Sensory integration dysfunction is one of the most annoying symptoms of Dravet’s Syndrome. The seizures scare people, but on a daily basis my senses mess me up more these days. I’ve gone through lots of therapy to increase my tolerance, but it doesn’t go away completely. Basically, my brain doesn’t know how to organize all my senses, so I’ll be more aware of a conversation across the room, or get annoyed by television when I’m trying to sleep even if no one else can hear Joe’s stupid show. When I was younger, my moth-. Well, my mother isn’t worth mentioning. Why don’t we leave it at, I don’t always seem to act rationally, especially when I’m angry.

I hear footsteps so Talise must be in the room again, but I’m not looking up from my furious, determined pacing.

"Are we going or not?" I look up upon hearing the words. She’s just standing there, looking slightly awkward.

"I guess," I respond, refusing to sound happy.

As we’re walking out the front door, Talise blurts out with air of somebody who has been waiting to say something for a long time, "Spasmadic foot cramps? Really, Ashley?" I shrug sheepishly. "The word is spasmodic by the way."

"Crucify me why don’t you," I mutter.

Grinning widely, I pull the car into our driveway. I haven’t been able to stop since I got my driver’s license.

"You know ‘grinning from ear to ear’ is just an expression, right? You’re not actually supposed to do it," Talise grumbles peevishly.

I smirk. "You’re just annoyed because I was right, for once."

"’For once’ being the operative words."

"And jealous that I’m a better driver," I cackle in a sing-song way.

"How do you figure that?"

"Because I can parallel park, and you just glare at the steering wheel." She grunts something unintelligible, and my grin only widens. It’s getting almost painful now. After my very successful driving test, we decided to enjoy the last day of summer for all it’s worth. Technically, college has already started for Talise, but she didn’t have any classes today.

We’re just back in time for the dinner that my mother, who is such a "family woman", "made". By "made", I mean she told the cook exactly what she wanted all the food to look and taste like and then spent the next hour or so selecting the perfect bottle of wine. Joe comes in a few minutes later in a suit, which shows that he must have gotten his ass off his rocking chair sometime around noon and actually gone to the office.