Aspergers Syndrome

A careless self diagnosis suggests that I may have Asperger's Syndrom in some very mild degree or another. Hmm. It's nicknamed Geek Syndrom too. So I perked up at an NPR story that was pretty interesting.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5488463

I have 2 take-aways to savor a little bit more:
1)

If a cure were invented for autism, would he take it?
Carley does not hesitate before answering.
"No. Never will. Never ever will," he says. "I love the way my brain works, I always have and it's one of the things I can now admit to myself. I like the way I think in terms of numbers. I like the way visualize things. I like the way most especially that I can bury myself in work that I love to a degree that makes everybody else in the world looks at me and go, 'God! I wish I could do that.' No, I am not changing anything."

I concur to a point. I like being able to do those things too but I wouldn't mind an opportunity to improve my people skills. If the drug (like some drugs do) just returns you to a medium level on ALL fronts then I would reject it - I don't want to lose what I have. Besides - it may take a while but as I get older I am learning more and more of the cues all the time.

2) I thought the convention sounded really neat. Normally I am a little averse to the "do your own thing" mania. But at the convention the circumstances seem to make it the best of all options. Neat.

From Poem

I haven't posted in a while. - I haven't needed to. - And I have a hard time making a post to follow Easter.

All the rage lately seems to be the poem anybody can write. Here's my version:

I am from a plastic pen that writes well, from an old blue Toyota Corolla and a pair of well made leather docksider shoes.
I am from a red brick home in the woods, from a brown stone school well into the evening, and meaningful chapel under the mighy mountains of
southern California and a studio apartment full of big sunny southern windows and love.
I am from the unmowed field of grass and wildflowers that wave above our heads as we look at the sky, the rose just perfected hung about with
the morning fog and dew which no-one sees but me - yet.
I am from long trips in the car with the whole country all around and an engineering family with an artistic streak, from Germany, Ireland,
France, Belgium and Scotland, from the hedge and from the mill.
I am from a grandpa who TOLD me about when he was a little girl.
I am from and I am for the Roman Catholic church; and it is from the chosen people of Israel; and they were chosen from before the foundations
of the world were set. From before the worlds foundations were set I was known and I hope to read my name in the book of life - written of the
mind of God.
I am from an elm grove in the land of lakes, from bratwurst and cheese and burger-for-a-bunch. I am from Oolong tea, Taiwan beer, tempura
shrimp with mayonaise and pinapple sauce, and also from chicken knuckles, palate-poking krill and stinking tofu.
I am from wheat-bread sandwiches wrapped in wax paper in my brown bag lunch and dry milk because it was cheaper. Yet I am from down-hill skiing
since before I can remember and from golf with dad, and grandparents and friends.
I am from a grandpa who sold insurance but read the Harvard Classics. And from another who with half a thumb became a doctor and the best of
men and beat alzheimers - I hope I never forget where I am from.