A Story About Autism

-Taste the Music-

People are afraid of the dark because when the lights are out there are so many things that can’t be seen. Rod Sterling once said, “There is nothing in the dark that we cannot see when the lights are on”. I was never afraid of the dark but I am afraid of things I can’t see. All of these things that I can’t understand or interpreter. Those are the scary things and in a world with so many different people and so many different ideas there is so much that I can’t see. I’m blind. I’m so blind.

            I have a brother named Dustin who has these terribly big blue eyes that are always fixed on something that I cannot see. He reaches his hands up and touches things that are nonexistent to my world. Perhaps it’s some sort of light that warms him, or a kite that is flying just above his head. I could only imagine all sorts of floating things that could distract him from the ground.

            The thing I love about Dustin is that he doesn't see people for their physical form. I've seen little white babies shriek at their first encounter with a black person and vice versa. I don’t know where it comes from or why it’s there but we fear the different. Dustin doesn't. He’s not a part of the “we”. He’s not a part of the “us”.  He is Dustin and he lives for Dustin where as I am the big brother who lives for everyone else. I am the business man of society, everyone else is a consumer, and Dustin… he’s Dustin.

            I wish I could find more words to describe him but he’s not really a child of literacy. When I watch him sometimes I think I could write for a hundred lifetimes about who is and what he does but when I actually sit down with a piece of paper in front of me it becomes much more difficult. No word can capture the colors he sees and the worlds he touches. For now I’ll stick to my thoughts. Maybe one day I’ll collect enough of them and organize them on a sheet of paper but until then it will be internal.

            After our parents death I took Dustin in. At the time I was eighteen and he was only ten. Now I’m climbing towards my midtweeties and he’s in his teen years. He has so much rage that he doesn’t understand. These feelings are too human for him and he expresses it with this terrible rage. That’s why I think he does what he does. He does it because we are all built like little robots with different and unique systems. Dustin’s a bit short circuited, or perhaps we are the ones with the short circuits. The system isn't operating correctly. It can feel the commands. It can feel the need to complete something but the controls are different. The buttons are lost.

            He doesn't talk much and when he does most people can’t understand him. It’s easy to pick up his language but it’s hard to find someone who actually takes the time to.

            I’m sitting, at this very moment, at one end of our long dining room table and eating something that has taken me way too long to prepare based on the fact that we very well do have a personal chief.

            Dustin will only eat with music playing and every so often he will request a certain band to be played. Tonight’s request is the entire BeeGee’s best hits album.

            “Dustin.” I say. He doesn't respond.

            “Dustin, why is your mouth open?” He opens his mouth even wider and closes his eyes.

            “Taste the music. Louder. Louder.”  He responds. I stand up from my seat and turn the volume up as loud as it can go. The entire house is erupting in eighties music. The silverware is bouncing on the table, the floorboards feel as though they are being vibrated out of place, and Dustin is sitting in the midst of it all just tasting the music. I wonder what it tastes like. The music.

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This is an exert from a fictional story written by Amber Allegrucci. 2015 

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If you or anyone you know is affected by Autism send this their way.
""Autism isn't a processing error. It's a different operating system."

Dear Diary,

"At school we had to take a test that would tell us our most probable future career. Everyone take a look at Amber Allegrucci the 'professional birthday party clown'. My mom is going to be so proud."

"If there was a way to teleport from my bedroom to the bathroom I would be a happy costumer."

"My writings are my prized possessions. I've written since I could hold a pen and each and every one of my characters are my friends.... until dad throws out the giant box of stories I've written since I was nine. Then the characters die a little, right? Damn."

Can I technically say I've written seven books? No? Okay.

I think a lot of people think keeping a journal is like in the movies where the beautiful protagonist writes all about her boy troubles and then somehow those pages she's written all about how amazing his butt looks in football pants gets plastered all over the high school halls.
No. No. No! Just no!

While I'm sure we would all love that sort of story and have the gorgeous football player sweep the young dorky damsel off her feet you also have to think about all of the other pages written in this book.

I know very well that if someone opened up my journal they wouldn't have the slightest idea how to react. Why is this?
Well, I don't always stick to writing in my journals. Sometimes I just slap down whatever jumps out of my mind. If I'm feeling angry maybe I'll just pull out an old crayon, press it down nice and hard on the paper, and color the entire page black.
 If I'm hungry I might right the word CHEESEBURGER multiple times until I actually come across a cheeseburger. Perhaps in a few minutes following my cheeseburger discovery I'll be writing BLLECKKK BLEEARRGGG UGGHHHH.

