I was told by a beloved and beautiful woman that I need a vacation, and the thought filled me with a light sense of cosmic horror and existential dread.

On looking into this, I came to the realization that I have never had a relaxing vacation in my life. I have had numerous vacations, including ones to Canada, Italy, and even the far flung world of Disney in Florida, which is mathematically provable as the worst state in the history of mankind.

The biggest issue with every trip I’ve ever been on is having to bring me along. Now don’t get me wrong: I am a delightful slice of heaven wrapped up in a biscuit of fluffy goodness. But I am like a delicate plant that only thrives in its own soil. Uproot me, even to see Venice, and I will start to wither… or at the very least, catch a Herculean episode of diarrhea that will form my most powerful memory of the whole reckless affair.

Being Autistic comes with very few drawbacks, one of which is “toilet intimacy.” I cannot poop in a strange toilet without feeling deep amounts of shame and embarrassment. It feels “rude” in a way that I cannot explain to a neurotypical person but I feel like my neurodiverse homies would intrinsically understand on an atomic level.

So a monumental case of the “brown flow” coupled with my reluctance to poop in any toilet that I have not yet formed a deep and intimate attachment to means that every colon-enforced interaction is met with woe, regret, and confusion.

Add to this mix, me being around someone or some people who I presumably normally want to be around, such as family or lovers. This makes me KEENLY aware that, being in a shared space, EVERYONE is in the “smell zone.” So I cannot secretly deposit my shame without alerting the village.

Being an unwilling supplicant to the Red Ochre God is but one of the issues.

Every strange place I end up in feels absurd. When I was in Florance looking at the statue of David, all I could think was “here I am… in front of the statue of David… for some reason. Man, I have to poop right now.” I imagine that’s not normally the takeaway when looking at a Michelangelo masterpiece. Something more along the lines of “Wow!”, “Amazing!”, or “Oddly small uncircumcised penis on that statue of the King of the Jews!”

My typical attitude while wandering around on vacation is “I could wander around aimlessly looking at things at home, where my well-known and beloved toilet is, for a lot less money.” This is a pervasive feeling. No matter where I go on vacation, my thoughts are usually along the lines of “Welp, here I am at <location> for some reason. Now what?”

This is an attitude I tend to keep on the downlow because when wooing some sweet, deluded person, the last thing they want to hear is “B-T-Dubs, vacationing with me is a bewildering, panic-filled experience with foreign ‘smells’ you’ve never anticipated coming from a strange bathroom, and I will refuse to look you in the eyes for days after.”

This is not to say that vacations for me are an untrammeled hellborn experience with gnashing of teeth and lava. Not yet, anyway… I would like to visit Naples some day. There’s good times to be had! Disneyworld was fun, even when we got caught in the middle of a hurricane. If one MUST be stranded in Florida (and I imagine EVERYONE who lives in Florida is stranded there in some way), I highly recommend a stay at a Disneyworld resort.

But the experiences are all overshadowed by discomfort, bewilderment, being broke, and a feeling of displacement that is impossible for me to shake.

In theory, my love is right and I need to take a vacation of some sort someday, much in the way that one day I need another colonic, have to pay taxes, and have to update my vaccinations – after all, my Autism needs refreshing with chemicals or I lose my powers.

At the same time, no rush!