panacea

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sweet balm…

Sensory overload. What is it really like? Difficult to pin down, common to most autistics, yet different in each individual and varying from one circumstance to another. No, it’s not just “all in the imagination” and no, we are not deliberately playing some dramatic role for whatever purported attention-seeking accusation.

Right. So, here. Today’s episode.

Heat. Humidity. Crowds. Smells. Noise. Lights. Over-exposure.

11.45am – 1pm. Just a wee bit over an hour.

Nausea. Vertigo. Uhoh… think I am going to throw up – search frantically for a plastic bag. OK, this is going to be awkward, standing at the bus stop. Should I give up and go sit down somewhere? Bus is arriving in 2 minutes. Determination and stubborn grit – just get home, Bunny!

I did it!

Safe, tucked into bed with my panacea for all woes – Canine Angel and warm vanilla hound.

Ah, so lucky to have my Lucy Like-a-Charm!

Clemency.

double wrapped

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Double Wrapped!

Double wrapped for safety. I think this will do ok. The heavy, ponderously thick odour is sufficiently masked now. I found two pillow protectors among my old junk (left behind at my former abode, the Sensory Hell place). Yes, I revisited it. And I sort of survived, apart from somehow most inconveniently coincidentally catching a horrid cold thereafter.

Back to the pillow-odour challenge. A few liberal sprays of lavender all over the existing pillows, then into the pillow protectors they went. Another layer of freshly washed pillow cases, and…. voila! Well, the experiment worked. At least to the extent that I am no longer being suffocated by the sheer weight of it.

I think the smell of Lucy helps a lot too. Her presence in all its abstract and concrete glory is a stabilising counterpoint to the precarious balancing act of impermanence.

this morning

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Fish & Chips Da Capo

This morning. Today. A slowly unfolding, passing, flowing ‘now’… I am inside… Lucy is inside… We are both inside… Here…

They say the mark of a really good meal is in its rehashing afterwards. Well, I reheated yesterday’s fish and chips in a pan for a hearty late breakfast half an hour ago. In some ways, it seemed to taste even better than before. This AirBnB kitchen has no toaster ovenette – and I didn’t want to heat up an entire giant oven just for my leftovers – so, I used a frying pan, a dash of virgin olive oil, on low heat. The batter become crispier and the chips crunchier. The salad was fresh enough to not taste soggy-faded too. Thank you, dear Massimo!  Continue reading

paper wrap

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Warm Vanilla Hound

An old Chinese Cantonese saying: “Paper cannot wrap fire.” 紙包不到火

Olfactory guerilla warfare in an AirBnB bed. Since Friday evening.

After the sensory hellhole in Posh Bay, almost every other place seems refreshingly clean. Well, even if not sparkling, nevertheless still a relief in comparison. The feeling carries on reverberating. I arrived on Friday afternoon. A lovely little flat. Neat and decent kitchen. Somewhat spartan living room, scruffy old bathroom with yellowy-orangey chipped tiles, and stained carpet in my bedroom – but at least not choking with debris and copious layers of dust bunnies.

My hosts are pleasant, and best of all, they love dogs, so Lucy is welcome here. This immediately makes me super grateful, after the intensity of dog-hatred experienced here.

All is well. Or so it may seem. Continue reading

olfactory travel

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Stand clear of the green arrow!

My first time in the MRT train in Singapore. An eye-opener. An ear widener. An eye-stabbing, energy sapping exercise. Most of all, a full-on olfactory incursion.

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Begin at the beginning…

Having never used the system before, I set forth for my 4pm appointment in the west, from the central area where I live, at 2.55pm. My only experience with the underground system were in Hong Kong and London. The trains in Hong Kong run at quite a speed. Based on this, I felt an hour would be sufficient to cover the distance. I was wrong. Continue reading

sentient towels

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No, it’s not Pokemon.

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Can you hear them sing?

Sentient Towels. My friend Brad coined the term. I think it is brilliant.

These insidiously malodorous entities have a life of their own. Each one energised by a buzzing, bustling eco-system of bacteria chowing down on decaying micro-flakes of human skin, sweat and whatnot embedded in its thick fibrous tapestry. The entire bathroom reeks from the cacophony of activity, a raucous macabre Dies Irae in elaborate counterpoint. And yes, the merry village and inhabitants, remain there for weeks – sights, sounds, smells and lively jiving – unless I take them to the laundry room myself. Rightful owner of these beings either cannot be bothered (simply to lazy) or, perhaps, actually likes his little critters that way?

My own thought processes have short-circuited, contemplating the various possibilities behind this frightening phenomenon.

Someday, I shall write about the serious repercussions of Inclement Space upon the mental and physical wellbeing. For now, these little babbly ramblings are all I can muster.

Dinner tonight – two panadols and half a glass of warm water. This foodie has stopped fooding. A neighbour remarked to me, “How can you even live in there, let alone actually eat in that kind of condition?” What can I say? I merely smiled, shrugged, and shuddered alongside her.

The Sentient Towels are roaring in their stolid, stubborn silence.

 


 

Another delayed post. Written awhile ago. The roaring olfactory oppression helped to propel me into action – I have left this hell. Never to return.

voicing the voice

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Off to face the world!

It began foggy, damp and cold. We lay in bed, unwilling to emerge from under our warm cocoon. Angel alarm has not been working for some time now. Is it her age? No matter, mumma’s turn to take over the waking up process.

All quiet, apart from the whirring of traffic and birdsong – absolute bliss. No anxious listening out for grating vocalisations and cling-clang-slam of doors etc, planning the morning dash to kitchen and bathroom to avoid having our morning peace cruelly interrupted. Or destroyed. Continue reading

radiate

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revising dreams

Fractal radiations… Concentric… Repetitive… Tumultuous…

A MontyPython-AntoninArtaud hybrid one-Bunny farce…

Struggling to stay afloat in heaving sea, nostrils only just pushing through flotsam and jetsam, bobbing encrustations, mocking sensory nightmare.

Tired. Exhausted. Yet, yearning to carve, generate, forge… with rhythmic hands.

Shut inside tiny prison cell, fearful avoidance of olfactory onslaught – the stink, it is so terrifying, human putrefaction!

So, yesterday afternoon, another lock-in… This was born.

A work-in-progress. Hang in there, Bunny!