I spent an hour today working on my Doctor Who book, which has been somewhat neglected recently for various reasons.  I have finished the second draft… except that I want to do some more research and writing to five of the chapters to produce a draft 2.1.  After that the third draft will be about streamlining the prose and standardising the style and content (the book has essentially been written piecemeal over five years), with a projected fourth draft for polishing and then, hopefully, submission around this time next year.

I stayed in the office at lunch to work on the book, which may have been a mistake.  I was OK during the morning despite only having had about four hours sleep (insomnia), but in the afternoon the office seemed unbearably stuffy and uncomfortable.  It’s on the fifth floor and the windows don’t open and I don’t think the air conditioning is on, if there is any.  The afternoons are the worst, as the sun shines through the windows on my side of the building after lunch and there’s a greenhouse effect.  I think I will have to go out to get some air at lunchtime, even if it’s only for ten minutes, even if the weather is bad and I would rather stay inside and read.  Interestingly, I was able to tolerate the noise of the open-plan office a lot less when I was feeling uncomfortable than when I felt OK.  This is interesting as at autism group everyone agreed that open plan offices are very difficult for autistic people due to problems filtering out noise.

There was a woman crying on the train.  The woman next to her asked if she was OK and she said she was, but she clearly wasn’t.  I wanted to say something to her, but was worried that she might panic if a strange man started trying to have an emotional conversation with her.  I didn’t really know what to say or have the confidence to say it anyway.  I wish I was better at managing these sorts of interactions.

The minor surgery I had a few weeks ago turned out to probably be necessary rather than simply precautionary, so I feel that God has done something for me.  That said, I’m still struggling to believe He would create someone who could love me.  I had a whole long paragraph here, but I cut it because I’ve said it a million times before.  I really can’t see myself getting married, certainly not in time to have children.  I know everyone says I’m catastrophising, but from where I’m standing, it really does look like I’m too weird (compared with other frum (religious) people) and too mentally ill for that to work.  I just wish I could accept that and move on with other parts of my life.

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