnight (since this is when they do the news watch). It was 12:03. At least my nap was a bit earlier tonight, giving me time to go on the computer. ( I have to wait for my dad to get off the computer before I can, until he goes to bed, which is the main reason I spend so much time in my room at night.)
Anyway, I don't like writing negative things. In fact, I hate it. In my other, private diary on a different site, of more than 500 entries, I'd say maybe 10% were about anything negative. The point of writing to me is to fully capture, remember, and appreciate anything good that happens in my life, so my diary is mostly filled with remembrances of good times had (and also this explains why before Saturday I had not written in my diary for three weeks, grr). Anyone reading it would think I was far happier than I was! (It's private, though, so no one does read it. At one time I had it public, but made it private after a disparaging comment about how much I talk about the radio was made. And it's better that way, I can write so much more honestly without worrying about what people will think of what I write.) The only time I ever write about negative things usually is when theyre so overwhelming that it's the only thing I can do , to get them out. Usually though writing about them just makes me depressed as hell and I try my best not to think about what troubles me, and try to find anything, anything at all to focus on that makes me happy. You'll drown if you don't. You've got to clutch the lifeboat, not contemplate how much water is around you.
So that's my commentary on the state of things today.
Kate
Two smiley faces, actually: One for him and one for me.
The young man who was working at the store was very friendly and we had some good conversation while he was blowing up my balloons, which I enjoyed. We talked about the Beatles, because they were playing on the oldies station he had on. He was gentle and kind and took pleasure in helping me find the right color ribbons, balloons, etc. There should be more people in the world like that.
I got my friend's grandson balloons because last Saturday when he came to my house, he had a balloon with him that he lost at our house and he was quite distraught over it. I went up to the roof to try to get it but to no avail. So I bought him the smiley face because that's what the balloon he lost looked like, and a red one because he said he wanted a red balloon. And the tiedyed because I love tie dye. Hehe.
I marched proudly out of that shop with four huge balloons, two in each hand, floating out above me. I got some smiles as I made my way up the street, and in O'Naturals where I stopped for some flatbread, the balloons were admired and merriment occured as I tried to figure out how to hold onto the balloons and pay for my bread. At the library and then the metro stop, as well as CVS, I was asked if it was my birthday. When I went to get on the metro bus, and asked the driver if it was okay to bring them on, he replied "Bring some joy in here? Of course!" which was a cool answer. There was a little boy sitting at the back where I was sitting, and I made brief conversation with his father and pointed out the balloons to the kid. I wished I had an extra one to give to him.
Sitting on the floor of that shop, I did feel a sense of joy choosing out my balloons and talking to the goofy fellow at the front desk. I love socialization whenever I can get it, and it's fun to do something reminscent of childhood like picking out balloons. When I got home, though, with my stepmom, around 6:30, I felt a heavy sense of foreboding and emptiness as I walked into the house. All those hours to kill in the evening, nothing to do until dinner, nothing to do after dinner. Feeling out of place and unnecessary. Nothing to do but go in my room and lie in bed, under my covers, taking refuge from both the cold weather and, more importantly, my own feelings.
All that goes to show that I can enjoy things like going out and buying balloons, and that indeed I try to come up with and make the most out of small diversions like this that anyone else would probably think no more than a chore or not think anything special at all - because most people can get out of the house when they want to! - but when all is said and done I need a life that consists of more than this. I need a purpose in my life.
I fell asleep tonight before I had a chance to call anyone. I usually try to talk on the phone around 9 or 10 to either someone in my family or a friend, because I enjoy it and it helps me feel more connected for the half hour or so that we talk. At 9 I attempted to call but my phone was not working; I fixed it half an hour later (I STILL dont know what I did to fix it, either, every time this particular problem happens it seems to spontaneously fix itself but I wish I could reliably do it) and remember noting that it was 9:30 and I should call someone before it got too late; but the next thing I knew I was hearing the news watch on the radio and concluded it must be midnight (since this is when they do the news watch). It was 12:03. At least my nap was a bit earlier tonight, giving me time to go on the computer. ( I have to wait for my dad to get off the computer before I can, until he goes to bed, which is the main reason I spend so much time in my room at night.)
Anyway, I don't like writing negative things. In fact, I hate it. In my other, private diary on a different site, of more than 500 entries, I'd say maybe 10% were about anything negative. The point of writing to me is to fully capture, remember, and appreciate anything good that happens in my life, so my diary is mostly filled with remembrances of good times had (and also this explains why before Saturday I had not written in my diary for three weeks, grr). Anyone reading it would think I was far happier than I was! (It's private, though, so no one does read it. At one time I had it public, but made it private after a disparaging comment about how much I talk about the radio was made. And it's better that way, I can write so much more honestly without worrying about what people will think of what I write.) The only time I ever write about negative things usually is when theyre so overwhelming that it's the only thing I can do , to get them out. Usually though writing about them just makes me depressed as hell and I try my best not to think about what troubles me, and try to find anything, anything at all to focus on that makes me happy. You'll drown if you don't. You've got to clutch the lifeboat, not contemplate how much water is around you.
