It’s Valentine’s Day again. Social media is of course flooded with all kinds of related memes, posts, comments and messages. Too much of it is sappy, and just irrelevant to this Autistic Bunny. But the circus is unavoidable, unless one lives in a hole under a rock (not a bad thing, really, apart from the lack of modern sanitation). So… here are my own thoughts for the day… Continue reading

patterns and the genesis of Self-Other


I read this blog post today. About using our intrinsic ability for pattern recognition to learn relatedness and interconnectivity. Pattern Recognition, Gaslighting and the Patterns of Abuse by Autistic Academic.

Straight forward. Simple language. Powerful message. I wish I knew this fifty years ago. Applies to all relationships, not merely romantic or friendships, but most essentially familial, because it is in the family, among siblings and parents, that one first learns perceptions of Self, Other and interconnectedness (or brokenness).

Pattern recognition is an autistic strength. Take it. Own it. Use it. Be empowered by our ability. Not subjugated. Continue reading


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My Facebook feed is awash in rainbows. I am happy about this. I am heterosexual, but I embrace diversity. I celebrate Beingness, acceptance, care and due respect for a peaceful, loving, unprejudiced diversity.

Bigotry is too alive and far too robustly well in our lives. I want the haters to go away, but hatred is a very cogent stalker. And sometimes, extremely subtle and insidious. Continue reading


Performing the unnatural as naturally as possible. That is the demand that neurotypicality places upon autistic existence. Little wonder that we would much rather be in a world of our own.

A peaceful day at last. No interruptions, no farcical social intrusions. Simple bacon and egg sandwich breakfast, walkies with my Princess, silent conversation, another pork roast experiment, more coffee, and work. Continue reading

best friends


No, Lucy is not my “best friend.” Nobody is. I do not have a “best friend” – well, not anymore. And I am very relieved.

Socially-focused humans have a way of declaring inordinate affection with far too much ease. “I love you!” becomes a trendy catch phrase, instead of a sincere utterance of decided, solemn dedication. “You are lovely!” seems to be tossed out willy nilly at every single corporeal entity that jostles the atmosphere, even if ever so slightly.

The autistic mind tends to take language a tad more seriously, preferring the literal, cutting factual deposition to socially-driven platitudes. Are we ‘cold’ and ‘unloving’ creatures running on robotic mechanisms, then? That is what too many misinformed and emotionally effluent social-brained folk seem to delight in thinking, played up and egged along by the media. Oh, and don’t even get me started on Autism Speaks. The truth is, we are far more devout and zealous about our devotions and emotional attachments than most, especially much more so than the socially-driven, party-populating neurotypicals.

I shudder when I meet someone new who instantly falls head over heels in love with me. Continue reading


It was a cool day today, what a change from the previous week of sizzle! It rained a little, but not much. The forecast is for more rain in the weekend. Lucy and I enjoyed a long morning walk. I even fit in a visit to the post office to send off some snail mail. The post office here are dog friendly, they let us bring our pooches in. It makes perfect sense, really, so long as the doggies behave, why ever not? Lucy was the model of decorum. She even sank into her sphinx position while waiting patiently in line! On the way home, we stopped at my favourite cafe, Not Just Coffee, in Perry Lane, for a carrot cake takeaway. It is a real treat for me, forking out $3.50 for a cupcake that lasts a few seconds of pleasure! But they do the best carrot cupcake around here!

For lunch, I shredded the chicken wings I made yesterday, added some frozen corn and mixed rice, and popped it all into the microwave. Good stuff. I like leftovers! Continue reading

dogs and autism

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My dog snores. My dog lies on me in bed, and boy, is she heavy (29kg)! My dog’s short black fur sheds all over my bed covers and white kitchen floor, even though the rescue group said Greyhounds don’t shed much. My dog eats a lot and can only eat premium kibble, and even then, she tends towards smelly farts and runny tummy. My dog needs to go pee and poo several times a day, come rain or shine, or heatwave. My dog is not quite like other dogs and she doesn’t know many tricks to amuse or entertain – she won’t play fetch, she hates bouncing balls, and she won’t roll on the grass. My dog also takes up a great chunk of my budget, because I want to give her the very best I can afford.


My dog is not just a dog to me. She is my constant companion. She is my Princess Lucy. Continue reading

the hills are alive

Some Aspie blogger bloke once commented in my former blog that the way I scrutinise the intelligence or lack of it in the men I encounter, and my approach to observing humans as fascinating specimens of anthropological interest, will send them “running for the hills.” I wonder about what he meant by that. Should I take it literally, from one Aspie to another? Or should I read his comment as a sort of Aspie-turned-neurotypically-aware social admonishment?  Should I even be worried that men run for the hills after coming eyeball to eyeball with me? I am not. But should I even be?

The hills are alive, with the sound of whining bruised egos. Let them sing, I say!

My most recent encounter was with some Australian chap, who showed remarkable tenacity in trying to ‘connect’ with me. Credit should be given to this even though he wasn’t very bright in his approach – I mean, he should have, like others more intelligent than he, run for the hills from the moment I told him that I don’t do phone calls, I abhor the telephone and I do not go out at nights because the darkness disturbs my senses.

