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.

I am a Braggart

September 5, 1986

Today, I was sitting out on the porch watching the traffic and a man (who reminded me of my oldest brother) started off the curb (walking it) with a bicycle. As soon as the back wheel hit the street one of the pedals fell off - not just the pedal but the entire crank! He picked it up and attempted to ride the disabled bike. I shouted out - twice before he heard me - "Do you need some tools?" He said he might need a screwdriver so I ran upstairs to get my trusty bicycle repair kit (the tool box with bike tools).

He tried to fix it with a screwdriver but it fell off immediately. I asked to see. I observed that it had a nut that needed to be tightened. He busted off the cap covering it (later we found that we could have been unscrewed). He fixed it with a socket wrench and asked if he could repay me in any way. I told him just to have a great day and he went on his way.

I was am always still the braggart. I love to tout my good deeds, my unusual adventures. Maybe this in itself is not unusual by any means, but I brag because I am trying to fit in. I have observed "good
Samaritans" in action - in real life, in books, on the big screen, etc. I imitate them. It is EASY for me to interact with others if I have a purpose. If I have a purpose, I don't have to feel uneasy about what is required of me - there is a script to follow. 

While looking for some back-up information about Asperger's Disorder, I came across this poem at Tony Attwood's website. It describes how I feel - except I am never mistaken for "shy". I am mistaken for "disinterested". Oh, and I am not emotionally "barren", although I lack subtle emotions. I have big swings of feelings - my feelings are all physical - I can feel the adrenaline, the hormones release, the quickening of my heart, the catch in my throat, the tears in my eyes.


INTROSPECTION - by Adrian Flynn

Locked in a body that knows how to function,
This mind knows the rules, but not how to speak.
Rehearsed interaction is laboured, but managed,
Learning language and actions, but still feeling meek.

Fragments of knowledge are processed and filtered,
To sift out the right way to smile and to cry.
Emotionally barren and socially awkward,
Avoiding eye contact, mistaken for shy.

Hang on to a pattern, a routine, a ritual,
To feel safe with existence, to know how to live.
Avoid changing backgrounds and unknown encounters,
From anxious to full fearful panics, they give.

All manner of subjects researched infinitum.
Obsessive behaviour is par for the course.
First one then another thing learned to its limits,
All referenced and noted to every last source.

First learning then working, to the exclusion of friendship.
One minded and narrow, to a depth never seen.
A gulf holds me far from the mind of all others.
Confused where I fit in; somewhere in between.

Satyriasis - the male counterpart of nymphomania

January 19, 1987

Dart thrown at Cris's forehead
Dart in the Penguin's hat
The back of my neck is all tingly
Doing dishes
Listening to Roxy Music from the recorder on the wall

January 25, 1987

A Story

U stood in the hallway of a dimly lit apartment building, listening, straining to hear the conversation within the apartment before her. She held her ear close to the door, hands outstretched as if to balance herself and not fall forward and bump the door. She held the keys to the apartment in her hand, wondering if she should use them. She heard sounds of kissing, laughing, and the low mumbling of conversation within the door. A man and a woman were in there - or was that a television?

U thought the man belonged to her. This was of course a delusion because that was not the case at all. She is feeling very threatened. She thinks of the time when she was the one laughing and kissing, having a conversation with this man. She had caused these feelings of having your "prize" stolen from your grasp by another woman who now thought of him as her own.

They had met at a party. He had been warned not to have contact with U because this woman believed or thought somehow that U was a threat.

The man was inclined to do things that he was forbidden to do, so at the end of the party, he had taken U home, much to the dismay of his present woman, who returned the next day, questioning the man in the kitchen, "What is she still doing here?"

Through the years, U had become too secure in her position as his woman. This assumption had driven the man away, seeking out another woman who might not assume such things.

U felt anxiety. Her heart was racing. She jumped at sounds she heard within. A moved chair caused her to quickly run down the hall and hide around the corner in terror. What would happen if she was discovered? Noticing that no one was coming out of the apartment, she walked down to the door, again putting her ear close to listen. This was futile! She decided to go outside to see if anything was happening.

