Misc thoughts on a chilly Wednesday morning

So, I get this spam email yesterday, promising to "make your manhood like the Titanic."  Considering that it was the largest man-made object ever made, that sounds like a reasonably good idea until...

Until you remember that it split into two pieces which are now a mile and a half apart under 13,500 feet of water off the coast of Nova Scotia, and that 1500 people died of blunt force trauma, drowning, and/or hypothermia in the process, not to mention the fact that the top layer of one of those halves is peeled back like a sardine tin and the whole will be a pile of orange sand within the next two decades.

On the other hand, approximately seven hundred women went down on it.

I dunno...it's a tough choice.

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"Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy which sustained him through temporary periods of joy."
- W.B. Yeats

Borrowed from jehosefatz .

Misc thoughts on a chilly Wednesday morning

So, I get this spam email yesterday, promising to "make your manhood like the Titanic."  Considering that it was the largest man-made object ever made, that sounds like a reasonably good idea until...

Until you remember that it split into two pieces which are now a mile and a half apart under 13,500 feet of water off the coast of Nova Scotia, and that 1500 people died of blunt force trauma, drowning, and/or hypothermia in the process, not to mention the fact that the top layer of one of those halves is peeled back like a sardine tin and the whole will be a pile of orange sand within the next two decades.

On the other hand, approximately seven hundred women went down on it.

I dunno...it's a tough choice.

--------------------

"Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy which sustained him through temporary periods of joy."
- W.B. Yeats

Borrowed from jehosefatz .

I am the parent of a child with autism.

With all the stressors of the weekend and Monday finally having crested and the kids gone last night, I slept like a baby. By which I mean in the idyllic sense of closed eyes, soft focus, warm blankie sleeping, not the sense of pawing at Michelle's breasts every two hours demanding sustenance. Which isn't to say that doesn't happen from time to time, just not last night.

Tigger has figured out that his companion of the last fifteen years isn't around, and he's become very needy and clingy. It's very sweet and sad, but he sheds horribly and I spent my waking moments vainly attempting to rid my face of cat hairs. Even the dogs are acting odd.

I walked out in the yard as I was leaving for work this morning to find Nafoill's grave littered with dandelions, Katie's handiwork.

There is a whole series of posts about my daughter - hell, I've considered starting a new blog on the subject. Katie's autistic mind knows that she should be sad, so she expresses "sadness" by imitating what she has seen us do, in this case, placing flowers on the grave. She has the beginning point - "Nafoill died" - and the ending point - "I'm sad" - but none of the points in between.

Neither are there any real emotional connections made. She did not feel possessive of Nafoill, and so does not feel his loss in any substantive way. She perceives his going as a fact, and now, the fact stored away, she moves on to other things.  Her one comment about his burial was, "He'll make good dirt." It's amusing, even funny, and even at that moment of great grief Michelle and I laughed out loud. It is indicative of how her mind works, and how disconnected her mind is from her emotions.

I have never posted to this journal specifically on the subject of autism and my daughter, though I've had a post in my head for some time. It will keep, though.

I am the parent of a child with autism.

With all the stressors of the weekend and Monday finally having crested and the kids gone last night, I slept like a baby. By which I mean in the idyllic sense of closed eyes, soft focus, warm blankie sleeping, not the sense of pawing at Michelle's breasts every two hours demanding sustenance. Which isn't to say that doesn't happen from time to time, just not last night.

Tigger has figured out that his companion of the last fifteen years isn't around, and he's become very needy and clingy. It's very sweet and sad, but he sheds horribly and I spent my waking moments vainly attempting to rid my face of cat hairs. Even the dogs are acting odd.

I walked out in the yard as I was leaving for work this morning to find Nafoill's grave littered with dandelions, Katie's handiwork.

There is a whole series of posts about my daughter - hell, I've considered starting a new blog on the subject. Katie's autistic mind knows that she should be sad, so she expresses "sadness" by imitating what she has seen us do, in this case, placing flowers on the grave. She has the beginning point - "Nafoill died" - and the ending point - "I'm sad" - but none of the points in between.

Neither are there any real emotional connections made. She did not feel possessive of Nafoill, and so does not feel his loss in any substantive way. She perceives his going as a fact, and now, the fact stored away, she moves on to other things.  Her one comment about his burial was, "He'll make good dirt." It's amusing, even funny, and even at that moment of great grief Michelle and I laughed out loud. It is indicative of how her mind works, and how disconnected her mind is from her emotions.

I have never posted to this journal specifically on the subject of autism and my daughter, though I've had a post in my head for some time. It will keep, though.