Chuckle. But it is true. I don’t bother to hide my weirdness anymore. Middle age has its privileges, regardless of neurological make up.

Then, I refused to go out with him without taking Lucy along. After all, what use is a man who wants to ‘date’ me if he is not interested in helping me take care of Lucy? Anyway, then he wants dinner at my place, and he wants to go for a movie. So I said, sorry, my place is too tiny for two humans and a dog to be comfortable in, and I only have one chair. And no, I do not do movies because I hate the sensory experience of being in a crowded dark room with a bunch of smelly strangers watching a condensation of narrative that means nothing in the real world and has nothing to do with whatever fascinates me. That was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. He replied to my email, saying that he has tried his best, but he cannot persist beyond this point, since we have nothing much in common other than dogs, and I am being uncooperative. I did really laugh out loud. I was wondering when he’d say this. Smarter men would’ve run for the hills by this time. So I, being the typical nit picking detail focused Aspie, replied saying it was ok, I agreed with him that we have nothing in common, not even dogs, since he wasn’t at all keen on allowing my Lucy into his fancy old car with leather seats (some 1991 Lexus? yawn!) after he had initially suggested he take me and Lucy out for a picnic at a fenced park. Geez. What else would I want him in my life for? Anyhow, he was somehow offended by my agreeing with him. He sent me yet another email, detailing his multiple achievements in massage therapy, plumbing, electrical jobs, house building and get this, dove-tailing (carpentry). He also listed the admirable qualifications of his ex-girlfriend, who was supposed to have been a professor at the University of Sydney. Right. Dear sir, if I could afford a toyboy/boytoy, I’d pick a smarter one and a nicer one who would put up with my eccentricities, won’t I? Geez! Dear Mr. Handyman, I grew up with a man who could do all you boast you can do, and he was a topnotch surgeon, with an electrical engineering degree on the side, who was also an artist, music aficionado, and accomplished ballroom dancer in his younger days. My father is a hard act to follow, but I do not set out wanting men to compare favourably next to this Golden Standard really, but I do find people who voluntarily boast at me most entertainingly irritating. Cockroaches really. You are fascinated by them but you are also repulsed at them.

OK, firstly, I wasn’t trying to fob him off with excuses, I was just telling him the truth. Men (and women) are just so incapable of hearing bald truth, aren’t they? I have very marked eccentricities. But I am not about to endure the torture of phone calls, the agony of a movie, or you being inside my tiny little sanctuary, or going out with you without my baby, just to get a ‘date’. And I am NOT impressed by your postulations. I have read better ones. It is my job to read better ones too.

Is there something inherently wrong with me, that I find the homeless chaps, who Lucy likes to say hello to at the churchyard nearby, far more interesting and worthy conversation than the ‘normal’ men who huff and puff about their ‘normal’ achievements?

Maybe these men behave this way because ‘normal’ women my age are desperate for dates? Granted these guys are not bad looking and they do seem to have day jobs. Duh. I cannot understand the desperation thing really. So many women of all ages, for a plethora of reasons, seem to me to be desperate for a date. And their private girly talk is centred around nothing other than men and babies and children. I suppose neurotypical humans need very much the kind of in-the-face connectedness?

I like being connected, don’t get me wrong. I am not Rain Man. And even Rain Man needed his brother. I do have enough close connections to fulfill my need for connectedness. I don’t need to bend down low for anything. And I have so much more in the way of exciting stuff to attend to.

Like chicken. How to cook a whole lot of chicken in as many interesting and delicious ways as possible?


I see a common repeated theme in TV and movies where relationships turn sour because one party is too busy and absorbed inside their profession or too passionate about something. I find this a mysterious phenomenon because I cannot understand why the partner (usually the woman) should feel upset or lonely, unless that partner has nothing else better to do with their own lives and craving constant attention? I don’t get it, but apparently normal humans with social based cognition seem to demand a whole lot of face-to-face space-invading interpersonal attention and active exchange. I know it is a common fact, but I am nevertheless puzzled. This is one area I lack personal empathy for. I cannot ‘log on’ to those feelings or the logic and reasoning behind these feelings and reactions. Why do most people need and demand so much in-person interactional attention from their partners? Such an interference – life holds so much more to be obsessed about. Or maybe for most neurotypicals, socialising, having their personal space invaded constantly, invading someone else’s space, and being attended to is their main obsession in life?

Hmmm… I do like relating, but I find the neurotypical demands for relating – be it friendship, family or intimate partnership – is often far too demanding on one’s mental, emotional and physical energies, with very little substantial gains at the end of the day. Give me parallel play any time: isn’t it much more fun, being immersed in one’s own intense focused interests, and at the same time getting news and ideas from the other person’s intense interests too? Email is good too. I love email. And online communication. I can connect whenever I want. Or not.

Too bad the majority of humans don’t function this way. Ah well.