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.

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. 

Cris is gone on Vacation

I skipped these entries earlier because I was ashamed. I refuse to be ashamed for my lack of understanding when I was a twenty-something. I remember looking out the window, with my children - they were just babies - the oldest not even in kindergarten - pointing at the people waiting at the bus stop. I told them, "Look at them! Mindlessly going about their lives on auto-pilot, never once thinking about what their place in the world really is. They just follow the expectations set before them. Sad little people." 

I never was a very nice person, I still am not. I have a sense of superiority. I look down upon, and judge people unfairly. I am quick to criticize. I am quick to anger. At the same time - and I have heard this about women/girls with Asperger's - I am very emotional. I cry easily now. I don't think I was quite so prone to tears as revenge as a young mother. I was evil. I enjoyed the fact that lies tripped easily off my tongue. I lie still, as easily. 

I skipped these entries earlier because I wanted to portray myself as a victim. I played almost (or just) as large a part in my troubles as my emotionally-vampiric adulterous husband did. I should write all the entries - and let you be the judge...

January 4, 1987

Cris is gone for the good part of two weeks - or maybe a week - or at least 10 days. I will miss him, but I am looking forward to his vacation.  It will be a good opportunity for me to get done some things that need doing. I need to take charge of my life - to go to the post office with Harris and ianthe while Aja is at school - mail all my letters and things like that...

I worked for Halle last week and made $56.00! I feel pretty good about it. I feel like taking out my machine and sewing somethings for Cris while he is gone to surprise him when he comes home.

I haven't bitten my nails for a few days and they already look pretty good. I wish to continue not biting them - self-control I need you right now.

"Is there anyone so wise as to learn by the experience of others?" - Voltaire

"The man who rows the boat generally doesn't have time to rock it."

January 4th is my oldest daughter's birthday. It seems that Cris decided to go away on the day Aja turned six, I can't remember if he left the day before, or after the cake. Was he actually "on vacation"? No, he was staying with another woman. I knew that. I tried to pretend that it didn't matter. I told him I would do anything, just as long as he didn't leave me.

February 2, 1987

Not much to say, I feel a bit depressed, I don't want to talk about groundhog day or candle mass day. I have lots of work to do - I must work and read and go to school. It seems endless - too much.

Cris is wonderful. He is so smooth like chalky butterscotch. His hair grows from his body delicately from each pore - the same color as his chalky skin. Matte features and skin. Wonderful. He is so fun and nice to be with of late. He is fun to joke and laugh with. I'm not feeling as inferior with  him anymore either. Remember Sue to work on self-control and build up your self-esteem or confidence. Someday I will be a confident woman.

/cringe