So that's my commentary on the state of things today.
Kate
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Comment by Homer Joyce
That is such a great post.
The term 'elegant simplicity' comes immediately to mind.
I once went with my mother Bernice to her friend Veronica's house. Veronica had received a letter from her daughter (this red-haired vixen child of fond memory, and great visual entertainment to someone as sick as I am). Over cup-after-cup of Amgoorie tea, Veronica read the Vixen's letter out to Bernice (I love calling my mother Bernice. She doesn't like her name). What struck me most was how the Vixen-Child focused on the simple little things of ordinary daily life that were impacting on her life: the details she knew her mother would be interested in: things like describing the new wallpaper she'd just applied to grandma's grandchild's room. There were no extraordinary 'filmworthy' events, but for some reason the letter just struck me. I remember thinking. I wish I could write as simply and vividly as that, and concentrate on the things that matter.
I might one day get there. Who knows? Only God, and He's not telling us, as Bernice often says ...
Much later in life I read a poem about the Blessed Virgin Mary ... It was very simple ... I can't remember it all, but I remember the opening line:
She never painted any pictures.
And since you've gone out on a limb to tell us about your day ... I'll tell you about my day (with a bit of dribbly preamble to start things off) ...
I was so sick of living on the streets, I went to my ex girlfriend's place one night (about 2 months ago) ... and have been there ever since ... I know my days are numbered here ... there comes a point in life where you outwear your welcome ... (I outwore my welcome a long time ago ... but she's just that type of person: very generous and compassionate) ... and while she's out in the corporate world doing her corporate thing ... she's generously allowed me to use her computer during the day ... and even at night because the last thing she wants to see at night besides me is her PC ... (we are best friends, and always will be, but I really have to go out and get a job again and stop writing ... shame about that ... I'll miss blogging) ...
Some nights I sleep on the floor. Some nights I sleep on the couch. It depends upon what her and her other ex-boyfriend are doing. (Yes, she might be the only woman in the world generous enough to have two ex-boyfriends living in the same house with her) ...
What's that song? 'How Bizarre.' ...
Last night I ordered the McCombo deal: a bit of time on the floor, a bit of time on the couch.
I generally wake up around 5am. It's a habit I picked up from doing postie work (sorting and delivering the mail on those funny little Aussie motorbikes ... I'm no Lance Armstrong ... I need a motorised bike) ...
Creeping around someone else's house in the morning trying to be quiet is creepy, but I do it every morning.
Each footstep sounds like King Kong is chasing someone ...
The kettle sounds like a steam train ...
The light-switch sounds like a gunshot ...
A cough sounds like the start of an avalanche ...
Opening the screen door sounds like the intro to a Stephen King horror movie ...
I oiled her screen door, so I could go outside in the morning for a cigarette without waking the neighbourhood ... or the neighbouring countries...
Most mornings, I sit outside in the semi-darkness ... at that time when it is neither day nor night... when the native Australian birds are bursting into song; urging the dawn to rise; assert itself and overcome the darkness of the night ...
Then, I have my first beer. The rest of the day becomes a bit of a blur after that ... LOL ..
Homer ...
Comment by KateG
Asperger's Island
I can relate to the trying to be quiet at 5am thing because I often am going to bed at that time, after staying up all night either on the computer or having napped on and off all night before finally deciding to go to bed for real. It is so hard to be quiet when your very footsteps seem to make such loud noises, and turning on lights can disturb, and so on.
We have great sunsets here but the sunrises aren't so great. I usually end up going to bed around sunrise although I am TRYING to change that. I just never seem to be able to. Sleeping when it's dark out has become a luxury, lol.
Then there are the times when I wake up after one of my naps around 3am and think "I should really go to bed" Instead of getting up and brushing and taking meds and really going to bed, I get up and turn off the lights and go back to my napping.
Some might say there is no difference between "napping" and "sleeping" but to me there is a big different....maybe I'll write an entry about that...but it would be, again, too inane, lol.
I was thinking of pasting some of my entries from my college days to prove that I once had a life, but that would just be weird, I think. Hmm. So.
Meanwhile I will try not to go crazy as I do nothing. And tomorrow it's supposed to rain. Blah.
Thanks for the comment and story
Kate
Comment by Homer Joyce
Post a post with the title: Is sleeping any different to napping? And see what happens.
My point in my earlier post was ... you do have a life at the moment ... it just might not wow the world ... yet ... Don't feel bad about not having a so-called life ... If I worried about that, I'd stop living ...
Homer ...
Comment by KateG
Asperger's Island