A hundred moments in autism - Sometimes there is just too much

I am currently distracted by:

My wife, emptying her purse the way she does, all ADHD, spraying her valuables as an abstract artist sprays paint. I watch carefully to ensure every note, car-key, wooden tortoise and bank-card is returned to its assigned place. This time, as is often the case, it is not at all apparent what they were looking for.

The bag on the floor on the other side of the room. I can’t stop looking at it. Whose is it? What’s in it? What’s it doing there? Should I pick it up?

The music from the other room. Unlike some autists I don’t especially notice noise, it rarely annoys me, but I recognise the song, it takes me back to a moment in time, a place, a localized population. It makes me leave the now.

Self-conscious-reflection. The constant self-check autists go through when with others, a form of masking, how is my expression, my stance, my body movements. 

The conversation I am engaged in. I realise this should be number one, but I am attending elsewhere and the conversation I’m engaged with is consequently reduced to 5^th in the list. Perhaps this is why I’m an imperfect conversationalist.