Worry About Yourself; I’ve Got Everything Else Covered

Nitpicky. Controlling. OCD. Fussy. Particular. Unreasonable. High maintenance. These are some of the words that have been used to describe me. That’s fair, for the most part. I don’t have OCD. I’m not high maintenance, unless one counts the limitations from my disorders and illnesses. All the other descriptors are the result of being undiagnosed well into adulthood and trying to cope and maintain some semblance of control in my life and situations.

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If I get too stressed over something, I immediately start cleaning and straightening items. Adam usually tries to stop me so he can comfort me, but the comfort comes from organizing. Order is something I can physically control and, frankly, keeps me from dealing with overwhelming emotions, which is something I don’t know how to do or even if I’m capable, especially pertaining to sadness, anger, and stress. Keeping things just so helps keep my world calmer, and if I neglect that, it causes stress, which has been affecting me physically more and more.

My current hyperfixation is books. Logic dictates, in my opinion, since hyperfixation (“special interests”) is an autism thing, being AuDHD mucks that up into fixating on something for a length of time, then switching to something else with the same passion and intensity. Mom tried to keep up with my fixations, so I’ve acquired books, pandas, unicorns, and tigers, to name a few, over the years. I have a pink dancing turtle and a talking Squirt from Finding Nemo from my cute turtles phase. With Adam, I’ve obsessed over Bob’s Burgers, Taylor Swift, Pon & Zi, music, crypto, magic mushrooms, and on.

For reasons unknown to me, I decided to try Apple Books/iBooks instead of the Kindle app and discovered I like Apple Books better, so I was going to transfer my 500+ books from Amazon to Apple. Well, I couldn’t. When you buy an e-book on Amazon, you don’t own that book, unlike buying paper- and hardback books. Amazon is essentially a paid library for digital media, like Vudu and other digital goods companies. If Amazon got a bug up their butt and deleted my account, like they have in the recent past, my books would be gone and I certainly wouldn’t be reimbursed. This didn’t sit well with me, and being told I could not do something, specifically that I could not own something I paid for, only fueled my little AuDHD PDA self.

For the past few days, I have spent hours downloading my books onto the computer, converting them into .epub files, backing them up on my external hard drive, and transferring copies to my phone via iTunes. This went well for most of the books, but a few were totally messed up, and of course those are the ones my brain focuses on and bothers me incessantly about. I remove all of them from the phone, fix the metadata and covers for each one on Calibre, and send them back to my phone. A few more are corrected, but there are still some problems. I Yahoogle for help, as does Adam since this is really upsetting me, and I try everything we find.

The same thing happens. All the authors are listed first name, last name in the app, but alphabetically sorted by the last name, which is correct. Except for two authors. One is listed last name, first name and his 23 books are split somehow. For the other, her initials are MZ and she is sorted under M instead of Z, although her name is in the correct order (FN, LN).

Very funny, Apple.

After being miserable for the past week and not getting the results that I wanted, I’m standing at the bed hugging Adam and venting about the apps, and my sweet, amazing, well-meaning husband tells me I should not worry about it because it’s just a small thing. Now, I love this man to pieces, and I know I shouldn’t stress and fret over something so small, but it’s not by choice. I don’t do this because I’m bored or want attention or I’m desperate for some internal drama and turmoil in my life. I can’t help it. I tried to “deal” with Hurricane MIL and nearly had a mental break from that.

On top of my ever-changing, fleeting interests, my lifelong solid obsession is English/language. I’m average in every other subject and above-average in language, which was included in my psych/autism assessment, but I’ve known that since I was little. I was always in gifted reading/English classes, and that was my highest-scoring subject on my ACTs. I had this terrible-paying general transcription job once, and the company’s policy was to type what was said, of course, but that included spelling words how the dictator spelled them if they happened to spell them out, including medications. Most people don’t know how to spell medications correctly because the spelling and formatting can get pretty crazy. I always spelled the drugs correctly and was ready to defend my choice to the death if necessary. I was with one company where this doctor would always say “gamipectin” and proceed to spell it: G-A-B-A-P-E-N-T-I-N. Gabapentin was the correct medication, so I don’t know where in the heck she came up with gamipectin. I correct emails when replying to them. I correct FB posts if I’m reposting. I quickly stopped reading No Country for Old Men because Cormac McCarthy refuses to use quotations when people are speaking, which could very well be a sign of the devil. That really stinks because I loved that movie and figure his books are pretty good.

I have no idea where I’ve been or am going with any of this post. I applaud your dedication (boredom?) if you have made it this far 😊👍.

Adam made me modified tequila (what we called it growing up). Eh, maybe “barebones tequila” would be more accurate; zucchini, meat sauce, and lots of mozzarella cheese 😋. I think ground chuck is more expensive than ground beef because the farmers and butchers have a hard time finding boy cows who are named Chuck. Adam said that’s a possibility but never gave a definitive answer.

Paint It, Black

I think I’m done painting the bathroom, but that’s not set in stone. I’ve learned two things since starting this project: I want to (and usually do) paint anything I get paint on, and high-gloss black paint shows everything, including brush and roller strokes, hair, lint, dust, etc., and Heaven forbid I miss adding a second coat! Places that need touched up are easily seen, i.e., glaringly obvious with a flashlight. I hop around from place to place so much that there is no rhyme or reason to how much paint is on each wall so I just have to spot check. I wish my Concerta worked for me. I couldn’t work with the painter’s tape today because it wasn’t doing what I wanted it to, so I painted the sink.

Probably not the best idea.

