I am autistic. My family says: He’s lost in day dreaming again. I’m not there. I am not looking into your eyes. I am not focused on what you are saying. Why. Because I do not care and there it is. As I age, I have less and less reason to use the mask. I just don’t care anymore that I won’t fit in (and I won’t). I live in the middle of a big woods in the Blue Ridge that has a small river I swim in every morning. Even in the winter. No one is ever around. I run into the water naked and howling and shrieking. Diving in, and allowing the current to move me. You have to just let it all go. You are a part of the earth, and you are here for the ride. So ride it until you can only watch. Hitting the water cold. The dread of which will make even melancholy whimper. Focus crashes in and I can see the stones in the river move in centimeters and soothes my eternal remorse leaving me like a subtle knot comes undone in treachery as mysterious as love. I run back to the cottage trembling. Shivering. Wet. Aware that the world and its demands will find me and define me. I say it out loud: Do not speak today. Do not speak today. Do not speak today. Voice is dangerous. Smile and nod. I am condemned to write for agents and editors. I would rather write for people but authority calls me spam. I am not unnerved by anyone. They are unnerved by me. Press the dissolve button. I work all night. Often before the sun comes up, I hit the river, because the river has no anxiety. The darkness says so.