I talk to myself a lot, when I'm alone. I say things into the air, that I don't have the nerves of steel to say straight out to peoples' faces. It can be anything from stuff about music to what a woman should be, to what I think about multiculturalisim and Canada and how I'd be content to do things the British way until the day I die, obsesions and the fact that my friends and family should accept them, that I have them and that I will always obsess over one thing or another, until the day that I die, because that's a big part of being on the spectrum, for many of us. It can be about disability rights. I could be admitting to my dad, that I am a little bit slow, after all these years, but to myself as practice for when I actually do tell him, face to face, which is not a sign of weakness. I also go on to myself about how cool it is, that I look and act just like my favourite Kink, and to convince myself not to let the worldly types in my life change that, about me, and if those people try to do so, I've got to stay on the right path, and stay away from anything that resembles beer (near beer because I don't drink the real stuff), and casinos.
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Who wants to adopt a Sweet Pea?