I’ve been living in St. Johns, Oregon, since November 2018, where I recently spent the skidmark of my fiftieth birthmonth, and where I’ve adopted the local preference for continuing to refer to its as its own town rather than the Portland neighborhood it became.
Having just ended the third year since my autism diagnosis, I continue to have no traction in life and recently realized that I’ve hit a new and somewhat debilitating instance of autistic burnout.
After years lost in the flummox of social media, I am trying to maintain an untriumpant return to regular, daily, old-school blogging more or less like we did back in the day, only this time hopefully with much less warblogging.
Medically-speaking, I’m hoping this past year’s urologic issues don’t return, waiting to convince a specialist to order a new scan before I will agree to a lymph node biopsy, continuing to put off tracking down the cause of fatigue issues because so many other medical issues keep coming up, hoping the new-to-me gout issues don’t flare up again, and trying to solve a chronic congestion that feels more like an inflammation.
I might have found a mental health practitioner who both understands adult autism and is covered by coordinated care organization under the Oregon Health Plan, or at least might be prepared to be open and learn about adult autism as we go.