Two-three years ago, Jenna reached out to me and others for points of view about topics teenage and young adult autistics might want to more about, as well as advice for loved ones not on the spectrum. The book is now published and part of the proceeds of this book will be donated to AWN’s APOC Fund. It’s available through most book places, big thank you and congrats to Jennifer and Jenna!
I have been so busy especially in the second part of this year, so I hope to fill you guys in soon. To be honest I’m still tossing up whether to move blog or not amongst this AI slop era we now live in, but I can say I’ve updated! Just 28 more things left on the to do list!
So I woke up this morning, and like every serotonin-inhibited person, I got onto my social media to see what’s happened overnight. Usually, this ends with me going on Tumblr to feel less insane and see nice artwork and pictures of cats and Bruce Campbell.
My thoughts on AI in this manner go well beyond hostile into psychotic hatred. As someone going into the creative industry, who has a photography blog on Tumblr and uses this bloody blog on WordPress.com as a personal but hopefully educational outlet is sickening. I don’t spend hours, days, and sometimes weeks trying to write something to my voice and through my hands so that it can be used by something else. I don’t try to learn to have it be spat out easily by a program that should be used in more productive, revolutionary ways. I am sick and tired of my creative release from my life being swallowed by something so soulless, by people so soulless.
You might be thinking, “Just opt out, I’m sure they have an option for you to.” Well, here is WordPress’ very-fucking-hard-to-find-that-I-had-to-search-engine-the-result way to opt out:
and this is what I get in my settings:
No fucking option to as of writing this post.
It’s not just that. As we see from what was reported from 404media, they’re using years worth of content, if your pictures, your words – MY pictures, MY words.
Today I was going to be finishing a post I’ve been writing about executive functioning tips and brainstorming for an Alan Wake-centered post, but right now I’m unsure what to do, and I don’t want to add any more content until I find more info or something comes out within the next day. I’m just so mad and disheartened, and I need time to think about things and figure out/implement how to poison my already-posted photographs.
I hope you all had a safe and content December season!
Unfortunately, we were slammed with a tornado, heatwaves and now inundated with so much rain there’s been flash flooding, so everything is a bit everywhere now, but we are safe and I’m hoping to get my blog stuff back in order so I can write again very soon!
Remember to back up your files (I’m talking to myself here too), drink water, pet your pet and stay safe!
It’s done, I’m alive, I’m healing and I’m able to sit in my office chair for more than an hour!
It has been such a long journey that suddenly went at the speed of light when I finally got my surgery date. The three weeks between getting my date booked in and the actual date included family visiting, seeing my brand new, fresh baby niece and my trying to attempt to finish projects. HA.
Now that I’m a month out post-surgery and healing, I thought it might be beneficial to put my story out there. While there are a lot of stories, many of them are from Americans and I wasn’t sure how different or similar my experience would be.
Just to preface in case I hadn’t in another post: while I was going through the public system, they have been letting people on the public waiting list have surgeries through private hospitals. That includes ya girl. This means I had my own private room including a bathroom which.. I can’t tell you how nice that was in retrospect because I don’t think I could deal with some other person in the room.
For the sake of your eyes and breaking up paragraphs, I’ve done my best to put as much as I can in bullet points, and, for brevity, I’m going to talk about post-op stuff in another post. I’m sure I’ll forget a lot of info and will keep coming back to amend it as it was a long. ass. day.
Another piece of important info, my admittance time was for 11:30, meaning I wasn’t a morning surgery but what we thought would be a mid-afternoon, latest. ahahahahaha
Things I had to do before surgery
Have a shower the day before but no leave-in conditioner (my hair really hated this)
No deodorant
No nail polish
No metformin the night before (when you have last meal or snack)
Stop eating at midnight
Stop drinking completely, including water, at 9.30am
My other meds were okay to be taken with my last drink
I also got a call from the anesthesiologist the day before to see what medications I was on, how I go with anesthesia and I let him know I hate needles and about my thin, deep-set veins that I usually have issues with when I get blood taken. I need to usually sip water and do standing push-ups before getting blood taken to make them more obvious. He was really nice and assured me if he can’t find one they have an ultrasound they can use to help them-
11:30am – Admission! I had to be at the hospital’s admissions bay by 11:30, not at 11:30, which was reiterated to me on the phone, but between my autism and my dad’s suspected autism that wasn’t going to be a problem. This was also the last place family could stay with you so my dad waited with me until I was ushered in a half hour later.