This one's more recent.

Keeping a journal has always always always been a great way to figure out how the wheels turn. Think of your mind like a giant machine with intricate pieces of mechanics that fit perfectly into each other. As we all know, machines don't always work the way we want them to (cough...Windows ....cough). Maybe something gets stuck in the spokes somewhere.

Well.... now what!?

Open up your journal. Look back at what has been building up over the past few weeks. Fights with the parents? Stress in school? Can't pay the bills? You'd be surprised how we can over look our own emotions until the very last minute. By then anxiety strikes.
If you can't exactly figure something out, write. Just write whatever comes to mind.

After losing my grandma during my Sophomore year in High School I fought with myself over what death was and overcame a lot of anxiety I faced towards what would happen and where I would go after I was finished with this life. I also had a difficult time thinking of all of the things I wanted to share with my Gram and how I wouldn't get to show her everything I've achieved after her passing.

Growing up it's easy to forget who we once were and how we once thought. I never knew I felt this way about so and so and I forgot how much I looked up to my big sister or brother. You might look back one day and appreciate how far you've come. All of the little challenges that surrounded the bigger ones and all of the accomplishes that have been forgotten somewhere in a sea of time and faces. All of these moments we've forgotten. Opening up an old journal is like opening up a door to the past.

Apparently I practically lived at the theater when I was younger.

Are you feeling a certain color today? Yellow... maybe pink? Good, grab a crayon and start scribbling. Make it sloppy, nobody is judging you here. It's your own sanctuary. A little piece of your mind on a sheet of paper. Yours.


It's crazy how different we all are. How so many different thoughts and ideas just come through at different times and how so many different emotions shine through. So many thoughts and reactions. It's scary. It's sad. It's beautiful. It's wonderful.

Find yourself! Have fun! Keep a journal!

The Old Forge accent.

THE OLD FORGE ACCENT

"You're from New York, right?"

Uh....New York?

As I've mentioned in my other Old Forge based blogs I've lived in Old Forge for my entire life in the old Allegrucci house. An Allegrucci has lived within these walls since Italian was the main language spoken around town.

When I was a little girl my grandma Allegrucci, who lived in the second half of the double, would have my older cousins, aunts, and uncles stop by for tea and a chat about the old times. Of course, with my grandma being extremely stubborn she stopped having these little get-togethers in fear of not being able to hear who she was talking to, or having to put on makeup and if you can't understand politics you should at least look good while pretending to listen. But before that the visits were a weekly treat.

My grandma was my favorite source of comedic release in this boring old town so every morning I would check to see if my great aunt's car was outside or if my uncle Sonny was parked in the front lawn again by accident. To see my grandma talk about things like taxes and politics was always fun. Sometimes her face would match the red color of her hair after a few hours.

I'll never forget seeing the old antique cars of my uncle Sonny parked out front ( a different one every time ).

I'd be so excited to go next door and see him that I would run over without my shoes on.

The screen door would open but I was too short to be seen through the window so it would always give my gram a good scare.

"Jesus! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" She'd say.

"No."

"Look at this child. No shoes, messy hair, is that a sauce stain on your face?" She'd lick her fingers and wipe away the red stain on my cheek.

"Hey you. Tirarsela*. Look at you! What are yah, some kinda animal?" My uncle Sonny would say.

"No."

"Is that all you say?"

"No."

"She's a different one, Glor. A real pistol." I remember him laughing with his gut and then saying something in Italian. The two of them, my grandmother and my uncle Sonny, didn't speak Italian like their parents before them, but instead knew only the words their parents would say to them. That means they only knew the curse words, and demands like "take out the trash."  and "where's your brother?"

From the old Italian relatives I'd notice something a bit difference about their speech. Their vowels were harsher than people from other places. Even harsher from those in the nearest city of Scranton which was recently marked second place in the Gawker poll of America's Ugliest Accent.

http://gawker.com/americas-ugliest-accent-has-come-down-to-pittsburgh-vs-1646594002

Dog - DAHG

Water - WAH-DER

Come on - Come AHN

There - DAER

Three - TREE

H - HAYCH

Bottle it up - bott'l et up.

Here's a good one. It's more of a dialect - 

Don't yell at me. - "Don't be hollerin' at me."

God, if someone with this accent ever gets into an argument with you I would just pack up my bags and get out of town. Every time that harsh "A" comes through it's like a punch in the face. Very stern and very demanding just like the people who used to live here.

Here's the weird thing about it. Only some Old Forgers have it.

It's a deep and thick accent. Either you have it full blown or not at all.

