Touching down into Minneapolis

June 16, 1987

Rounding the corner of the spaghetti junction in St. Paul, I overtake a vehicle from Michigan. A young family inhabits it. It is a red station wagon - newer model with a plastic storage compartment on the roof. I find these containers quite unusual - they seem to not be all that functional - providing only as much space as a truck might offer. The most unusual aspect is the apparent lack of clutter in the back of the cars - mainly station wagons - no piles upon piles of blankets and suitcases. I imagine the people who benefit most from these devices are those industrious and terribly organized individuals who prefer to travel with only the bare necessities and stopping at night in luxurious hotels and eating in only the finest restaurants.

Although it was only the beginning of a hint of twilight, this station wagon driven by the dark-haired, breaded man from Michigan had its lights on - no less it had its brights on! I overtook them, as I stated, on the curve - accelerating past them on the inside. The lanes opened up. I switched lanes gracefully and as I raced forward into the 55 mile per hour zone. I glanced into my rear view mirror to see the bright lights becoming smaller and closer together in the distance.

The sun was setting in an orange-yellow orb ahead on the highway. Touching down into Minneapolis. I gripped the steering wheel with most of the pressure on my palms. My head was held up - not resting on the head rest - I could hear the bones in my neck squeaking. I could move my eyes upward to the right and see my friends from Michigan gaining on me. They saw me and they wanted to stay close. I had a good two block lead on them as I sailed past the Snelling Avenue bridge.

As I neared the exit to Vadnais, I quickly glanced into the mirror. My heart jumped. They were right upon me. I quickly glanced over my shoulder to check the newly opened lane for obstacles and caught the eye of the woman from Michigan. Her children were sitting forward, arms on the back of the front seat, excited, no doubt, by the nearness of the setting sun.

I pulled into the free lane. The lane I knew would take me past the slower lanes to the left of me - faster than the car from Michigan. Around the top of the turn and quickly change lanes back into the middle. My lane would soon be exiting only into the University. Near that exit ramp, a car had been stopped by a state patrol. I glanced at my speedometer and was surprised by my correct speed.

Onto the bridge, University Hospital is glanced as I switch lanes once again into the new right lane. The bridge connecting the east and west banks of the university. Thoughts of Cris and I walking on it. He holding my hand. And thoughts of Char. As I near the Riverside exit, I see the Michigan car rounding the corner in my mirror. Still the only car with lights on. I smile seeing that I have not lost them. My exit comes up quickly and I search for another glimpse of my friends but they are lost, never to be seen again.

Saturday, June 13, 1987
Driving home from Bayport

::Jealous::

I remembered this entry. It started a new book off with a bang. I thought my writing was snappy and suspenseful. I thought I packed in longing and loss. I am an adult now, and see judgment and jealously, imaginary drama and unsupported assumptions.

As an Aspergian, I see the world through Susan colored glasses. I am judge and juror. I am the standard bearer. I see and judge all. The poverty-stricken young mother in me had given up a comfortable upper-middle class upbringing because I had not seeing the path I should take because I was wearing my "Susan Shades".

I fumbled around until I discovered the "hippie path" at the Stillwater library. I had hippie friends, Scott and Conny, to discuss organic farming. His plot always looked better than mine, because he actually cared and I hated weeding. We traded ideas about how to preserve food. We talked a lot about building a dome house, raising goats and eschewing electricity /shudder. I sewed my own clothes - or altered those I found. I tie-dyed hand me down baby clothes to hide the stains.

I made "War Protest Signs" even though there was no war going on except the cold war. I was afraid of nuclear holocaust, so I put an ad in the paper asking people to meet at the library to form an Anti-Nuclear group. Unbelievably, we grew and became very successful. We staged protests downtown (Stillwater) and we bought proposals to Stillwater (rejected) and Washington County (accepted) to create a Nuclear Free Zone.

Since I was a vegetarian, I purchased food at the co-op and in bulk at the grocery store. I used cloth diapers at some point - ick! The early years of my marriage were when my "Susan shades" became opaque. Slowly, only people who acted the same as I did were "right", everyone else was "wrong". My way - or the highway! Which brings me back to this entry.

However endearing this writing has been to me over the years, typing them into this blog reveals them for what they really were. It is Raw Susan. I was jealous that a family had more than I did, that they could travel from state to state, that I imagined they could pay for a new car, stay at hotels, all the things I wished I could give my children.

