June 6, 2013

June 4

I was hoping for a new, non-sexual friendship with a youngish (35) man in Vancouver, but he has let me know, gently, that he’s not interested. I didn’t cry, though in the past I would have cried, at least inside.

I have such hope for my relationships with men–both the friendships and the search for The One. I want these relationships so much, and they have been very hard for me to create. I used to ruin every one before it began because I’d immediately jump into sex with every man. And then there were the long years of celibacy (by choice).

I have very little experience with friendships with men. Seth and Sam, my son and grandson, are the only men I know well and to whom I am close. I am plagued with all kinds of insecurities when it comes to men. I don’t KNOW men as people; I have lots of resentment toward men-in-general (because of the inequality inherent in patriarchy); and I long fervently for love from a man.

The sexual relationships I have had with men have been odd, to say the least. The men, except for my ex-husband, Hank, have all been people I couldn’t relate to. Uneducated, alcoholics and drug-users (and I don’t mean pot), street men (lived on the street)… I was attracted by both an idealistic vision of who they were and by the sex they so easily offered to me at least for a while.

I have learned to put myself first; I have learned to not let rejection get me down. I am finally putting myself first and taking good care of myself. I am newly, finally self-confident. What a relief. That’s what makes me feel like crying: the joy and relief of knowing I am taking good care of myself now.

I wouldn’t be surprised if my neediness scares men away. I am sure it does, now that I think about it. I am not “casual” in any way. In everything I love, I am intense and driven.

I don’t “pursue” or flirt with men in a way they would find familiar or comfortable. I WANT THEM–for friends and/or lovers. My approach is fine for a sexual affair, but it doesn’t seem to work for friendships.

I’ll learn. Or die trying! Time is a great teacher and healer.


Fourteen Aboriginal languages exist in the Yukon. The First Nations presence here in Whitehorse is strong (though it is small in actual numbers–I think the People represent only 4% of the total population). The Aboriginal people, according to some of my Couchsurfing hosts, are doing better as time goes by.

The injustices and crimes we Caucasians committed against the First Nations people are farther and farther in the past every day. The genocide up here in Canada was not as bad as in the US.

I like being somewhere that the First Nations/Native Americans/Aboriginal People have a real voice. I trust them. I don’t want to BE one of them; I love being a Gypsy. It’s really who I am, but I admire and like many other ethnic and racial and social groups.


Yesterday Anne Bordeleau drove me out to Fish Lake. I saw the “candle ice.” It’s ice unlike any I have ever seen. It forms on lakes that are quickly changing from frozen to unfrozen in the Spring. The amazing thing about it was the sound the ice made as the waves sloshed it back and forth along the shore.

The band of ice along the edge of Fish Lake was between five and fifteen feet wide. The delicate, high-pitched, crystal-breaking, tinkling sound of the ice moving in the waves was a whole new thing for me, like when I heard the howler monkeys in Costa Rica a few years ago. Wonderful!


Many Francophones (French-speakers) live here in Whitehorse. Some, like Stephanie, are from France; others, like Anne, are from Montreal. They are ALL excellent cooks.

Anne and I drank white wine with lunch and ate flatbread she had made along with an olive dish and something else (which I didn’t stop to identify). Such a delicious meal. Then we went to Bean North, and had coffee (mochas) and biscotti. She treated me. Superb!

Today I bought a little vibrator at Adult Temptations on Black Street here in town. Then, I went to the Kwanlin Dun Cultural Center. And I checked out Yoga in the Alpine (the Alpine is what some of the mountains are called around here). The studio was closed, but the little artisanal bakery below, which is connected somehow to the studio, was too yuppie (precious, expensive, [though great quality] food) for me. I will look into Stephanie’s favorite local yoga studio: Shanti Yoga.


June 6

I went to Carcross (Yukon) and Skagway, Alaska yesterday with Anne Bordeleau (CSer). She’s lots of fun, and, as a Gemini, loves day-trips. Fun!

Today I’m at Jess Daniels’ house. Pleasant and peaceful. Watched TV show “Dexter” last night with Jess’ housemates, Richard and Susan. It’s such a strange show: about a cop who kills killers who won’t be caught by the police. The message is good though: Let go of the darkness within you and let in the light.

I am trying to be less judgemental and critical of others. I realize I prefer people who are like me (doesn’t everyone?). I also know it’s a narrow perspective. I am changing.

Sending postcards to Sam and others. Struggling with forcing myself to do things that are good for me, like yoga.


Sheryl, a woman browsing, like me, in a Whitehorse used bookstore today, talked to me about Indigo Children/Adults. Then, she gave me $20 for my travels. In return, she asked me to look up “Indigo Adults.” I did. I had heard of the Indigo Children.

I know what I like. The housemate, Richard, where I am staying now, is a nice guy, and he’d be a good person to have for a friend. But when Jess, in response to my comment that I’d LOVE to have a boyfriend, said “Richard is free,” I was able to immediately say, “I’m not sexually attracted to him.”

I know the difference now between a male friend and a boyfriend. The distinction is sexual attraction. I will never again make that mistake, and that’s comforting knowledge.