I could say out of the 74 people who graduated with the OFSD class of 2014 only about four people had this accent.

Now in Bloomsburg, there are four Old Forgers who attend the University here.

I speak to three of the four, one being my boyfriend. Each have been born and raised in Old Forge just like me and yet the only hint of the accent I hear is in my boyfriends speech. It only comes through every once and while but when it does I notice it immediately. 

If you'd like to know where your accent most likely derived from you can take the quiz below and once you're finished a heat map will appear showing you the most relocatable locations with your accent.
CLICK:  How Y’all, Youse and You Guys Talk Quiz
*opens in a new window

Tell me about your experiences with the Old Forge or Scranton accent.

Has anyone commented on it?
What are some words you say a differently than others who don't have this accent???

 **Tirarsela - 

To put on airs, or to show off/boast/act superior, can be translated to darsi delle arie in Italian. Literally, to give oneself airs. That is the nice way to say it, or the proper way, but there are also more colloquial (less elegant) ways to say that a person is acting superior.

Surviving Finals Week

Everyone has been receiving their "Finals Survival Kit" care boxes this week because, as I'm sure you've guessed already, finals week has smashed its way into my happy sunshine land.

I don't care about the candy you get in those things. I don't need that to survive! I want someone to send me my blankie and a little old lady who will make me those little pillows that say "Keep Calm and Study On". #Whereareyougramma?

Tis the season for no sleep, hair loss, and weird cravings for fried chicken. That last one might just be me.... Mmmm chicken.

The lounges are full of students with their faces plastered to their laptop screens, the library looked like some sort of World War Z scene where all of the zombies are stressed out university students, and the coffee shops around town are sending in troops for backup.

This is what us college students do. We get on this extremely expensive roller coaster, make sure it has everything we need and possibly change seats if we feel other wise, go up and down and up and down on the ride and then - BOOM - Holy shit, mega loop in the track. Here's where it gets good. You just ate a double beef burrito from Two Minute Taco and More up the road. Buckle up junior because this loop is coming and coming fast.

Little Becky sitting next to you is prepared for this but you, oh no, not you. You had no idea the loop was going to be this big and now you're in front of it and that burrito is making it's decision to see the sunlight again.

So now what? You can't just throw up all of that burrito, it was expensive after all. Looks like you're going to have to find a way to keep it in. Gotta suck it up, there's no going back now after all. 

And as that loop approaches we are all holding on for dear life. Except for Becky. She always has her shit together which is good for her. Dammit Becky.

Oh, did you click on this link to find a way to survive finals? Whoops. Keep looking, I'm a terrible person to ask. 

I suppose we should all do the thing that we haven't done since high school SAT's. Study Study Study.

Bloomsburg University: All Hallows' Eve!!

Happy Halloween everyone! Although I can't say that I'm happy while picking off the sticky, dried eyelash glue from my eyelids I could say that yesterday was a blast!
So many people were dressed up and willing to get their pictures taken, which for me was a plus because I love dressing up AND taking pictures! *audience applauds

Whether you dressed up as a little white bunny, a dead bride, or even a giant pair of boobs (which is very popular in the college atmosphere) Halloween in Bloomsburg was AWESOME!

Here is Ryu from street fighter and a random Ralph in the background.

I couldn't take any more pictures of him for fear of his muscles exploding from sheer awesomeness.

Some first week friends from Elwell being gorgeous!

In front of the Commons looking sweet

Our little white bunny and Mario. Mario kept trying to level up so it was very difficult to get a non-blurry picture of him. I have five photos of a red and blue blur in mid air though so that's something? Modern art some could say.

BAA DUHH DUHHH. BAA DUHH DUHHHH!!

The gloves stay on for pictures

But come off for duels!

I don't know if he wants to arrest me or whip me.

Saw these ladies hanging from the tree and taking goofy pictures and just had to get in and get a shot! So cool!

STAY TUNED FOR A HALLOWEEN TREAT!!!

OFFLINE BUILDING AND EDITING FOR THE NEXT POST!!

~IF YOU'RE WAITING FOR YOUR HALLOWEEN PICTURE TO BE POSTED COME BACK AGAIN LATER♥~

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!

-Amber

Welcome to Bloomsburg University

"Whenever you're in a pickle, follow the golden nipple."

-Frat boy giving me advice on how to get home after a party.

First off, when people say Bloom U is a party college they aren't talking about the "Oh, let's have a beer and talk about our ex's." sort of party college but more of a "Let's put these assless chaps on Billy and have him run around the basement in the Elwell dorm with a live turkey in his hand."

