Autistic, alone, and at the airport 


the silent wave

I’ve found my departure gate, at the end of the terminal. It’s pleasant here, very quiet and serene. This makes me more than a little self-conscious about the frequent sniffles that my histamine attacks bring on, and reminds me continuously that I am still living on the histamine threshold, the invisible and variable boundary water between “Normal/OK” and “Misery”. Much like my Asperger’s/autistic characteristic of black-and-whiteness, there’s little in-between on the histamine front, too.

This histamine stuff also brings into annoying awareness the realization that I did indeed forget something when I was packing for this trip: my posh, premium tissues. Kleenex–the tough, sturdy kind with the lotion built in. I have a pocket/purse-packet of the basic type, but that just won’t do. I know these things; I have a lot of experience.

It does not matter how thoroughly I pack, how short my trip is going to be, how…

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About Jonathan Caswell

Mr. Caswell has been composing poetry at least since High School. He has been on WORD PRESS for ten years and contributes to two other blogs beside this one. This blog has a Christian emphasis but all bloggers are welcome. Mr. Caswell chooses to---with permission--re[post material of interest

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