I’ve showed you that my office is a greenhouse, cut off from the living room by a glass door, and with its own separate entrance. It’s the only room in the house with a ceiling fan, which upped the level of its charm immediately. The air conditioner doesn’t always reach out here, and it doesn’t matter. Moving the air does. Sitting here also moves me. I can’t go more than a few minutes of sitting in here without feeling the urge to write. That’s an office that calls to you. I am caught between two ideas- leaving it informal because the glass table gives me more space than a small desk would- more room for clutter, certainly, but I don’t put anything more than I can move in a day. At the end of my writing session, it looks normal again. It’s nice having a space to come down to every morning that’s clean and somewhat organized, and you cannot tell me that it still would if it wasn’t a shared space. My bedroom is my little autistic nest where I make my own rules, and everywhere else in the house is where I compromise. He feels the same way. We’re introverts. It works.

And in fact, David just left for his girlfriend’s house and took the dog, so the house is even more quiet than usual. I hear the birds outside more closely. I take the time to notice every leaf. I take the time to invite nature in, because I am not a green thumb. David is a green thumb. I do better just having windows that face all the yards simultaneously. Plus, there are TARDIS lights to add to the shade. They’re beautiful.

There’s not really a downside to working in a greenhouse except that you are exposed to all the neighborhood noise. I happen to like it, because if it gets to be too much, I can just put on my cans. I spend a lot of time in them because I have to balance the noise around me and the chaos inside me because of it.

It’s a thing I’ve developed that’s unique to DC, because it’s the public signal you’re not interested in talking on the Metro. I will take them off and talk to people if I hear them saying something interesting, but I am not the go-to person to ask in terms of being a tourist guide. Zac says he likes showing off what he knows about DC. So do I. It just really depends on what my social battery is that day. Although I can give about as good a tour of the White House as Sam Seaborn, even though it is *literally* right down the street from me.

Carol asked me the other day how the environment of Silver Spring affected my writing, and I extrapolated that to mean DC because maybe she doesn’t know that Silver Spring is a suburb…. like I don’t tell people from here I’m from Sugar Land. I tell them I’m from Houston because they’ve probably heard of it. But my inspiration in Silver Spring has come from sitting in this greenroom and feeling the presence of a great Silver Spring resident before me, Rachel Carson. “Silent Spring” is about Silver Spring, Maryland.

We need more hippies in this town. More people like Earl Blumenauer riding their bicycles to Congress on behalf of Maryland, Virginia, and West Virginia. Someone has to preserve all this beauty. All people see in DC is the federal government, but if they came here, they probably wouldn’t want to leave after they saw the Jefferson Monument in the Tidal Basin and then the Chesapeake at sunset from a sailboat. That’s beauty you can’t get anywhere else.

I’m a big pushover for beauty in this area because I spent so much time in Oregon. So much of their legislative agenda is about how to keep Oregon beautiful, and we have that same chance here. There are pockets inside the city that take my breath away. Rock Creek Park, the Zoo, Congressional Cemetery, etc. DC is a wonderland even if you never travel outside the Metro.

But it is quite something to live in the home of one of the most significant works on the environment. It makes me look at the trees around my house so much differently- as if her spirit is helping me guide my pen. It takes a good writer to know one, so I hope that means she’s decided I’m at least acceptable.

I would have liked to walk with her in Sligo Creek after the book was published to get the inside scoop. Reading her work makes me want to get my hands dirty, but so far, David hasn’t let me touch anything. I appreciate it because I decided that if I really wanted to do yardwork, I would have done it by now. He’s just put me off so many times that I think it’s his sanctuary and I don’t want to intrude. I am often typing to the sound of the mower or the weedeater. The only thing I want that I don’t have is bees. I like to sit with them, so I need to plant some lavender. Plus, I’ll have free lavender for my lemonade in the process. I don’t know that my talking to bees affects them that much, because they do not seem to be bothered one way or the other. We just have so much in common. I’m a singular them, they’re a hive mind. They’re built to keep on working no matter what I say, so it’s not like I’m interrupting anyone. As long as I stay calm, they will. They’re like tiny little therapists with cute fuzzy butts. They also don’t talk back at all, which is three quarters of their charm. If your therapist has always been the type person that makes you talk it out without offering suggestions, you won’t notice they’re gone. Bees are effective at listening and letting you come to the end of your thought process because it’s not like they’re going to stop midair and say, “I do have thoughts.”

I still think of talking to the bees as prayer, because I’d like to imagine that because I tell them the thoughts I can’t tell Supergrover that are too private for this web site, they are capable of telling her for me. I have no idea what the flight range is of an average bumblebee. It’s just a nice thought.

So, when I “go tell the bees,” what I’m really saying is that the one I want to tell is not here, but your people are an excellent second choice. They have never said a bad word about Supergrover in their lives, so they’re my people. Just let me talk it out. Don’t pass judgment because you might have a completely different opinion of them when you meet them than I did. That’s the problem you risk in telling one relationship about another- hard to integrate later.

It was hard for me when I first met Supergrover, because it was an Internet connection. She never came to visit, I (or we, depending on what year) never went to visit her. Therefore, I was always talking about this friend who wasn’t even at the table and yet she always was, because she was in my head. She became my Raggedy Doctor in more ways than one. Few people but me believed she was real. Even I had trouble believing it at times, and I wasn’t very nice about it because the pressure was a lot. I gave up an on the ground relationship for an in the cloud relationship that would not make sense to you in a million years as to how it could happen. The best I can do is that her life is big, and you protect people who have big lives differently than you protect ones who don’t. The worst part is not knowing how I’ve affected her life to know if I’ve ever gotten her in real trouble. I only wanted to talk about us. Period. I can’t speak to her relationship with anyone else, because I don’t know them. I’m not connected anywhere. That’s a great blessing and a great problem to have. On one hand, it gives both of us a space to get away from everything we know. On the other, it would be nice to have mutual friends so we’re not lost in our own echo chamber, which is large and mostly runs hot at the amount of anger we carry too much of the time.

I have lived this way for 11 years, having someone know the most intimate details of my life and the rest of my friends scratching their heads at why I talk about someone so much that doesn’t show up. That’s because she doesn’t show up for them. They’re not her friends. I am. She doesn’t have anything to prove, it’s just hard to get anyone to believe there are two sides to every story when they only know me and she won’t let them get to know her. A lot of trying to tell our story my way was trying to find the middle road by explaining something that couldn’t really be explained.

And yet, it can.

When we’re together, I can be any age I want and I can trust her with those level emotions. I have proven that I can be trusted with her basest emotions as well…. that I will retreat from them, and talk them out, but I won’t back down from trying to solve our problems. Our connection is too important to only try once, and a miscommunication is at fault for all of this.

In a lot of ways, I’m sorry I reopened this chapter in my life, because it reopens 11 year old wounds. I don’t want to tell Supergrover about my wounds, I want her to tell me what’s relatable in her own life and what’s not. When she’s open, I don’t feel alone. She relates to me like any friend would. I just don’t show that all the time because she doesn’t behave that way all the time, either.

Right now, she’s committed to ignoring me, because she says that if she reads, she can’t get wigged by it. I appreciate that, because I need my own space. It has proven to me over and over again that it’s the only way I can explain what I mean in a way other people can hear it……..

because neurodivergent overexplaining eats my lunch.

Surely if I’ve explained it once, six times will be better. Eight times will be even better than that.

Autism sucks.