fun

I am not spontaneous. I cannot pack a bag and fly off to Europe tomorrow, or up and go to the beach on an hour’s notice. The very thought of such things is terrifying and if dragged into some such activity, as I have sometimes let happen so as not to ruin someone else’s fun, I am plagued with anxiety throughout, do not enjoy them in the least, and need extra time afterwards to recover from something everyone else found totally worth the loss of a weekend.

This occurred to me while I was watching a show where a couple spontaneously has sex on a floor with wet paint, ruining their clothes and shoes in the process. Yep, that’s right, I’m not thinking, Oh, how romantic, but, I’ll never get this off these boots and I really love these boots and what about my hair and what if paint winds up in my mouth and it will be under my fingernails for days… and, well, to say that I wouldn’t be in the moment probably belabors the point. (I did notice, however, that there was no paint in the bed or in anyone’s hair in the next scene. I guess they took a shower or something?)

When I “spontaneously” decide to do something, it means I have spent lots of time researching, planning, imagining possible hitches and contingencies, and rehearsing what I’m going to say and do prior to the actual event. This allows me to have the “fun” of spontaneous activities without the agitation that comes from being roped into one unprepared.

Most people have no problem going along with a friend’s idea to drive two states over just to go to a White Castle on a Saturday night. But me, I’ve already checked that the weather will be nice enough for a long drive, figured out the route, selected possible pit stops, and arranged to get together with people at such a time so that when I suggest it [“out of the blue”] we’ll have time to get there, eat, and get back home before midnight. And I’ll even volunteer to drive! Aren’t I fun?

If all this sounds like an awful lot of work for a fun night, well, there you go. When back in high school a bunch of us decided to run around the sewers one summer night without flashlights (or cell phones; this was before cell phones), I was the kid who worriedly pointed out that we were going to be on the front page of the newspaper the next day when we all drowned. What a delightful companion.

For me and others on the autism spectrum, if something isn’t familiar or planned down to the last detail, fun doesn’t happen. Stress happens. Anxiety happens. Worst of all, we lose rest and sleep (not the same thing) and I don’t know about other people, but if I get less than nine hours of sleep two nights in a row, forget it, I am about as useful as a clogged toilet (and about as much fun).

My other idea of fun is to sit by myself and do something I’ve done a hundred times before because I’m good at it, like a crossword puzzle or quote acrostic. Or, if I’m feeling adventurous, coloring with my ninety-six different colored pencils in a special canvas pouch with slots for each one, colors arranged in accordance with the spectrum of visible light and grays aligned by percentage. As a kid, I kept my legos in little baggies arranged by size and color. My sister thought this was ridiculous and just threw everything in the bucket together after she played with them. I couldn’t play with them again until I’d re-separated them back into little piles. Whee.

I can’t start if I don’t know where I’ll finish. I can’t allow myself to be carried along. I can’t have faith that I’ll get what I need on the way. I have to bring everything, plan for everything, hang on to everything; I have to be (figuratively as well as literally) in the driver’s seat.

I have perfected the art of “putting in an appearance.” It’s all I ever do.

When someone is navigating while I’m driving, I want to know not just what the next turn is, but the one after that so I can prepare. Is there more than one lane? Do I need to be in a particular lane? Will I have time to change lanes? How many lights are there until it happens? Does this lane end before I have to turn? Although I’ve been driving for over thirty years, I don’t want to have to improvise while following instructions because I can’t do both at once and it takes time for me to mentally switch between one and the other.

And, I have no sense of direction. When I turn, the whole world turns with me. Which way was I facing a second ago? Which way am I facing now relative to then? No clue.

What I’m good at, fortunately, is memorizing and reversing long lists of instructions, so I get around pretty well. (Much better now, with GPS) Like the rest of my “normal” appearance, my functioning is an elaborate construction of workarounds and coping mechanisms. Christine is so nice; she treats everyone the same way. Yes, because it’s a shortcut. I don’t know what the finer gradations are, so everybody gets the exact same thing; janitor, server, doctor, kid at the bus stop, guy standing behind me in the checkout line. If I had to calibrate the precise combination of friendliness and politeness required for each interaction, I’d never leave the house.

I reserve as much of my mental energy as I can for my “fun” stuff. Activities and experiences are carefully catalogued and cross-referenced, in detail, according to time, place, event, and companion[s].

I don’t want to turn something into a race “for fun” because it just makes it more complicated.

This is all well and good, except that I’m lonely more often than I should be. Group interactions require so much concentration that there’s nothing left to enjoy. I’m lonely at home, lonely at work, and lonely at gatherings. I can’t just go out and be with people, even friends. Happy hour? Neighborhood barbecue? Birthday party? I scrounge for as many details as I can ahead of time and then make sure to either bring someone I know with me or strategically arrive when my friends are already there. I have perfected the art of “putting in an appearance.” It’s all I ever do.

Play a game I’ve never played before? You mean learn something new while still concentrating on behaving and speaking properly in a recreational group setting? You have got to be kidding. When I hear the word “icebreaker” I want to break something over the person’s head. My idea of breaking the ice is making one tiny crack in one person once every few months and after two years I’ll have three friends.

While I imagine there are plenty of introverts out there who share the same feelings for parties and icebreakers that I do, generally speaking, we are a culture of gregarious, improvisational, adventurous people. I am a cautious, overwrought turtle in a world of ecstatic rabbits. I am not going to win the race. I don’t want to be in a race. I don’t want to turn something into a race “for fun” because it just makes it more complicated.

When everyone gets together for a pick-up softball game, I offer to keep score; that is, sit in one place the whole time and only concentrate on whomever is next to me on the bench and a small set of numbers (which also saves me from putting my pathological lack of eye-hand coordination on display). When I go on a spur-of-the-moment weekend trip, I pack a first aid kit, sewing kit, bobby pins, safety pins, tampons, baby wipes, and an extra pair of one-size-fits-all black leggings along with my own necessities. (And a portable white noise machine with a battery backup in case we lose power. People look at me funny sometimes but I ignore them. Sleep is more important.)

I don’t remember becoming like this, but I’ve been this way for a long time now. I imagine that with each trip, each activity, a new thing was found to have to plan for, so that now, even a short vacation requires a full suitcase. When my best friend drove in for a visit from out of state with nothing but deodorant, a toothbrush and a change of underwear in her purse, I was awed. That is so not me. It will never be me. Only one pair of underwear? What if she needed another? What if the deodorant broke in her bag? What if the weather changed and she got cold? Where do you put the toothbrush after it’s gotten wet?

But I do know that as ridiculous and burdening as this all sounds, in a strange sort of way, it has set me free. Of all those unpleasant experiences that I was cajoled into, some can now be enjoyed since having been gotten through and logged. It may be that I can only relax into something I’ve planned for, but even the planning is now a routine of its own. I have lists of what to pack for different lengths of time and types of places. For many things, I can prepare fast enough to suit a last-minute timeline. These lists have everything from mascara to phone chargers and include taking out the trash and setting up the furballs with some extra chow before I go. My favorite jewelry and hair ties are kept in a different place than the rest so I can just dump them in a baggie [sic] and tuck them into the suitcase. My travel set of toiletries is never unpacked.

Except the toothbrush. So it can dry.