12pm – Change, last measurements, pressure socks, and other physical info I was taken to a room with two nurses who took my weight, height, fit me with pressure socks, medications and basic info check. I was then left to change into my incredibly uncomfortable “underwear”, and hospital gown before being taken to the patient waiting lounge. It was full, which should have been my first indication that – even though this is general waiting area for all different kinds of surgery – it was going to be a long day. Every half an hour when I wasn’t texting family I was still letting them know I was waiting. They did send out a site where you could check the status of a patient but at this point, it only said something to the effect of pending and waiting or something.
So I waited, and waited, the chair I was in was getting uncomfortable, I was getting hungry now and REALLY thirsty, and there’s only so much reality competition and confusing game shows you can stand before you start feeling stir crazy.
3:30pm- Transiting to what I can only describe as a holding cell I was finally called and told this was the last time I could use the bathroom and my phone- which I actually didn’t have time to tell my family I was moving, but soon I was going to be under and the status would be updated, right?
RIGHT????
So I’m put on a gurney and wheeled into my little holding cell. In this room, there are cabinets and just enough room for staff to walk around me. I had a really nice anesthesiologist’s assistant who put warm blankets over me. If I wasn’t tired from no food or drink before I sure as hell was exhausted now. Could I have napped? Absolutely. But my mind found that very rude so I fought my rolling eyes and droopy lids to stay awake. I also didn’t realise there was a clock until I tried to tilt my head really far back to the door ahead (ha) of me, trying to listen to the music. It was the theatre where my surgeon was! I was so close, and it was only 4pm. Some moments later I got to meet my anesthesiologist who started the fun process of finding One Vein. He asked where I usually get them before and I picked a place close to the inner crease of my arm, but the almost seven hours of no water and lots of peeing have left them very shy. In comes the ultrasound! “Hm…” he mused. “They’re very sluggish.” Excellent. Nervous bladder, hunger headache, sticky throat, exhausted body and now the moment I was most not looking forward to is more compounded by tired little whiny veins. Groovy. And then the thing I hated most happened; he couldn’t get it in. Yes entendre, but bear with me. There is this fun phenomenon that happens sometimes when I’m getting blood where they have to wiggle or dig the needle in. Just thinking about it right now is making me want to retch. He tried, he tried so hard to be gentle but a wet noodle of a vein is a wet noodle of a vein. After now wanting to be unconscious more than anything, he finally got it, and had to pack around the area to support the drip. Not to be dramatic but I was ready for a clown to come and bash me in the head.
Below is a picture of my dickhead arm post-packing, so if you’re like me and that stuff grosses you out, scroll past quickly
At this point I was feeling really weak and really over it, and the only thing that was keeping my spirits up was the anas.. let’s just say gas, gas assistant. And now her shift is over. Great. Now an older, more tired assistant has come in and in my split-second delirium, I’m wondering if she doesn’t like me or she is just sick of people. Rationally I thought the latter. She did start conversing with me and I did tell her I had a cat, which did brighten her demeanour. Very relatable. She asked me if I’d had surgery before (I hadn’t) and walked me through what would happen, including that she would be above me with a mask and that might be the last thing I remember. She then attached something to my head and pads to my body before leaving me and I was alone in this fucking cell once again. At this point, I would have done embarrassing things for a vanilla Coke from Maccas. I would have watched needles go into my arm, I would have run around the waiting room bare-assed if it meant I could have a drink. I didn’t even care about food or my headache, I just wanted a drink. And I wanted to sleep. The idea of going under always freaked me out but now, I wanted to be under so bad, I wanted these blankets off me, I was somehow getting sensory overload and sensory dulling and I wanted to scream so. badly.
And then my surgeon came bouncing in with her beautiful eyebrows and beautiful bright smile. She was hands-deep in someone not even five minutes ago.
“So sorry we’re running a bit behind, we had an operation that needed more removal than we thought, but you’re my second-last one for the day [night]. Are you ready?” “All good, I’m so ready.” “Awesome!” “Aren’t you tired? And you still have to keep going?” “Nope! I’m buzzed.”
It made me feel better seeing her, and I managed to look back towards the clock. 5pm. What I found out after the fact was around this time, my family were incredibly worried as my detail hadn’t changed. My fastidious and literal dad was apparently grumbling and swearing around the house, while my mum just decided to go for good old-fashioned anxiety.
