Autistic Inertia

Nessa's Notions:

Newly rediscovered concept

Originally posted on No Longer in a Box:

Autistic Inertia is basically a state of wanting or needing to do something, but being completely unable to do it, almost like a paralysis.

There is a good article about Autistic Inertia here: and one of the examples it gives is:
-Wants to do math homework
-Is frustrated about not doing math homework
-make elaborate plans to do homework
-STILL does not do math homework.

Now one thing that non-autistics might have trouble understanding is, is that this is not for lack of wanting. It’s because of an error in processing. Or, the choices are too arbitrary. Or planning and going through sequences of steps is difficult.

This is how Autistic Inertia affects me. I sit in my room. I should be doing something, I want to be doing something, but I just can’t get started on anything. I end up sitting there doing nothing, or sitting and stimming. And…

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Day 678: Consistent

Nessa's Notions:

Personal Growth

Originally posted on The Year(s) of Living Non-Judgmentally:

Last week, at one of my therapy groups, somebody said to me,

You’re nothing if not consistent, Ann.

I guess I am consistent. That is, there are things I seem to do consistently, including:

  • I check definitions of words, to make sure we’re all on the same page (or screen):

[kuh n-sis-tuh nt]
1. agreeing or accordant; compatible; not self-contradictory:
His views and actions are consistent.
2. constantly adhering to the same principles, course, form, etc.:
a consistent opponent.
3. holding firmly together; cohering.
4. Archaic. fixed; firm.

  • I take a few tries to find a definition that seems good enough and translates easily into a post here.
  • I play around with formatting these posts, in order to make them easier to read and understand (despite my naturally meandering and consistently varied thoughts).
  • I hear what people say, and some things seem to stick more than others.

When something sticks, I wonder…

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“Before our whi…

Originally posted on Radiating Blossom ~ Flowers & Words:

“Before our white brothers came to civilize us we had no jails. Therefore we had no criminals. You can’t have criminals without a jail. We had no locks or keys, and so we had no thieves. If a man was so poor that he had no horse, tipi or blanket, someone gave him these things. We were too uncivilized to set much value on personal belongings. We wanted to have things only in order to give them away. We had no money, and therefore a man’s worth couldn’t be measured by it. We valued the exchange of love, so we did not deal in fear. We had no written law, no attorney or politicians, therefore we couldn’t cheat. We were in a really bad way before the white man came, and I don’t know how we managed to get along for millenniums without the basic things which, we are told…

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52 Flashes of Fiction: Week 9 – I Kept Some Things

Nessa's Notions:

Like it.

Originally posted on Charlotte Cuevas, Author:

I got rid of a lot of things, but I kept some. I don’t know why, and I don’t know what the criteria was for deciding what to keep. I don’t know that I even knew I was keeping stuff, maybe I just forgot that it had anything to do with the whole mess. But things take on meaning when you keep them; ask a hoarder. Nobody keeps something because they need it. We don’t actually need much really. But we keep something because it will mean something later, because we kept it.

I don’t know why I have photos. I can remember perfectly well what it felt like and most of what it looked like without the disappointing details, and I don’t even want to remember. George had a green shirt on, Anna had a cold sore, that was the day the rain came down hard, that was the…

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Mortal Enemy, Immortal Ally: How Writers Measure Time

Nessa's Notions:

Tick, tick, tick.

Originally posted on Longreads Blog:

Time carried back to the future, once again seen and understood as it was in antiquity, not only as mortal enemy but also as immortal ally. The counterrevolution against the autocratic regime of uniform, global time (commercially and politically imperialist) was pressed forward by many of the artists and writers of Einstein’s generation unwilling to bide time emptied of its being in order to accommodate the running of railroads and the rounding up of armies. In 1889 the French philosopher Henri Bergson discredits the measurable magnitude of time; Marcel Proust encapsulates the whole of a lifetime within a moment’s swallowing of a pastry; the cubist paintings of Picasso, Duchamp, and Braque play with the rearrangement of time in space, and the advent of Thomas Edison’s motion pictures in 1891 provide a means of printing time as a currency more durable than money. The Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky suggests that “what…

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The Toilet Woman

I was hustled through the Taj Mahal. All that exhaled breath, discoloring and destroying the marble. Mumtaz could not be pleased. Loved the beaches at Trivandrum, Cochin, Mumbai. The Arabian Sea is warm as bath water. Traveled from Bangalore to the Punjab, to Calcutta and Goa. The entire time I was in India, I was haunted by expectations of the bathroom facilities that would be available to me, especially after my encounter with the monkey bathroom on the way to Goa. That is a story, though, for another time.

After staying in every sort of hotel, from five-star to no-star, I took a flat in Delhi, occupying the top floor, with a veranda, while the landlord and his wife lived on the second floor, and the landlord’s elderly mother lived in the ground floor flat. My flat came with a gardener (to care for the potted plants on the veranda and the balcony), a housekeeper named Saraswati, and the Toilet Woman, whose name I never knew.

I was never to ask Saraswati to clean the bathroom; that would have constituted an insult. I was never to allow the toilet woman to enter the apartment, eat or drink from any of the kitchen utensils. The bathroom had a lock on the outside of the door, on the side facing my bedroom, that I was to lock and an outside entry door that I was to leave unlocked for the Toilet Woman to enter daily to collect and empty the trash and clean the sink, toilet, and shower. All of my servants were dark-skinned, so I didn’t think skin-color made the difference in how they were treated. They were all of the Shudra caste, the gardener a bit fairer than either of the women. It was the Toilet Woman, however, who caught all the hell.

Asha, my landlady, would berate the Toilet Woman daily. I never knew what wrong she had committed, or even if she had done something wrong. Asha always seemed to yell at her as the normal tone of address. I felt for the Toilet Woman and wanted to know more about her, but speaking no Hindi, this was difficult.

One day, I offered her a drink of water from one of my glasses. I asked her inside, after Saraswati was long gone, of course. She spied a chocolate cake I had sitting on the counter and indicated she’d like a piece. She wanted me to wrap it up for her, so I did. She told me, in pantomime, that she had a child who would like it. Another time, she indicated she’d like to have a pair of jeans she saw hanging to dry. Saraswati did my laundry and hung it on the veranda from lines she rigged up especially for the task. I gave the Toilet Woman the jeans.

I learned that many female workers and their children lived in abandoned, crumbling housing without benefit of indoor plumbing, electricity, or running water. Yet, every day the Toilet Woman appeared clean and freshly pressed to cart away my garbage, clean my bathroom, and catch hell from Asha, all for the low price of 150 rupees…a month. At the time, that was equivalent to about $3…a month. At that rate of pay, I figured the Toilet Woman had to clean an awful lot of toilets to make her living. Every day. After watching Saraswati clean the counter tops, dust, and mop the floor with the same dirty cloth and the increasingly dirty water, I couldn’t understand why she was considered better than the Toilet Woman.