O-Dark Thirty

So here I am, it’s o-dark thirty and I’m sitting with the dog on the porch.  A plane just took off, in the very still of early morning you can year them very clearly.  I miss the trains.  But planes are kind of good too.  Dog at my feet (she loves the porch) and my water fountain on (doing double duty… the sound and the light… and I need the outlet on to run the laptop… ).  The birds are coming awake and the cicadas are just at the edge of my hearing.   My solar powered mushroom lights are not quite out yet, which is a nice treat, too.  Little flies are attracted by the glow of the laptop display (the fact that squishing them on the touch screen makes the computer do stupid  things is just annoying).  The slightly flat sound of one old wind chime playing counter point to the shiny new tuned one is kind of interesting with the water gently playing melody. I love early mornings.

I sit here, my hands are kind of whining.  The weather is changing again and the change in pressure has them not exactly hurting just kind of not really happy.

I woke up this morning to thinking about the fact that I’m very far away and can’t be there to talk to my son when he needs to have someone tell him that it is perfectly okay to be himself and that he doesn’t need to change for anyone anywhere.  It kind of weighs on a mother’s heart.

It’s worse when you are aspie and you think you should have to change anyway.

Squirrel Girl and I went to the library yesterday.  Why that is always an adventure that I love is beyond me, but it is.  It’s kind of weird.  I’m just odd enough that I think that some things are just meant to be.  I don’t mean in the romantic way necessarily or even in the predestination of souls kind of way (that always irritated me when I discussed it with people) but just in the karma holy crap weird kind of way.

Well, yesterday we were almost out the door of the library when she showed me this tower of running books that weren’t what she wanted to read.  Didn’t surprise me, they weren’t really good running books to begin with.  And I know what she is looking for. She said, see… this is all they have… <SMH…. no… I’m betting it’s not… AND… I was right>.  I took down the call numbers of the books on running.  I should have them memorized  by now, but I don’t.  And we traipsed back through the library to where the REST of the running books were.  She found three.  She went to check them out and I ambled back through the stacks to go home.

Almost.

Not quite.

I was just walking through the rows and rows of wonderful words, and this book is laying in the middle of the isle.  I swear to you it was not there when we went through the first time… two minutes before… but there it was, in it’s little tee-pee formation, spine up, pages splayed.  Aspergers From The Inside Out.

Really?  Were we not just talking about this on Skype a mere few hours before?  Aspie in all of it’s quirky interesting-ness?

TELL me this book doesn’t just want to be read.  So I picked it up and added a couple others to my already unwieldy pile and went to check out again.  Came home and found a few quiet minutes (very few… phone calls and text messages had sent my already bipolar angel girl into a tizzy… she likes injustice as much as my angel boy likes being lied to) to start reading.  I think it is going to be an interesting book.  I was right.  It wanted to be read.  And I’m going to read it.

And the sky begins to lighten.  The mushroom lights are still softly glowing and the birds are waking more and more.  Silly dog is out finding a good place to sniff some delightful new sniffs.  And the o-dark thirty settles a little more closely around.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s