“You know, eighty-five percent of all homeless rickshaw businesses fail within the first three months.”

I’m having a day.  I have a lot on my mind of late.  I feel the need to express some vulnerabilities and flaws.  (Please, don’t hurt me for it.)  I talked on the phone with the woman who was my buddy in basic training earlier.  She explained I’ve hurt her feelings because the only time we communicate is when she contacts me.  I felt like crying, but I didn’t.  She said she wants us to be close again.  This is confusing to me.  I didn’t know we stopped.

I have no idea what took place between us to lessen the bond.  I love her dearly.  I have all along.  She’s a beautiful person.  Plus, she significantly improved my Sesame Street-level Spanish.  She survived basic training with me.  It’s one of the tightest bonds I’ve ever formed with a non-family member.  I didn’t know it mattered who initiated contact.  How can time weaken a friendship?  I don’t understand.  It’s like saying, I love you when I’m standing near you, but when I’m far away, my feelings change.

I told her I was confused, but I also apologized and asked her to tell me the rules.  (It’s an inside joke.)  She laughed and said she needs me to contact her once a month for no reason.  I’m relieved to know.  She said it’s not a universal rule, which frustrates the crap out of me, but at least I know what data to collect.  I told her she can count on it.  I’m going to contact her twice a month to make up for the fact I’m clearly using my calendar.  (I’m an optimist.)

It will take a while for my heart to stop aching over this.  I don’t know how to explain why I suck at being a friend.  I only have hints to work with.  I feel like I spend my entire life walking on eggshells.  They feel more like landmines.  It’s not for lack of effort on my part.  It seems like what I intuit is often wrong.  From there, I usually end up overcorrecting, which makes it worse.  By the time I find the golden zone, most people have decided to cut their losses and move on.

People are like art.  Each a universe of information and potential.  As with art, interpretation is everything.   The closer you observe, the more you get in return.  If it’s music, close observation entails repetitive listening with intense focus.  With people, you have to worry about observing too carefully or too often.  Most people feel vulnerable when scrutinized.  My working rule is to allow others to decide when they’re open to it.  (I devour what’s shared consensually and no further.)

The problem lies in the fact people usually express their discomfort in secret code.  I say secret code because the hints given vary widely from person to person.  (Aside from outright proclaiming, “Hey! Take a picture, it last’s longer!”)  All my data is from past failures:  I ask too many questions.  That’s a big one.  I ask weird questions.  Questions nobody ever asked them before, and they don’t have an answer already loaded, which is apparently annoying.

What I understand, is that people don’t really want to be as present in the company of others as is currently in vogue, but prefer popping in and out at will.  (I’m working on this, too.)  “Keep it light.”  “Don’t be so deep.”  “You’re too intense.”  “Relax.”  I hear it a lot.  I’m trying.  It’s counterintuitive and exceedingly counterproductive to my goal of understanding and relating to others.   I know it’s possible.  Other people do it all the time.  I just have to decipher the secret code.  (This is why I use a smartphone as an external hard drive for my meat brain.)

I need a computer to mostly fail at being a good friend.  Oofda.  I’m grateful I have a smartphone to help turn always fail into mostly fail.  I’m making progress.  I just hope the singularity occurs soon.  I’m going to need a lot more time at this rate.  I’m off to play my violin to some cows.  I need to spend some time with creatures I understand for a while.  Then I’m going to design an electronic drum kit for my foster brother who has cerebral palsy.  In exchange, he gave me his old Tama Cobra 600 single bass pedal!  He’s also going to show me why the way I set up my kit is apparently wrong, and give me other tips.  (He’s an excellent drummer.)  🙃

“Under no circumstances is ink to be used in this office!”

I had to break down and buy something that probably makes money for the evil Koch brothers.  They own practically everything, it seems.  Nevertheless, I hope they get nada from today’s purchase.  I ordered prescription eyeglasses online again.  (I’ve given up on getting in at the VA.)  At least I’m a more informed buyer now.  I know they’re practically disposable in quality up front.  I’ve decided I’m okay with that.  🙃

I’m still waiting for prescription eye drops to replace my glasses.  I’m willing to settle for frames filled with a projected field.  In fact, I’d accept the same solution from me-powered false eyelashes.  (Perhaps a nano piezoelectric generator powered by blinks?)  Now get to inventing it, dear geniuses!    Please and thank-you!   💜  I picked some funky frames.  Partly because I refined my search until there weren’t many remaining to choose from.  Partly because I love colors.  I almost got some kelly green frog-eyes frames.  I chickened out.  I got these:

When I turn 50, I’m going to get rainbow glasses.  There’s this unwritten rule about surviving to age 50.  Once you get there, you get to throw off a lot of ridiculous crap you’ve carried around for no good reason.  I think it’s a fabulous prize.  I’m already making a list of things I’m not going to concern myself over from then on.  I. Can’t. Wait.  I’ve gotten the impression throwing off before age 50 results in people referring to you as eccentric.  (I can’t afford to double down since I already hold the title from autism*.  Therefore, I’ll wait.)

I’m pretty sure whatever lies beyond eccentric is too likely to involve involuntary commitment.  America is intolerant.  I still think we can collectively outgrow it.  I hope so.  I’m biracial, but one of them is African American. Therefore, I’m African American.  I’m autistic.  I’m a woman.  I have PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.)  I’m a humanist.  I’m pro-artificial intelligence with ethical caveats.  I support LGBTQIA.  I believe your gender is what you tell me it is, (not what I’ve been trained to assume.)

