I was a child for the era in which measles could kill a kid. Hell, I had schoolmates who thought I had died, the year I caught all the spots. They were greatly disappointed that I was still alive, but that’s not the point of this particular diatribe.
Back in the 70’s, Asperger’s didn’t exist. Even if it did, I didn’t fit all the checkboxes.
have less free time because I can’t keep focus. I can’t keep focus because I’m always tired. I’m always tired because I’ve been waking up at fuckoff in the morning. I’ve been waking up at fuckoff in the morning because I’ve been going to sleep earlier because I’m exhausted. I’m exhausted because I have less free time…
TL;DR- I spent the entire weekend looking after myself and not producing content. Are you mad at me? I was sick. I managed to pick up whatever vile Lurgi seems to be doing the circuit these days, and it’s been my best friend and worst enemy for an entire flakkin’ week. So I did what…… Continue reading Self Care and the Indie Artist’s Regime
I’m Autistic, but not Autistic enough to show up on anyone’s radar. I’m stealth-Autistic. And worse, I did public school in the 70’s and 80’s. A way more barbaric time. At least as far as treatment of the Different were concerned.
All writers have one. It’s the place they go to strictly in their head, where reality doesn’t matter and we can play with all our toys at once. So to speak. I call mine “another dimension”. Author, John Green, calls his “Cheyenne, Wyoming” and like all writers inside their personal imagination-land, tends to miss out…… Continue reading The Writer Zone