Yet again I overslept and left too little time to go swimming in between breakfast and lunch. However, I made it to the carers’ relaxation day in time for lunch (which, having had breakfast at 10.00, I didn’t really need) , followed by ‘healing’, from a lady who laid hands on my head for a long time and claimed she was giving me extra energy. I wasn’t entirely convinced, but it was quite pleasant anyway. I then had a face massage which was fine except when she slapped me on the chin rather hard and repeatedly. Apparently it helps with lymph drainage.
Was so relaxed after all this (it’s good when it stops) that I felt like going straight home, but I managed to get to the gym, have my swim and jacuzzi time, and get home minutes before my son. I am Superwoman!
Tomorrow is a regional conference of the National Autistic Society at which I’ve booked for a workshop which I’m sure seemed very relevant at the time, but the subject of which I’ve now entirely forgotten. Have to be at Baker Street at 9.30 which is a time of day I didn’t think existed on Saturdays.
Have just noticed that the word ‘time’ appears at least five times (six!) in this post – is my subconscious telling me something? Must be a side effect of being mistaken for a pensioner the other day.
Have had a mailing from a Christian arts conference in the Netherlands, with a booking form that asks me ‘What artistic raining have you had?’ [sic]. Well, I don’t know really – it was raining sideways into my ear on Sunday, does that count as artistic?
Which reminds me of ‘autistic’, which reminds me that I went on a group tour yesterday around the Tree House school for autistic kids, which was founded by Nick Hornby and his friends and is now in a beautiful new building in vibrant Muswell Hill. (Right next door, incidentally, to a psychiatric hospital where I have memories of visiting my late brother). It doesn’t take Asperger kids, so no use to us, and anyway GB is doing well in mainstream, with some hiccups. Actually the head of another private school, for the whole autistic spectrum, was there, but this is only primary so not relevant to us either. I so wish it had been there when we were looking for a primary school – it’s even in Crouch End where he used to go to Montessori.
Met another Aspie parent there who, after a few mins of conversation, said ‘ Do you have a blog?’ Turns out she has been reading this – I can’t believe how many people find this blog. So Sandra, if you’re reading, hello there.
Nothing much to report other than ongoing Christmas preparations, and the fact that yesterday I wrote a sermon in an hour, and had an unexpected Indian head massage in the evening (owing to son not wanting to go to the Asperger’s youth club party in the evening, which meant I could go to the carers’ relaxation evening instead).
Today I saw the therapist again – I really am feeling some benefit from CBT, and am hoping she’ll let me have the extra six sessions after I’ve completed the initial ten (today was number eight). I don’t quite know how she’s done it, as she seems extremely vague and makes only the most hesitant suggestions, but I have begun to believe I have some control over my moods, and that a life with less ambitious goals could actually be better than a life in which I have such aspirations that I constantly set myself up for failure.
I then went to Tesco and did my good deed of the day by ‘looking after’ a lad with high functioning autism whom I know, and who had lost track of his mother. I don’t think he really needed all that much looking after but the staff were clearly worried by him sitting crosslegged on the floor and staring at the toothpastes for a long time. I was able to say I knew him, and to look out for his mother, and eventually they found each other again. It felt good to be somewhat instrumental in this little drama.
Tomorrow night I’ll be singing carols in aid of Christian Aid at a local tube station, and then going to meet a Shipmate I haven’t seen for years, who is over from the US for Christmas. I may spend the morning baking mince pies for the carol singers to have with their mulled wine (which I also need to make). Domestic goddesshood here I come.