The latest guy to whom I am sexually attracted is Greg in Vancouver. He’s very young and probably doesn’t feel the same way about me. I don’t care. My feelings about someone are not determined by their feelings about me. That’s how I feel, and that’s that. No further discussion needed. His lack of response to me has no effect on my response to him. He can go his way, and I’ll go mine, but I’ll always feel the same way about a guy like that. Greg would also probably make a good friend, and sexual attractiveness plus friendship is the formula for a boyfriend. I’m a fool over guys like that! Ha ha. It’s funny.

“But what can I do? I’m just a fool over you,” sung by Thisbe Vos (playing now on WWOZ radio, live from New Orleans).

“Don’t you put yourself above me, you just love me like a man.” (Diana Krall, Love Me Like A Man)


I am currently staying at the home of three people: one is a Couchsurfer, one is a compassionate dentist (who wonders why First Nations people think their culture needs government protection), and one is a blond who lives by her looks (and probably always has). This latter woman responds to me as if I am weird because I don’t jump to her beat. She can’t figure out who (what) I am, and when I don’t respond with more than a nod to her small talk, she is confused.

This woman doesn’t like this, and, as a result, she will say/think there’s something “wrong” with me. She is insecure and will not put the blame on herself or look for a deeper meaning. The meaning she will ascribe to my behavior is: Doesn’t Play Well With Others and Doesn’t Live Up To Social Rules (which she does live up to, very carefully).

When I am in her presence, this woman expects me to respond to and interact with her. If I am doing anything else (watching a movie, being online, etc.), she expects me to pay attention to her first. This takes lots of work, time, energy and attention. I can’t do that, and I don’t want to do that.

This woman’s IQ isn’t too high, and, although that’s not the most important thing in the world (kindness and love and generosity and compassion are all more important), it does matter when someone is also intolerant, selfish, and insecure.

This woman will undoubtedly turn this around onto me and say, “Oh, well, she’s disabled. She has Asperger Syndrome. She is unable to react right, socially.” The truth is people who are starved for attention will never get enough, and people like me really show them that. They don’t want to know it. She is the one who is damaged, not me.

When we were discussing astrology and I was trying to be very, very nice, she asked what my sign was. I said Scorpio, and she said, “Scorpios are hard to get along with.” Great. Thanks. Turns out that two of her husbands were Scorpios. And her new boyfriend is on the cusp on Libra and Scorpio.

I can’t solve this woman’s problems; I don’t need to try. But I can be myself. I kind of view that kind of move as a preemptive strike. She was manipulating me. It doesn’t work that way with me.

I think I will just ignore people like this. I won’t be mean. And I won’t think badly of them. But I will BE MYSELF.

Trying to please people who don’t like me and who don’t like ANYONE who is different is not only impossible, it’s dumb. It’s a ridiculous waste of my time.

“What is it that you’re afraid of?  That you can’t work with him or that he can’t work with you? … You didn’t think of that did you?” (from the movie Music Within) This is EXACTLY what I needed to hear. It’s not that I can’t work with  these stupid NTs. It’s that they expect me to obey their social rules; it’s that they can’t accept who I am. They keep pushing me to respond the way they want me to respond. When I don’t, they brand me: DISABLED. WEIRD. UNACCEPTABLE. INAPPROPRIATE.

Am I supposed to feel sorry for them? Baby them? Take care of them? Teach them? I’d like them to learn about people like me, but, you know, I no longer have the real desire to do it myself. I can’t force them to see things my way. No, it’s up to them to learn, if they want to.


preemptive strike definition

A first-strike attack with nuclear weapons carried out to destroy an enemy’s capacity to respond. A preemptive strike is based on the assumption that the enemy is planning an imminent attack.


I am watching the movie, Music Within. It’s about the person (born a little after me) who created the “People With Disabilities Act.” He was deaf after being injured in Vietnam. His friend had Cerebral Palsy.

A friend and former professor said to the man who stars in this true story: You don’t need to teach people about your disability; you need to teach them about themselves.

“You can’t discriminate against people because they don’t look like you.” (from Music Within) Or because they don’t act like you.

You can’t be driven by anger though; I am doing things my way. I am being me whether people like it or not. I am never going to bow down to NTs again. But neither will I be angry, nor will I feel guilty for being me instead of being who others want me to be.

We social outsiders who are disabled or different in some way (ethnically, economically, etc.)  are like the slaves in the United States were. We can see our “overlords” clearly, but they have no idea who we are. “You don’t know a thing about us,” Gogol Bordello says in a song.

I can see weakness and damage in people when others (social insiders) can not see it at all. The insiders can’t see it because so many of these damaged people know how to behave “correctly” and “appropriately.” They communicate all the “right” social signals, but underneath they are completely strange, awkward and unbalanced.

These strange people loathe those of us who refuse to behave. We Aspies don’t care about the “right” social signals; we have our own social signals. We accept ourselves as we are–or, at least, I do. I  accept our way of being. Our Aspie behavior, values, norms and beliefs are right, equal, and correct. The social in-group has nothing on us.


At Hinterlands rehearsal. It’s Katie Tate and four guys playing bluegrass. Really fun.

I love Whitehorse!

Last night I dreamed of Johnny Blanton, my boyfriend when Seth and I were in the little community of squatters at Scott Creek outside Davenport (near Santa Cruz), California in the late 1970s. He was fifteen, and I was thirty. Johnny’s mom and brother also lived there, and our relationship was OK with them. Is John my One and Only True Love? It felt like it in the dream… like he’s the One I’ve been dreaming of for years.


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