in bed by 6 this morning.
up by 9.
reading raymond carver's poetry anthology
listening to arcade fire funeral and husker du candy apple grey
in between all of this, overhead an interview on PBS about an Irish family and their autistic son. closed all my books and watched. . .his mother kept talking about her son falling "deeper into the black hole" and how there wasn't proper treatment for him. the house looked like a war zone--dry wall exposing bare wires and doors broken at the hinges. the last shot of the feature was the boy (11-ish i am guessing) kicking his father repeatedly as they were getting into the family car.
sometimes i feel guilty about being burned out by my job. i wish i could go overseas and set up a practice. it pained me to watch--i've seen the look in those faces before (child included) and it never gets easier to see. sometimes it does feel hopeless at times and i have nothing but respect and admiration for parents with autistic children. i get to go home at the end of the day, for them it's a way of life. the beautiful thing is just how much hope, love and patience most of these families provide their children and the world surronding them. it would be very easy to lay down and wallow in the difficulties of their situation, but most don't--they fight and most tellingly--they live their lives to a full measure. it's not all turmoil for these families, they have the resolve to be a family rather than a family with an autistic child. i wish i could be that strong just once in my life. . . it makes me work harder and also means i take less bullshit from someone whose bad day consists of waiting 5 minutes for a junior bacon cheeseburger and a frostie.
regardless of whatever happens with writing, i don't know if i could ever wholly leave working with autisim behind. i guess that's easy for me to say now. . .we'll see.
more later
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