The silence on my blog was deafening. (I had a few posts on my Facebook page, but my sisters don't count. They have to participate or I will give them titty twisters at Thanksgiving.)
Because I have an incredibly big ego, I'm going to assume that very few people even wanted to venture a guess since they had absolutely no clue. (This is preferable to my other more realistic assumption, which is that no one reads my blog and I'm whistling in the wind here.)
So, the first person to guess correctly via Facebook was my friend Penelope. Penelope has an incredibly handsome adult son on the spectrum who attends college and lives independently now. (Let's give it up for Penelope and her son! Whoop whoop!)
Here's Penelope's correct guess--
I have no clue what the function of this note is,
but if Conor wrote it, I applaud the use of the first-person pronoun.
|Oh no, you did not say "if", girlfriend.|
It's a good thing you moved to a different state or I would box you about the ears. Then I would buy you a vodka tonic and beg you to forgive me and still be my friend. Love you!
And I know, first person pronoun. Progress!)
I offered the $10 gift card to Penelope, but she said that her new town did not have a Starbucks, Dunkin' Donuts, or a McDonalds!
Holy Mary, call Newt Gingrich, I think Penelope's established a colony on the moon.
Who lives somewhere without a Starbucks? Is that even possible? The horror, the horror!
Finally, I received one comment on the blog from Shawnbeth, who also correctly answered the question, saying--
I have no guesses, but I do enjoy your blog a lot!
Shawnbeth, you are a genius. Not only are you a connoisseur of supremely fine bloggish-type writing, you hit the nail on the head. Email me your mailing address and I'll send you a gift card to someplace where you can hopefully get a hot cup of coffee. (Unless you live on the moon with Penelope, in which case I'll send you a MRE.)
Look, I have no clue what this note means. Not really. True, he used to be obsessed with downloading songs and videos on every computer he could put his eyes on, including his Uncle Jeff's. But it's been over a year since he's been allowed to do that, and this request has morphed into some sort of early warning sign of agitation. Sometimes he'll even say an unreasonable or nonsensical request in order to elicit a verbal "No" and then he'll tantrum.
The best we can figure is that he's trying to assuage some negative feeling (anxiety? disappointment? compulsion?) by doing some sort of obsessive behavior. We think. Sometimes. Maybe. Perhaps.
But he's agitated, and about what, exactly? I don't know. No guesses. No ideas. No clue. He can't say, and I don't know. The best we can figure, this is his way of saying "I'm upset and I need help calming down or I might blow."
Maybe. Perhaps. Sometimes. We think.
Our exchange usually goes something like this.
School: Conor got upset about something today
but we don't really know what it was.
He did try to erase something off the board but we don't know why.
Me: Conor, why are you upset?
Conor: Conor, why are you upset?
Me: No, Conor, honey, why are you upset? What's bothering you?
Conor: Conor wants to download a song on Uncle Jeff's computer.
Me: Why? What's upsetting you?
Conor: You don't know.
Well, you got that right, Conor. I don't know. It's so hard, the not knowing. Hard on him and hard on us.