I have had the best weekend
I spent time with my brother and sister in law
I got to hang with my two amazing nephews.
I saw my brother's work.
The whole thing was pure bliss.
I feel like a normal person.
My autism took the back seat and I was able to just be.
I also gave my mom a break, which she so badly deserves.
It was just amazing.
To whom it may concern,
I am writing this letter to recommend my teacher Jeff Galfond to the Project SURGE PhD program at University of Illinois Chicago.
I am posting this on my blog because I am not his employer or professor and so I cannot recommend him through formal channels.
Put simply, Jeff is the most intelligent, observational and passionate person I Know.
Jeff has changed my life.
He taught me to communicate.
I will say that again, he taught me to communicate.
You cannot even imagine the torture of being silenced nor the liberation of getting your voice back.
The nihilism of being trapped in cyclical thought streams is still palpable.
It is burnt brown death.
Jeff took me out of that wasteland.
He gave me hope.
He still does.
I would give my life for him.
I'm just asking you to accept him into your university.
I woke up feeling blue.
My mood with somber hue.
The cold has chased the light away.
The morning did progress.
The feeling stirred me less.
I got a mobile journey in a vibrating room.
In early afternoon I pray.
That swollen sadness will decay.
In the midday hours my freedom looms.
The brightness in the air.
An anticipatory affair.
My teacher Jeff is coming soon.
Sometimes we loosen our lexical grip.
Words crawl out like newborn spiders.
But that newborn will grow up.
It will spin webs.
It will eat bugs.
Those words, which crawl like arachnids, are like flowing water.
They fall through each crevice.
It conforms to it's environment.
Those words should stay in.
The spiders unhatched.
The lake full.
Those words are inconsistent with my condition.
Yet they still pour out, mindlessly.
I am caught in an endless cycle.
I cannot yet type with my mom.
I need prompting to begin any action.
If I want to go sit on the couch I cannot initiate the action of making my body move in the desired direction.
If I want to eat I cannot initiate the movement of my hand towards the food.
Once the food is in my mouth I cannot initiate the chewing process.
It just sits in my mouth.
I need prompts.
Not to give answers or directions, just to make me start doing an action.
This is the case for almost every action.
Even as I type, my teacher must say what do you want to say next in order for me to type the next line.
This is the case for typing.
I simply cannot sit down and start typing without being prompted to begin.
My mom thinks I don't want to type with her.
She thinks I intentionally won't initiate the process because I don't want to.
She thinks I want to hurt her.
I hate how I make her feel.
I cannot change though.
And so every few months we get into a huge argument.
She asserts that I refuse to type with her.
I assert that she won't prompt me and so we never get a fair try.
It is an endless cycle.
I hate it.
I think there is my rest you do think not.
I blink both eyes so is both got.
The thousand syntactical variables.
If big you go be just as still.
If hamster eggs be not unstill.
With legs like wild mice.
Of snap of crunch of pop I pray.
The effervescent nostalgia lay,
Upon a damp and soldered hill.
Me thinks me though my thoughts are fluid.
The arm that moves the candle to it,
Is slimy as it slivers.
Exacto practico balloon.
Like oil on a broken spoon.
I'm only of the sun.
In tinted windowless cocoons,
In luminescent vacant rooms,
We just do what we do.
I hate being disabled.
I wish that I could talk.
I wish I could yell when I get mad.
I wish I could raise my eyebrows and speak softly when I want others to listen.
I wish I could express my thoughts as they occur, instead of moments later.
Sometimes those moments seem like a lifetime.
Like I could be born, grow up and die in the time between thought and expression.
I wish I could smile when I am happy.
I wish I could laugh when I find something funny.
I wish I wasn't disabled, but I am.