I'm driving to work. I'm rushing, but I'm fine. I'm alone. In my quiet car.
I scan my key card to get into the door to work and I am instantly assaulted by the florescent lights, the noise, the hustle and bustle. Welcome to the office.
Lots of people hate their job, but I don't hate my job. I hate the things that no one else notices or ever even thinks about. It is affecting my work. Instead of getting 20 files done before lunch like my fellow slacker co-workers, I only did 11. If there were a medal for Slacker of the Year, it would be mine. It's not that I want to be like this, but the assault on my senses makes me just shut down. I can't focus long enough to meet my quota. Between intermittent work, hiding out in the bathroom and too many smoke breaks, I google "dealing with Aspergers at work." I am trying to find some help. Instead, all I find are links to sites which try to help parents deal with their aspie kid.
I get frustrated, I decide I must write a blog about being an adult with Aspergers and the things I go through every day. Just to get it out because there is no one I can really talk to about these things.
[As I am writing this, my boyfriend is on the couch, watching tv. It is much too loud for my ears and I cannot concentrate. I should have my own remote that controls the volume.]
In preparation for my blog, I must make a list. Lists, lists and more lists! I look around my desk for pad of paper. I don't have a new one, so I head to the supply closet. The only one left is one of those brownish, recycled paper kinds. Ew. No. The paper feels weird and its brown. What will I do! I need a pad of paper NOW! While I'm there, I want to grab another hi-lighter cause last time they ordered some that I really loved. Now, they have a different kind. I want to pitch a fit about them not ordering the same things every time, however, I don't. That is not what responsible grown ups that work in offices do.
A co-worker walks in to make some copies. I am "friends" with her. One of the people that tells me about intimate details of their life while I smile and nod. I really can't stand to talk to her because she has one of those things about her I can't stand and its all I see. She has those teeth where it looks like she sucked her thumb for way too long into childhood. And people with those teeth usually have this pointed tongue thing going on that I can't really explain. It really bothers me. I just keep looking at the cabinets while she talks so I don't have to see her teeth. She says some stuff, but I don't know how to reply, so I just do my fake laugh and say, "that's funny," which is a move I have perfected over the last 30 years I have been talking.
Finally I get away and get back to my desk. I suppose I will have to use white, unlined copy paper. I really want a fresh, new pad of paper. My anxiety ripples just underneath my skin. I start writing my blog.
