I count my days as one numbers the hairs on a hedgehog. You clump the strands together into spiky, soft and in between. Oh and eyelashes count too.
Night melds into a haze of eating battles, Asian tv dramas, youtube and toothpaste, while the day brings something similiar with sunlight and warmth. What is here and now and there and then?
Upset dears approve of silent sullen peace and drowning of yesterday's mishaps and misunderstandings. Ornamental smiles and dreamy Josh slips away behind his autism.
Reality bites and eloquence disappears. My racing thoughts disappear and I am left with this predicament.
I need touch to talk and I need people who can provide that life giving touch that makes the difference between lonely exclusion and vital validation of my existence as a human.
I do think.
I do have a voice.
I am not really that different.
It's just that more of my days are spiky compared to yours.
[Typing time for this entry: 33 minutes]