5:30-5:45pm – Finally taken in! I studied the ceiling really intently and tried to remember every little detail that had happened so I could recall afterward, like for right now. I hadn’t been completely under before so I wasn’t sure what I would remember-
The doors suddenly flew open and the gasman’s assistant came to get me out of bed, ass most likely out, and help me into the theatre with a team who was going to know me VERY well, VERY soon catching up on their phones. You could have literally told me I pissed myself right then and there and I wouldn’t have cared, I was so elated.
I got onto the table, one of the nurses told me to list my legs to put these other things on my legs, I had a pillow placed behind my back so I was slightly arched with my arms outstretched a bit on each side, my beloved gas man was next to my dripped arm….
and that’s it. I was out, we didn’t even get to the mask and I didn’t care… mainly because I was out, but in hindsight, still happy that I was just zonked.
Meanwhile, back on the homefronts, my mum had called a few minutes after 6pm and was able to find out I was actually under as of 6pm. Apparently, it hadn’t updated on the site anyway but anxieties were quelled and they were informed I would be staying overnight.
10-10:45ish pm – Wake up jfksfhjdhflkdsflsdf a little makeup. I can’t remember what the exact time was but I remember the little hand around the 10. And I was in a big room, like an emergency room but the curtains were open and there were a few patients there with me. A nurse came to me and asked me if I felt alright and if I wanted painkillers. Oh yes, yes please to your painkillers. I was then approached by a nurse and I think an attending assistant who talked to the other nurse and that’s how I found out I would be staying overnight. About .. look time was fluid but I want to say 10-20 minutes later they took me up to my room, and I think (?) I was told I was staying overnight, but for the most part I didn’t give a shit at this point. My nurse was SO wonderful, the second I was parked in my room, she asked me if I wanted food and water, and with all my might I said yes absolutely yes even though dinner and snacks hadn’t been served for hours, hunted down a sandwich and a jug of water. Boy oh boy that jug went down fast, the sandwich I tried really hard to eat all of but my throat was so dry that it was hard to swallow, but I felt so good.
At this point I want and need to stop, mostly because it’s taken days for me to write this out already but I might continue in another post with the post-surgery adventure I have.
Thanks so much if you read all these ramblings and I hope it calms some nerves if you’re going to have surgery or entertained you with my four – yes four – stabbings. I’m going to now go and recline in bed and play Cozy Grove on my Switch.
You might remember a year ago now I was talking about how devastating it was to be on the waiting list for my endoscopy surgery to see what endometrial tissue might be playing havoc with my insides. Unfortunately, I was put back on the waiting list which was, in the most simple terms, really bullshit. I wasn’t sure how much it was going to impact my studies or trying to find work, thankfully though I can say in hindsight it wasn’t too bad, although I’m currently looking at job opportunities and know it’s something that could very much impact my ability to physically (and sometimes mentally) work.
I’m happy to say though that a couple of weeks ago I was contacted about my upcoming surgery! I’m still on level 3 (the “lowest” ranking so the longest to wait) but I’ve been informed that in the next week or two I should be contacted by the hospital and given a surgery date, which will be sometime within the next two-ish months. I say “should” because like every bit of this journey, it’s going to be calling them and telling them I haven’t heard back from anyone and what the hell is going on.
So, I’ll be getting my surgery, so what does that entail?
ell in my situation it will be a public surgery going through a private hospital; utilising the space available in the private hospital nearby to do the actual surgery without paying the fees of the private hospital – unless I have to stay overnight. This is usually something that happens in day surgeries here where you aren’t having a multi-hour or emergency surgery, and while most are done during the day sometimes some have to be done during the evening or it became complicated where you have to stay overnight, that’s me having to pay part. I would really not like that to happen!
In the meantime I’m supposed to continue what I’m doing; log my pain and anything else, try to workout when/if I can, and tryyyyy not to stress because it just loves triggering my pain. Other than that I’m getting back into writing and finishing some editing projects.
It’s been a while but I can now say I’ve finished my studies!
The last six months have flown by thanks to the short film we had to put together; pre-production, filming, and the dreaded post, but we also managed to have at the end of last month a premiere for all of our films! It’s very strange seeing what you made in a cinema, with people, with your name on it. And look, it wasn’t perfect because of a multitude of things like sudden time restraints but we got something presented, which I’m hoping with some tweaking I can put it into festivals.
