Return to love.
Return to love.
Return to love.
"Then, after all the hours she spent learning… after hundreds of pictures, days and nights in a darkroom, questions about shutter speeds and sepia tones and light vibrations… after all that, Novalee discovered what was important to her about pictures of cats and children and merry-go-round horses… about girls in white dresses and old women tasting tea… about birthday dinners and anniversary kisses. What was important to her was knowing that at the moment she took a picture, she was seeing something in a way nobody else ever had."
Billie Letts, Where the Heart Is
Finally went to the doctor and learned from a blood test that I have an infection. I guess this explains why I’ve been sick for two weeks, eh? I’m on two antibiotics now and even though my head is still throbbing I feel much better knowing what’s wrong with me.
And plus, I am rereading Where the Heart Is. I forgot how wonderful this book is. And soon it will be spring and I will be better and I will run outside with Jad and Robert again. It will be warm and I will run run run and then I will eat stuff and it will be really good and delicious. And I will take care of my sweet babies and think about good things and not be in bed anymore and it will be wonderful. Then I will read Oxford Atlas of World History and enrich my brain with Knowledge History Stuff. Wonderful!! Wonderful!! Wonderful!!
Okay, antibiotics, please do your thing.
Meanness is the worst. Human cruelty is the worst. I’m too sad to type up my Radiolab notes tonight. I want them to be funny and I’m sad. I want to go live inside the Museum of Natural History just for a day or so or for a week or so. The North American insects understand me. Why are people terrible sometimes. I need a hug.
Matty wouldn’t stop crying today. He is one of the first-graders I work with at my after-school program. No one has officially told me, but I know he is autistic, although it’s hard to tell how severe it is because he’s so young. He seems captivated by repetitive motions, which is typical of children with autism. He will sit at the table for three straight hours, rolling a cylindrical block back and forth, catching it in his hands just before it falls off the side. All of the adults love Matty. He never bothers anyone; he just does his own thing. He’s also teensy, even for a six-year-old, and he has these huge saucer eyes that make you just want to scoop him up and save him from the world. But he doesn’t love anyone back. He doesn’t talk to anyone, and the other kids never talk to him. If he is hungry or needs to go to the bathroom, he will aggressively pull on my sleeve and point towards what he wants. I have never seen him cry before, but today he bumped his head on the table and burst into tears and started screaming in his little voice, “Help me! Someone help me!!”
One of the most heartbreaking things about working with kids with autism is that they can’t be consoled by people. They don’t find comfort in an adult’s touch or words or attention, not the way other kids do. They just look through you, and keep screaming, as if you’re not there. And it’s in those moments when they need help and can’t seem to find it that you get the dark sense that they’re trapped in some way. Trapped in their own worlds and their own brains. I used to think about this a lot when I interned at NECC, where all the students are severely autistic. It’s very, very frustrating, emotionally draining work. At least to me. Sweet Matty, I hope you’re feeling better now.
And now, I am holding myself to this promise: tomorrow night I write out my new Radiolab notes. No excuses.
No excuses!! Good night.