This Autistic Week
I have to go to the bank, aka I will not install their useless app on my phone. I think this reminded me of being unsure about going to university, 54 years ago. I tried unsuccessfully to find a journalism cadet-ship. And then, since I knew the Commonwealth Bank had interesting postings in PNG, I wondered about joining them. So I went over to the Port Pirie branch to ask about bank careers.
I walked in, waited about 30 seconds and walked out, quietly horrified. I've had a visual memory of that event ever since, one of those odd pieces of memory that don't seem to fade. What I remembered most of all was the people. The place was crowded with customers and, even then, I knew I would never cope with that as a work environment. But this morning I realised what else has been in that scrap of memory all these years: the warm yellow light that so discomforts me, and the reverse cycle heating which leaves me feeling ill in short order. All classic autism symptoms that I possess in spades.
I did the shopping last Saturday and then went slowly because of the big day coming up. It was the 175 year anniversary at Scots Church, that congregation which has been so good to me over the years. And then a seminar with AJ Levine out at Morialta, so a very long day for me. I bombed immediately in the service and had to walk out. My reaction was visceral fury. I put it down to badly conceived service planning; a good idea that had not been tested combined with a poncey precentor too in love with the sound of his voice to be intelligible (which is kind of the point as a precentor!) Again, though, the response was also pure ASD: being in the presence of half audible – half intelligible speech drives me mad.
Sunday afternoon was wonderful. (Amy Jill and I agree on a key point of interpretation of Luke's Father and Two Sons; she shook my hand.) And so Monday, I took a relaxed 70km ride in preparation for Tuesday, another long Scots IT work day followed by an antisemitism seminar in the church. Wednesday consisted of a morning sleep and an afternoon sleep, and getting tea was hard work. I went to bed early. I expected this. But Thursday also meant an afternoon sleep, unwell. How to pace oneself? I was too tired to go to Amy-Jill's Thursday session at the Synod Office.
I have three phone calls to make to set up coffee with friends—good friends, good dates. But each of them is too hard to make; too hard to find a date and negotiate with Wendy. Going to the bank—on my own—will be much easier.
Andrea (July 2026)
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