All the colours of the spectrum.

Brother thinks I'm diagnosing everyone with Aspergers or personality disorders. Maybe it's just the company I keep.

A major part of social work, I'm slowly learning, is that no matter how apparent the differences may seem, there is always very little separating us from our clients. An accident of birth, perhaps, or a trait we've got but manage to ignore. As Northern Nurse is very good at reminding me when I'm off in my own waking dream world; it's a thin line.

And what better time to try and put myself in the mindset of someone further along on the autistic spectrum than a day I haven't slept, and can quite easily disappear into an imagined safe, ordered world? Well, preferably one when I don't have to drive home, but there's no harm in trying up until then.

It was when I got home I realised the difference. I turned on the TV expecting music, and all I got was adverts. Usually I'd sigh and turn the adverts off as soon as possible, but just this once I imagined I just didn't know how to change reality like that. So the only logical reaction was to try and shut it out. It would have been terrifying if I wasn't able to get out of that place, and just for a second I came a bit closer to understanding that mindset. Only a little though.

Maybe I need to do more moaning.