I dreamt that my baby sister and I were living in a museum, and we were part of the exhibits. We were cuddled up together in a little cocoon of blankies, in the middle of an exhibition space, surrounded by objects and dim lighting in the darkness. There was a dancing child, in a long white dress, who lived in a box, in the far corner. She would emerge from the box at certain times of the day and night, and perform her dance routine, whether or not anyone was watching. At the end of the dream, we ended up saving the child from someone (not sure if male or female adult) who was going to kidnap her. We grabbed her and ran, hiding in all the nooks and crannies among the exhibits. My bizarre dream ended when the sound of Lucy’s tentative sniffing pierced the fog in my mind and sang me into consciousness. I love the song of her sniffing in the early mornings, it reminds me of all that is worth waking up for.
Another tiring medical excursion – today, it is the eye specialist. I am not sure which is more wearying, the illness itself, or the many sensory overloading trips to the various clinics and test centres. Lucy will come with me, of course. She is supposed to be allowed public access to most places anyway, but I did call ahead to let them know, as I want to avoid having to deal with unpleasant confrontation as far as possible.
I look at my morning email inbox during breakfast, though breaka today was uninspired. Cheese omelette in pita. Nothing fancy. At least the mandarin wasn’t sick this time around. It tasted pretty much in good health. I found a notification about a new set of visual images, from the folks at somersault18:24, who have a collection of beautiful science illustrations (for teaching and learning, or just collecting for inspiration). You can download them for free, if you cannot afford to pay, but I do urge everyone to donate some money towards this wonderful initiative. It is time science lessons were presented with tasteful and insightful illustrations, for those of us budding scientists who may be visual thinkers!
Every time I look at anatomy illustrations, I feel a stab in my diaphragm and a little sad pebble appears in the conscious cavity just there. I mourn for the book of refined, elegant and clear illustrations that my father made during his years in medical school, which he handed down to me. I left this precious artifact at home, when I went to Hong Kong for my undergraduate studies, and my mother performed a spring cleaning and threw it away without asking me. Along with that, went my grandfather’s gift of an old antique manual camera, complete with leather trims and case. Sigh. Some people just have no idea of artistic value, nor do they understand the deep, dynamic connections that exist between autists and their favourite belongings. I miss you again, dad.