While I was volunteering over the weekend, I spent several hours with a mom and her #ActuallyAutistic son.

I'm #ActuallyAutistic also, to different degrees, in varying ways.

The old, still somewhat pervasive, idea that people whose autism looks like his – that they live in some private, unknowable world? It fucking KILLS ME.

Listen, y'all.

I know that 'bout the only times we hear the word "community" in the US, it's paired with a group ("the Black community", "the gay community"), or used with "organizer" so it sounds like someone knocking on doors in a neighborhood.

It's bigger than those examples and uses.

At least a few of our pipes are frozen, despite our best efforts. There's (currently) no indication that they're cracked, but at some point I'll need to don my coverall jumpsuit, grab a flashlight, and crawl under the house for a look.
We currently have no hot water. (Dunno if the tankless heater froze up – it shouldn't – or if my not wrapping a couple of flow valves left a chink in our armor.)

I really do love unsettling things. Music, costumes, film & television – seeing people create unsettling art, or making some myself, gives me the warm fuzzies inside. It truly comforts me.

Why? How in the heck can I find comfort and joy in things meant to disturb?