Nobody likes being unwell. Least of all those with hypersenses. Everything seems that much more amplified from inside the realm of hypersensitivity. Fever. Piercing, throbbing headache. Inflamed respiratory channels. Can’t breathe. Reaching for panadol, and Vicks. The determined Aspie keeps going. Hot Earl Grey with a slice of lime and a dash of gula melaka instead of sugar or honey, a comfy bean bag, and a lovely balcony – little things do help. I did a bit of reading and made a few notes, before succumbing to the pain and scuttling back inside. The body craves simplicity at such a time. Lunch was a simple, bare bones choice. The visual image tells the story better. Chicken soup from a tin, rice vermicelli. Still hungry, I popped two small potatoes into the microwave. Olive oil, pepper and salt, nothing more. Oh, and another helping of tinned chicken soup. The head is swimming now, though the stabbing pain has subsided. Time to crawl into bed with my baby girl and cuddle for comfort.

On days like today, long prosaic phrases are difficult. My head is exploding, so I shall leave you with a poem about hypersensitivity, detail focused cognition and the miracle of Lucy. And another fragment of thought, which inspired this poem: while some autistic people may suffer from OCD, it is really quite different, if you care to examine things more closely. Let’s just say, if there was an elephant in your soup, would you not want to remove it pronto? (That is, presuming you wish to enjoy your soup undisturbed, of course.)



in my soup

a kangaroo

in my boot

boa constrictor

around my head

but an Angel

in my bed

white hurts

my eyes

talking to strangers

makes me cry

purple churns

nausea burns

Lucy breathes

soft rhythmic hues

warm vanilla

cobalt blue

we will run away

together, yes!

we will build a cave

hidden nest!

run, run, run

but alas

no place to hide


the elephant

dancing hulas

in the night


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