Outside, she scanned the surroundings for elevation. She decided to climb a tree that was nearby for a look. This view was not sufficient and she gave up after 5 minutes or so.

She was in the same place: she could hide out somewhere and wait for them to come out - but what door would they use? If she chose the wrong hiding place, it would be too late.

U decided to go back inside. Within seconds she was in the hallway, at the door again. Taking the keys from her pocket to fiddle with them, she struggled with the decision to either use them and discover the man in bed with his lover or pretend she knows nothing.

U had pretended a lot about not knowing about the man and his others. She had dressed up to look like someone else and watched him with others.

She decided she might as well get it over with. She knows it will destroy her relationship with the man, but she has had enough pain. More pain than she thought anyone could bear. It had changed her.

She thought she must be quick as possible in order to catch him in his betrayal. She tried clumsily to put the key in quietly, but her hands were shaking too much. It was too late. He was aware and had rushed to the door. U turned the key, he on the other side, tried to prevent it. The door is unlocked. Push. He pushes back.

She does eventually have the door open. She is insane with rage. She wants to get inside. She uses her body as a tool not caring what becomes of it. She squeezes in and sits on the floor,  her back to the closed door, emotionally and physically unarmored. She is a rock. She is not going to move.

The other woman has fled to the other room so as not to be seen - or is that the television playing in the background?

"I expected this U", the man says, standing before her like she is the plague. He wants to get rid of her but knows not how to go about it.

U sits. She is staring madly straight ahead. She has accomplished her mission. Her heart is beating fast. She is sweating and shaking. She is not going to move, ever again.

This is an actual account of me breaking into my husband's apartment after we had split up. I had stolen his keys while he was making breakfast for the kids one morning and walked to the corner hardware store to make copies. I slipped them back before he noticed. I would break into his apartment when he was at school to read his journals, to snoop around. I was looking for more salt to rub into my open wounds. It was painful, and undeniably wrong, but I did it. I own it. 

The actual event described in the story above ended in the hallway, a physical altercation. I flicked my burning cigarette at his chest. He shoved me back. He took my keys. He ordered me out. There was another woman in the apartment at the time. I never climbed a tree to look inside.

 Below is a shot list for my video production class I was taking at MCAD. I was planning on filming this story. When it actually came down to the video shoot, Cris had come home in the morning after spending the night with another woman. I was angry. He attacked me. Cris picked me up around the waist, bruising my ribs as he threw me down on the bed. He choked me. I used my legs to kick him off. The children were watching. They were crying. I called my sister to come. I called my friend Halle to come. 

Halle took me to Stillwater to visit a friend, whose husband ironically had just took their kids and left that very day. I filmed her talking. I had to shoot something. I had the video equipment checked out. The assignment was due. I called the video "Halle Driving". I earned a "B" for the project - oh well. If I can find it, I will post it.

Video Shot List

1. Walking down street, turning into apartment building. Using keys to open doors.
2. Walking upstairs to the door - listening intently - she is going to listen.
3. The man and woman (or watching a television) inside unaware, laughing, kissing, talking.
4. The woman listening intently.
5. Inside the apartment, a chair pushed back, man gets up to get something.
6. The woman in the hallway leaping away to hide. The woman freaking out.
7. Vision of man coming out and finding her.
8. Woman hiding, decides to go back to the door.
9. Man and woman talking, kissing, laughing in the apartment - or is it a television?
10. Key in hand.
11. Vision of man and woman in bed.
12. Key near lock.
13. Another different version of man and woman in bed.
14. Open lock.
15. Man leaping to door.
16. Woman's struggle.
17. Man's struggle - as woman flees.
18. Woman gaining - leg getting crushed in doorway.
19. Woman getting in, plopping down.
20. Man staring at her.
21. Woman staring straight ahead insanely.
22. Vision of man and insane woman happy together.
23. Man confused.
24. Woman staring.