Is Autistic Joy A Colonial Construct?

When I was little, we had a picnic table with a central parasol on the patio outside our back doors, looking out onto the garden beyond. When it rained, I would gather my teddy bears and dolls, dress us all up in rain macs and hats and clip umbrellas onto their little buggies. Then I would take everyone outside, get snuggled under the various covers, and just be. I can still picture it, still remember how it felt and sounded and smelled. I remember the joy and peace and complete ease I felt.

On the Saturday of the August bank holiday weekend, I woke up to the sound of rain. No doubt ruining the plans of Brits around and about planning barbecues and camping and various outside activities. I, however, was delighted. I asked my nesting partner if they wanted to join me for a walk in the rain. They looked up from the comfy armchair in their PJs, Xbox controller in hand, and said ‘no?’. While I love their company, it really was OK that they didn’t want to come. Being alone in the rain would mean I could fully immerse myself in sensory elation without any self-consciousness.