I experienced those things growing up. I wanted my children to experience those things as well. They did eventually - when the next summer, I asked my parents to let me come back home, with my children, so I could finish school. I will be excited to tell that tale when I get to it.

This journey, stuck in my mind's eye, because I had written it down, reveals me for what I am. I judge. I judge based on my own criteria: The Susan Code. Before my Asperger's diagnosis, I wasn't as aware that I did this. I wasn't fully aware that others had thoughts of their own. I believed that everyone should agree with me, and I was surprised when they didn't.

92 degrees and sunny

Several pages from my visual journal. They relate to some earlier posts, so I am going to provide links to the corresponding dates. I hope these visual entries do not bore you...

May 14, 1987

The Gravity Race was an annual event at MCAD. This particular year, Newton's Apple (The KTCA series), was there filming. I was thrilled later when I was in some of the footage used on the show. The vehicle that I built was created solely by me. I give credit to Cris in the sketch above "Gravity Race Wednesday May 13th. Cris/Sue collaboration - Honorable mention $25.00! Tri-cube". I think that fact that Cris read my journals caused me to claim that he collaborated with me. He did help me paint it - but I designed and constructed the entire piece. This sketch was drawn the same day that is related in the post "I am a rich man".

May 15, 1987

This incident would stand out in my mind as recordable. I have a "thing" about people who spit. When I was a student at the University of River Falls in 1979, the sidewalk was spit upon by what I considered "farm boys". It gives me the willies. Eeww. Gross.

May 16, 1987

This gardening project was so fun! The kids and I were using spoons to loosen the soil. We planted seeds from a packet. Harrison and Aja held out their dirty hands, palms up to accept a couple of seeds at a time. We carefully watered our garden. The plants were just beginning to poke their heads out when the woman who lived downstairs tore up the garden and planted marigolds. Ouch!

May 17, 1987

My sister Anne lived where all the houses were made out of red brick. They were built close together. This sort of neighborhood made me nervous. I was and still am worried about houses that look too much alike. It frightens me to think I might knock on the wrong door. 

May 19, 1987

This sketch and the one below were both drawn on May 19th. This is a depiction of me cleaning the bathroom - that I complain about in the "I feel like a bitch" blog entry.

These unfortunate plants were also destroyed in the "Lady Downstairs plants marigold episode" ::sadface::

Maybe I imitate others because to be myself might mean - NOTHING

"Do not be ashamed of yourself; this above all else, is the root of your problem."
"The Brother's Karamazov" Dostoevsky

August 27, 1986

Who is this person whom you call Sue?
I'm not really sure you know.
You surround yourself with other people whom you don't like nor do they like you much either.

I look back at these pages in disgust. I am so whiny. I complain all the time. Here I sit as god and proclaim others - my rivals - to be less than myself.

Well, Sue, you know yourself where you stand. You are lower than all - you plummet the depths of insecurities - above all else you are ashamed of yourself and of your behavior. Constantly imitating others yet criticizing them while pretending I'm not like them at all. I must recall e.e. cummings - "To be nobody. but - yourself - in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else - means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting."

Maybe I imitate others because to be myself might mean - NOTHING - I am so untrue to myself.

How can I break down my barriers to my self?

Maybe, this is the criticizing I perform. ABOUT EVERYTHING! It could be very telling about myself - what I choose to criticize. I've often read that Virgo's are critical by nature - well fuck that; it is no excuse.

I complain about other people's messy houses - yet I am one of the biggest pigs around.

I complain about how others are raising their children - could it be I worry about my own shortcomings?

Ah, at last a post acknowledging that I understand that there is something different about me. I knew I would come across an intellectual entry. I have a post-it note stuck in one of my notebooks written by a therapist that I knew in Stillwater. A kind soul that counseled me for free. The note says simply: "incidents in which I was not sure how to act as a 25 year old woman." I had been struggling with what was a "normal" way to be, to act. I have always wondered how to act. This was something he was helping me with.

I wondered why the girls got along so well in elementary school - it never came easy for me. One incident stands out clearly and painfully in my mind. We had hooks outside of our classroom that were inset into the walls. A gaggle of girls around me, fifth graders - Mrs. Loney's class - were hanging up their coats and fawning over one girl. "oh, I like your skirt!" they exclaimed. The girl turned towards me, actually, turned towards the classroom door, I looked her straight in her eye, "I don't" I stated. Quiet. Silent, shocked. I just remember that. The silence. I realized I had said the wrong thing. I misunderstood what was happening. People were not giving their opinions of her skirt - they were complimenting her - a friendly gesture. As I worked my way through elementary school, I "worked" my way through "friends", by the time we were in seventh grade, a new school, I had the opportunity for a whole new set of people to reject me.

