I Sleep Now
Last week I published a rule about myself, no phone calls, and four days later an old coworker called and we talked for thirty-seven minutes and I enjoyed all of them. The rule was written wrong, and the way it was wrong is the whole post: the cost was never the phone, it was who is on the other end. This is the other half of the diagnosis, not the fight to get it but what having it actually changed, which was almost nothing about how I behave in public and almost everything about forty years of memory. My father. A marriage at twenty-two that nearly ended me, and two weeks inpatient at Beckett Springs. A best friend lost to his church and his Facebook feed. And the least dramatic, most important thing on the list: I sleep now, seven to eleven hours, after decades of four to six. Second post in My Default Config Was Neurotypical.