I put the shelf that was at the bottom of the mirror over on the wall to the left, and I really like it there. It was in the way above the sink, and it fits perfectly on the wall! Unfortunately, first, I asked Adam to put it a little high so I wouldn’t hit my head on it, but after it was up, I couldn’t see over it and couldn’t really reach things, so I took it down and moved it lower all by myself (yay!). The holes are kind of visible on the batten strip but it’s cool.

Started out with the shelf a few inches higher but I couldn’t see on it.
Shelf’s previous place, right under the mirror frame.

I’ve had the shower done for a while, and while I love it being black, it shows soap scum so bad even though I spray it down after every shower. All the black has made the bathroom really dark, but it looks really cool when I have the smart lights on in color. I need to get some black silicone for around the shower frame so it’s not so ugly.

The clear silicone on the shower does not hold paint!

I listen to music via a Bluetooth speaker while taking a shower, so I stuck a piece of metal by the shower door so I can put my phone there and adjust the volume or change the song while in the shower. It works great and is hardly visible. I’m saving scrap metal so I can put it other places. I added a piece on the bedroom wall in case I go to bed with the phone. I always lose the phone in the bed.

Metal is in the middle of the picture. See the ugly silicone to the left?

I fear it’s a bit autismal of me, but nearly all of my posts are categorized/tagged as Autism because I’m autistic every day so of course each post is about autism. I hope it’s not misleading for anyone. I tend to take things literally a lot and most of the time people think I’m being sarcastic or obtuse when being sincere. My husband is getting better at clarifying when asking me questions and I answer in a literal way.

Oh, I haven’t talked about the closet!! I’m turning Mom’s closet into a sensory room, as previously mentioned, which is 5 feet, 8 inches inches wide by 12 or 14 feet long. I’m planning on getting this all-satin pink blanket from Amazon since “rubbing silky” is one of my stims, and I found the reversible sequin fabric on Amazon, too, which I want to get some of to put on the wall. I’m also going to put my alpaca pillow cover on the wall, as I love anything soft. I’ve had the pillow for years but can’t keep it out because the cats suckle on it and pull the fur off.

My super-soft alpaca pillow

One bad thing about the closet is there are no vents in there and the light fixture cannot accommodate a ceiling fan. Plus, there are no outlets, so I’ll need to get surge protector extension cords so I can plug things in. I saw a cool fiber optic light thingy on Amazon that I want. I always wait until there are good deals, so furnishing the closet will take a while. I would love to get a Drew Chair from Walmart but it’s $300. It would make an awesome reading chair ☺️. When I share something I like with Adam, he will say something like, “That would be good for your sensory room,” which makes me feel so heard and love him even more. He helps me think of things to put in the room because I rarely know when I’m stimming and he says, “You do [this or that] when you’re tired or overwhelmed,” and I don’t even realize it. Mom told me once that I rub the carpet when I’m tired and lying on the floor. I’ve done that since I was a kid and never realized it’s something I do when I’m sleepy. I tend to rub a lot of various surfaces and items to soothe myself.

I can’t start painting the closet until I patch the multiple holes left in the wall from the wire racks. There are a lot of them. I’m going to take one rack and have Adam cut it into several pieces and put them on the wall as shelves instead of racks. They are white, so they need to be painted as well. The spare room is now one big closet, but I’m cool with that since absolutely no one visits, let alone stays the night. I could probably squeeze the bed back in there, but what’s the point?

No More Birthdays

I have anxiety. Bad. I get super anxious hearing other people talk on the phone. My husband makes all calls unless I absolutely have to talk to someone, like for my work. He even has permission to talk to our family doctor and psychiatrist for me. All of that to say, I don’t talk to family on the phone. I always got updated about family by Mom, who would talk to various family members throughout the week. Since I lived with her, I was kept in the loop. All that changed after she died. Family hung around for maybe the first year or two, but then radio silence on both our parts, save a FB group chat with some of my cousins and me.

Around the beginning of April in 2019, one of my aunts called me. She is Mom’s sister-in-law (aka “sister-in-love”), and Mom made her medical power of attorney before she died so my brother and I wouldn’t have to make hard decisions. She, of course, consulted us before making any decisions. I just love this aunt to pieces.

Anyway, my aunt called me and asked if my husband was home, and she wanted me to go to the same room as him. I did so, internally starting to panic. I begged her to please talk to him, I didn’t want to hear what she had to say. By this time, my husband was standing by me, obviously concerned. He caught me when my world fell apart once more.

My big brother (“Bub”), my childhood torturer and hero and only sibling, had a heart attack at work and was found unresponsive. He was taken to Johns Hopkins, where they did all they could, running tests and trying to normalize his temperature and checking for brain activity. He had just turned 39 the month prior.

Since Mom’s car was on the fritz and my husband didn’t think it would make it that far without issues, my cousin was going to take us over the weekend, but Bub didn’t last that long. He left behind an amazing wife and two beautiful, sweet daughters.

A couple of days before they turned the machines off, my sister-in-law called and put the phone to Bub’s ear so I could tell him goodbye. I mostly blubbered and told him I was sorry and that I loved him. He died 9 days before Mom’s death anniversary, 19 days before my birthday. I don’t celebrate my birthday anymore.

I rolled back the time and have been 29 years old for a few years. Everyone started dying after I turned 30. I lost my aunt and my dad the year I turned 30. Dad was a deadbeat, and that drama/trauma is a whole ‘nother story (complete with an Evil Stepmother). I lost Sprinkles, Mom, Ashes, and Soxers all in one year, and two uncles who were surrogate fathers. I’m just done.