Just as it is for me as a child, I had few friends as a adult. People have trouble "reading" me. I come across as harsh, or rude, or disinterested. People who stick with me long enough, learn that I am actually a very kind person. I act as if I know everything, as if I am an expert in everything. This is my coping mechanism. I cope with my inability to "read" the intent of people easily by acting as if I am superior to them. People who call themselves my friends, know this. They accept it as who I am. They laugh with me at my boasting statements of "I know best" and "Prove it!". I am just quirky. I have strong opinions. 

I am a rich man

May 14, 1987

Tomorrow is the last day of classes at MCAD before next fall - YEAH! I am very happy school is over. Summer I can do anything I want - just be me. Ahhhh RELIEF! I've been thinking about what I must do. I promised myself another journal (visual) that I must do certain things: exercise, read, work. I notice the state of the house - this also must be dealt with - DREAD - and a garage sale must happen soon. I want to do it all. I want to balance it all out. I should make a list of parceling out the things I wish to do so I don't burn out on any one thing.

Also it came to mind I must write in my journals - anything - I just have to write - write often and with passion - must learn all I can about myself this summer - and the only way to do that is to write my butt off.

My classes I preregistered for today seem interesting and I am pleased at the schedule - Tuesday and Friday only so I am free to work the other days.I am taking Photo one, Video one, Science of Behavior and a Chinese Art and Culture class. Good!

Bonita Wahl said I could help her at film in the Cities. High school students in July and early August four days a week - fun stuff. I can work for Halle and possibly Norman Anderson. I have a feeling he won't call me to work though so I am not waiting for him or anything. I want to write up a serious resume and cover letter and apply for some position - possibly just a stupid job somewhere.

I want to hurt my mind with writing - writing poetry and stories and just stuff.

I want to clean my house - sparkling clean - rid it of pests - no mice, no roaches - no excess!

I want to clean my body, no chemicals, exercise it - healthy.

I want to pick my brains - to know myself - inside and out. To be surprised at myself - to assure myself of my goodness - to feel whole and well. To gain control of myself. To be empowered. To be beautiful. To be well.

Reading "Memoirs from the House of the Dead" (Dostoevsky) and I am feeling horrid. I have a common cold. One thing that stands in my mind is this..."He wanted for nothing...lived like a rich man." I like this thought. It is true, you can live like a rich man if you do not desire what you cannot attain. If you do not feel sorry for yourself - you will be alright. Herb Grika said today that jealousy is when you react to something being taken from you, but envy is want for what you do not have. There is a supreme difference between the two. Envy can spur two people to action to attain what they do not have but if envy (and jealousy for that matter) are held in check then you arrive at the state where you live indeed as a rich man.

If you want not - or want not for anything - you are like a rich man - who is satisfied with his lot in life.

This journal entry seems pretty boring. I cringe reading it, remembering that I asked every one of my teachers for job leads. I had so little experience in the world. I asked the Art History professor if he had any work for me over the summer, he told me I could come clean his house. Yikes.

I understand now, 23 years later, that I was probably annoying them. One teacher, Herb Grika, openly despised me. He was the teacher that asked me what I wanted to do in life. When I answered that I wanted to teach at a college, he laughed at me. He said, "you should teach high school students". I think he was trying to tell me that I wasn't mature enough to teach at a university. I think he was trying to hurt my feelings. I actually left MCAD at the end of the Fall semester the following year as a result. Transferred to the University of Minnesota to get an Art Teaching degree and license. 

Teaching high school is a good and a bad fit for me. I like teenagers, but they react to "authority figures" warily. I yell at them, threaten them in cute ways, I am often misunderstood. I am abrasive and frightening. I am also very loved, many kids say I am their favorite teacher. I have a soft safe place in my heart for the awkward kids, the dark-siders, the emos, the special needs kids, the poor kids, the homeless kids, the native kids. I protect them. I watch them, help them with their schedules, advocate for them.

I believe that teaching is going to destroy me. I am a train wreck, running down the rails. I am an expert in my subject area, a leader in the district, and I hate my job. I hate it. I need a quiet place to work. I am looking at master's programs. I think Library and Information Science - with a focus on Digital Archiving. That sounds quiet doesn't it?