Written 16 July, 2020.
I talk to my therapist who’s a doctor. The problem is that here K’s agoraphobia overcomes her and she goes “out” as far as the deck and scuttles back inside. But in the city, K goes out with her carer at least once a week, if not twice. Only to the shopping centres, but that at least.
I talk to my therapist. Is the risk of co-vid so great at the moment that we should bring her here and risk her agoraphobia?
So we tell K to stay in the city. That way, she has to be self-sufficient.
She rings. It’s too cold to go up to the chemist to get her meds.
It’s not so cold.
She rings off unconvinced. My music professor rings to discuss the course. Ten PHD students are enrolled, so excited they don’t mind there’s only a 20% chance that the course will be counted toward their doctorates! Thank goodness. Perhaps they won’t be critical of me! I’m always expecting that. Why, I wonder? What I have to tell them aren’t my ideas, they’re from a vast field of study. Other people’s research, not mine.
Also, I only know about creativity in story-writing – which I’ll admit upfront – so the professor will co-teach with me. But artistic domains are the same. It seems that the same brain behaviour is.
I’ll be lost if someone wants to talk about a sonata, I say.
I’ll stay one millimetre ahead of the students, he says.
He’s clever but with the warmest heart. I try not to be nervous. it won’t help anyone.
I read neuroscience for my book of readings for the course. and rake the mud, so the tiny crabs go somewhere else and we have a beach – one day.
Later, K rings to report that she went out by herself. With someone like K, there’s a thrill at achieving the most ordinary things. Ordinary things take her a lot of courage. It’s thrilling she went out alone for her meds. Someone should give her a medal. Other parents are thrilled when their children get good marks, but with autism, the goalposts shift. I wonder how many other people walking the grey streets of the city are quiet heroes like her.