I've been sober for my entire stay here at Bloomsburg so far and I still can't remember how long I've been here and how to spell my last name. Okay that last part is sort of a lie. It's like a terrible episode of the Twilight Zone where I can mark down the hours I've been here and count them as seconds.

This is my, "I'm not high, I'm just a little bit strange" look. Gucci put a bid on it so don't steal my vision or I'll sue .

It's a wonderful place full of diversity, events, and events for those who are diverse. Foam parties, open mic night, pep rallies, and lots and lots of Monday night football.

But beneath all of the excitement and constant parties of Bloom U there is this little voice in the back of my head that says, "remember why you're here", and I gently ask back, "free pizza Friday?", and it slaps me in the face with big word documents that have to be written out in a day.

(THROWING THIS IN HERE FOR THE OLD FORGERS ONLY. IF YOU'RE NOT FROM OFSD THEN LEAVE.... OR STAY... I'M JUST A BLOGGER)

If I hear one more person complaining about there being no air conditioning in the high school I'm going to personally rent a bike from the BU office, ride back to Old Forge, buy a giant tray of Revello's pizza, and shove it down someones throat. I know that sounds awesome but trust me it's not. Okay, it is, but that's not the point.

People here have to sleep in unairconditioned rooms with two other people and the smell of farts and sweat wafting through the halls. You worry about the food? College is the same.  Same food every day and you LIVE here so either you're getting a job to order out every night and gain 20 pounds or you're shutting up and eating pizza and salad with curly fries for your entire freshman year.

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Back to the blog.

I've realized more than anything that I love college not for being a part of the craziness but being around the craziness. Don't get me wrong, if someone barged in my room right now and told me to put on a horse mask, slap him, and call him Sally, I'd do it without question. (You guys better be laughing because when I try to make jokes like this with my new friends they think I'm some really weird kinky person with horse mask fetishes.)

As a writer I'm enjoying all of the characters I meet and all of the stories that come along with them. I've laughed with my professors, sang with my neighbors, danced with the hip-hoppers in the gym, and fell up the stairs so many times that I feel like I've been missing out on life before coming here.

This place is great for small town folks. The campus is big enough to not have any friends in a class but small enough to bump into someone on the walk back to the dorm.

It's also very very clean. Thank the lord for that one because with the amount of vomit these girls hold in them I'm surprised there aren't janitorial carts on every floor 24/7.
My side of the room isn't always as nice as my roommate's is though. I'm a very scattered person and she's a very organized person so it's pretty interesting looking at our dorm room.
COURTNEY, I'M SO SORRY! YOU MUST TRAIN ME !!!

Courtney's set up

And uh....my...uh.   Yeah.

Mom, I know you read these. Don't worry I clean it everyday. This just gets this way throughout the day, okay! I'M A CLEAN WOMAN, MOM! DON'T CALL ME AND YELL AT ME !

Oh! The custodians, who keep Bloomsburg University clean, are amazing and if you ever see one you better stop and chat because they're the best people to talk to when breaking up a long day. Very down the Earth, very hard working, and very lovable.

The people here are just genuinely nice. Don't get me wrong!!! There are assholes! It's just they're easier to steer clear from opposed to high school where if you weren't labeled a certain way people would exert you from a social group.

I know certain people who built up their entire high school social status only to throw it away to impress other people. Now they're in college and have to start all over. This is why it's so important to listen to people when they say BE YOU.

 Because if you're in college now and only post pictures of the good times you had in high school that means you're living in the past. You never had the time to be you because you were always with the same people doing the same things. Get out of that dorm and join a club or met someone who is different than you. It's always interesting that way.

Whiteboard war with my Ramen loving friend, Darrell.

I have met so many amazing people here that it's mind blowing. Where have they all been while I was trapped away in that tiny town!? I could just sit and laugh at all of the crazy things that have been happening. I couldn't be happier. The only times I've ever had an emotional hiccup were the times when I thought of the bad things that went on in Old Forge. High school in particular. UGH. UGHHHH. High school. UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHHHHH.

The studying is really kicking my butt though! Here's a book, there's a book. A book there and a book here. Oh look at this I better read it. I love me some articles on the culture of the Nacierma. Yaaaaay.

I wonder how things are back home. I can't say I miss it but I do miss some of the teachers who actually made is possible to stay in school. With certain people in mind I'm itching to get a day to stop by and have a conversation with all of my teachers. I miss them more than anything!!! Now that I'm in college and away from high school I couldn't imagine anyone studying for four years and going BACK. AHHHH!!!

Until next time my readers,
Amber