It hasn’t been easy, I think I still kicked myself for feeling like I couldn’t keep up and second guessing myself, but somehow I made it, and an even bigger somehow, my hard work paid off in the form of the only award presented on the night! As my mum kept saying, I did work “very fucking hard”, but I was still blown away. For context, the Jed Cahill Excellence Award is given to the student that has encapsulated the spirit of Jed Cahill, who used to be a teacher at my campus and an important driving force in the entertainment industry here who sadly passed away way too young in 2022, a few weeks before I started my course. He seemed like a really amazing guy, so I do feel honoured, and it’s going to keep me going (A.I. be damned).
I’m still trying to get my head around everything and figure out my new routine, as well as finish some projects to release so bear with me, but yeah, I’m alive, I’m thankful, and boy am I tired!
In a way, I mean this blog, for fear of certain people – especially family – finding my outlet and misconstruing what I say. This post, though, is brought to you by the wonderful world of education.
I know it’s nothing new; we all hold back and try to hold back what we say to some degree or another, but I’ve been finding myself coming home from TAFE, kicking myself for hours over what I said or being too eager to help (that post coming soon). Sometimes I’d be kicking myself so much I’d cry in the shower, wondering how the hell these people would stand me for a second, let alone want to work with me on projects.
The industry I’m studying for makes things so difficult. The entertainment industry is one of networking, of who you know, and being in such a small but incredibly important region compounds my feelings of anxiety. Am I catastrophising? Maybe a little, maybe a lot, but it’s something that’s always on my mind. Something I always feel like I have to keep on my mind.
After obsessively thinking about it last night, I didn’t go to school today. I’m scared I’ll slip and say something stupid, or say something that I didn’t mean to say in a certain way. I hate how easily I’ve thwarted myself and pulling back, only to do a 180 and just be a weird extrovert I’ve never met before, like a quiet puppy that just starts going absolutely apeshit over something shiny.
I’m sorry this hasn’t been a post of substance that I can use something personal to point to something at large within mental illness or neurodivergency, but I feel like I’ve been getting to a point that I’m just going to verbally shutdown at the worst time and I’ll risk the next – and last – semester and maybe even just quit entirely (I’m usually too stubborn to quit unless I’m physically in pain, so this is somethin’).
I hope to clarify more about this subject in the future, but for now I think I might need to leave this as a super personal post. I actually have my official last day of school tomorrow before holidays, so let’s see if I can get through tomorrow then hopefully do some posts while I’m on holidays!
I don’t think I need to tell any of you that trying to make friends or have friendly relationships as an adult – whether neurodivergent or typical – sucks.
As a kid it seemed so much easier. Liked someone’s Ninja Turtles shirt? New friend. Think purple macrame necklaces are cool new weapons to whip each other with? New friend. Hate Justin*? New friend.
Being an adult and making friends is too complicated, with complexities that seem to get in the way most of the time. This hasn’t been more apparent to me than being in a learning atmosphere. Even though some people have left, it’s still quite a large class (the largest on campus) with people of different ages and life experiences, most around 19-25 years old. They are really great people – some I’ve grown really fond of and could get along with outside of class (we’ve all tried meeting up but plans keep falling through). Some of them are even autistic!
Yet I envy almost everyone in my class. They are flowing in and through conversations so easily; their knack for continuing a conversation for minutes at a time seems so awe-inspiring to me, especially when it seems to be about nothing but idle chatter or just a restaurant.
Usually I’m pretty good at this. Well, when I say usually, I mean during primary (elementary) and high school. Painfully shy, I still managed to find a nice core group of friends. When I worked, it was a miracle I found a great core group, but as time went on and it got harder then all of those friends eventually left, I found it hard to relate to the other people leftover.
Sometimes I catch myself wondering what they really think about me. Do they actually like me or not? Am I just too loud, too annoying, too awkward, and weird with my attempts at chit-chat too ham-fisted?
I can’t believe almost a month has already gone by since I last posted! It’s been one of those fast-but-slow-if-I-think-about-it months with a lot of stuff happening.
After my wonderfully unsuccessful “pre-op(eration)” appointment at the hospital, I called my gyno with a new kind of desperation and was lucky enough to have an appointment with her the following week. I told her everything: my disappointment and anxieties over waiting another year, how I was told my nerve issues “could be MS”, something I completely forgot to say in my last post and just a very nonchalant way of a fucking medical professional to say you might have something as series as multiple-bloody-sclerosis. We went over my medications, stagnant weight loss, and the fun symptom changes that included my eyes. While she didn’t agree at all with the casual throwaway line of MS, she did affirm that the pill I was taking could be the cause of my eye pain and sensitivity.
Behold! A Mythical Creature 