The Autistic Art of Bearing Stimuli Or, In the Exceptional Circumstance, Thinking Politics to Violins

It's been a well acknowledged fact of mine that, as an autistic, I have to deal with a number of odd circumstances, and there are details that I have to deal with that others don't. Perhaps one of the most obvious is sound, and (in sometimes not obvious ways) there can be some real annoyances that come from that. Acoustics in classrooms tend to be mixed, and there's no way of knowing what you get, which may lead to some interesting experiences.

I have inherited a particular difficulty this time around. The room, and far worse the hallway to which it is attached, brings in all kinds of sound. It was interesting, because it's not usual where I have to deal with so many different kinds of sound (to be distinguished from different sounds).

There was, as so extremely typical, chatter from other classrooms. The number of conversations I had to "let go", in a sense, was more than usual, yet not nearly as many as I've dealt with. Each one, though, is distinct, which I'm told is not usually the case (to be specific, the individual sounds are distinct. I don't have to string them together into words if I don't specifically know where they're coming from). It's constant, and it's a matter of consistently dealing with the "traffic", if you will.

And then there was the walkie-talkie. Now, everyone could hear this, and so it's not right to call with a walkie-talkie as much as a walkie-talkie tenfold. This is normal, an interruption, rather than something consistent, something you have to distinctly distance your mind from after it has come (usually, there's no way to "let it go" quite the way you might a syllable). These are frequent.

Those two types are what usually are the plague, a little amplified this time around, and I could have used most classes to pick out both. But I had a new, interesting challenge this time around, that really was perhaps the first of its kind, in relation to a setting in which I was expected to think actively.

Somewhere ahead of where I was, a music class was in session. Now, that's not exceptional, but the music carried such that I could hear all of it, no problem. I can do that with an iPod, if I focus, but this was really different, in that it was in plain view as if I was right outside the door. No one else could distinctly hear it, but I could.

The way I know that was by reaction. The music was sad, really sad (violins I noted well), and though I might not have been in tears, I was coming pretty close (who said autistics weren't emotional again? I'm a total wuss for that stuff). An awkward moment amongst awkward moments, trying not to cry about music no one else could hear, while trying to simultaneously engage in a political discussion. I hope no one thought I was getting emotional over the differences in organizational structure of the Democratic and Republican parties.

I note that, while this was a very odd moment, it was not exceptional as the only odd moment. That's sometimes what sensory things are, often, the expected, the unexpected, and the flat weird. I'll admit that the "flat weird" stuff is almost worth the expected and the unexpected. People can be... interesting, and you get a fun sense of that. I remember, for example, about a debate I heard over lunch over whether or not to shave a poodle (in the end, they decided against the fact). You also, for better or worse, hear some interesting people, with interesting opinions, and quite the opposite. And you realize how much you can be as funny and strange, in often enjoyable ways, as those you're listening to.

Hey, it makes up for trying to talk politics over violins.