She’s not talking to me about work today. Which is kind of a good thing, because I’m achy all over and a little bit dizzy, and having a bit of autistic sensory overload/scatterbrain. Instead she’s talking to me about autistic women and their “special interests,” the passions that ignite us to what can look to other people like near obsession. She’s talking about Frida Kahlo, whose art journal is sitting next to me, who kept throwing color and humor and thought into a life full of pain and limitations. I’m seeing her as wrapped up in her weighted blankets, thin from frailty but lit up inside, the flowers of her rich internal life bursting out all around her. Chronic Illness Lady Goals.