Cuz sometimes autistics just gotta remember why we go through… what we go through.
Autistic life is... complex. #ActuallyAutistic marriage? 4D Chess.
Happy Birthday, Sweetie,
We’re Irish Twins again. 70-something.
I’m posting this on stuffy places like LinkedIn. Cuz sometimes autistics like me just gotta remember why we go through… what we have to go through. For moments like these.
Some day? I’ll be telling your, um… colorful… life’s story to strangers. But today’s not that day. So far…
And to give you a picture of what you mean to me is honestly beyond me. Too many, many things come up at once. You know how I melt down.
So… A picture gallery. Some memories. I may not be the best birthday present you ever got, doper. But 14 years. 13 married. Here’s why.
We met on Facebook. I was a therapeutic social worker. Imploding into multiple family, marital, career, and financial crises simultaneously. You? A nurse turned singer/songwriter. Um, without going into detail… right there in the gutter with me.
Neither of us knew I was autistic. One of us claimed to be normal…
We whispered sweet-nothings to each other over old, staticky 2G flip phones. Things like, “Can you hear me? Can you hear me?” And, “The closer I get to the Bottom, the freer I feel.”
About 6 weeks later we were literally jumping the broom to the old Brenda Lee “Let’s Jump the Broomstick.” Naked. Under the fool Moon. Cuz I liked how Heinlein used the old folk marriage ritual in Glory Road. And Kimmie? Back in the day? Just loved weird.
Another month. I’m on a bus to Indiana. Another month. I’m on the psych floor. About 6 more months? We’re married… more or less legally… at Shorty’s Bar. During Open Mic. After our set. By the emcee…
They say marrying somebody during a crisis is a mistake. Fuck “they.”
You and me? Destined to live forever young, die really, really old… and leave a grinning corpse.
Nicely done, Nemo.