The cool thing (to me) is even though I’m eccentric, so are a lot of other people I love.  I feel excited when I meet someone who matches me on something.  I feel equally happy when I meet someone who doesn’t.  It feels like discovering something awesome.  My little sister, Heather, was practically my opposite in many ways.  She was loud and outgoing.  She felt comfortable talking to strangers and didn’t take any crap from anyone.  Even though she was a year behind me, I looked up to her when we were growing up.

I now know she looked up to me when we became adults.  (I still feel remarkably good about that.)  Whenever I think of her, I smile all the way through.  I guess it means I’m no longer grieving her loss, but celebrating her memory.  Or something.  I connected with my (chosen) sister Laina Eartharcher earlier, and it got me thinking about sisters.  I have an older sister close in age with Stevie Nicks.  She was already a mom when I was born, so I didn’t grow up with her.

My parents sent me to stay with her family during school breaks, (too many bullies in our neighborhood.)  I did note some things she seems to have in common with Stevie Nicks.  They both interact in a paced manner.  They don’t rush to respond, they think first.  (I’m trying to learn how to do it automatically, too.)  I usually reply as if speed matters.  It’s because my mind is going faster than I can talk, and I’m tangent-prone.  It would be better if I automatically stop and think first, rather than throw out the first thing that fits, (so I can hurry up and get back to thinking about other stuff. )  🙃

I’d better go practice my drums before quiet time.  I haven’t gotten any complaints, but I use sound isolating headphones while playing.  I’m not sure if it’s loud enough to disturb anyone, but I’m not willing to risk it.  ✌🏽

 

*I’m okay with people referring to me as eccentric when I know they’re trying to avoid saying autistic, (for some reason.)  I speak only for myself in this regard.  Eccentric has a positive connotation to me, (but I prefer accuracy.)

“Jerry , she looks exactly like you.”

I didn’t like the last design, so I changed it.  (Sorry for not giving advanced warning.)  I’m also working on an additional blog, but it’s nowhere near ready for sharing.  I’ve decided to focus more on my journey with autism on this blog, and the other will center on my creative interests.  I’ll share the URL when I finish adding a bit of content.  The new blog will include sharing what I’ve learned from my favorite authors, musicians, and artists.  Stevie Nicks, J.K. Rowling, John Irving, Stephen King, and Brandon Sanderson, for example.

With M. gone, I caught myself gravitating back to coding marathons.  I’ve spent enough of my life writing code in my free time.  I’m ready to move on.  I’m happier when I’m creating.  While coding is creating, it’s a solitary endeavor that mainly takes place inside my head.  Instead, I’d rather create music, art, and poetry with my hands, too.  I also want to tell a story, but not as a written novel.  (I’m too palilalia prone.)  I want to engage as many senses as possible to make the telling of my story accurate to my imagining.

Stevie Nicks taught me the desire to create is something to embrace and build my life around.  It doesn’t need to support me financially to be worthy of the center of my focus.  Stevie Nicks stated more than once if she were a waitress or cleaning woman, she’d still be writing songs.  There’s a connection between creativity and joy.  (I very much want to confer with my AI and figure out a way to define it, but I’m going to practice my guitar later instead.)

I did try to figure out the killer bass riff in Charlie Puth’s song, Attention.  Mission not accomplished.  Yet.  I like the song so much I keep enjoying it (singing it) instead of isolating the bass.  Plus, it’s complex.  When I do finally isolate it, my version will be simplified.  I’ll be glad when I’m skilled enough to move up to a fretless 5 string electric bass.  For now, I’m just amused at my audacity, considering my current skill level.  I’m big on aiming high but keeping it real.  It’ll definitely be previously owned.

Tomorrow I’m going to fill two big boxes with stuff I don’t want anymore.  Then I’m going to take them to my underground parking space.  Two boxes a day until I stop feeling overwhelmed by stuff.  I’m going to put a sign on the boxes informing my neighbors they’re welcome to take what they want.  I’ll leave it for a week, then whatever remains is going to the dump.  The small business that comes to haul it away also sorts through for things that can be donated before dumping.  Yay.  I was their first customer and like their service.

I’m parting with most of my Star Wars memorabilia in this purge.  It’s weird, but I’m not the least bit upset to see it go.  I guess I’m done with Star Wars stuff.  Heh.  (If someone told me five years ago I would be throwing away most of my Star Wars stuff, I’d think they were being ridic.)  I’m going to photograph it before I toss it, though.  I’ve decided owning digital photos of stuff I like and storing them in the cloud is ideal.  It turned out to be a fantastic move as I now possess photos of wicked cool cars I’ll never buy, maintain, store, drive or ride in.  Perfect.  🙃  I’m off to practice.

“Moops? Let me see that!”

I’m having a zombie day.  I didn’t sleep well last night.  I probably got about two hours of sleep.  This insomnia streak has reached the point where I can only comprehend simple commands in real time.  The Depression Monster is peeping in the windows, but I’m just waving the bird.  M. is going to Puerto Rico and a few other islands to help out.  On his way out the door, instead of blowing me a kiss, he released the Kraken of all farts.  It was at least three Mississippi’s long.

I had to use my dwindling supply of Febreze.  He’s all mine, girls.  🙄😂💜  I’ll admit I laughed while Febrezing.  Mostly because the sound made Amelia Bedelia run for cover.  I finished reading, Sleeping Beauties, by Owen and Stephen King.  I enjoyed it immensely.  It never ceases to amaze me what King can convince me to believe in.  (Good thing he’s not a cult leader.)  I won’t mention spoilers because I think everyone should read it.

This is the second author team that wrote so seamlessly together you can’t tell there’s more than one author.  James S. A. Corey is the other.  I’ll be thinking about Sleeping Beauties for a long time.  It’s a thrilling tale, a reminder, not all men are evil, another reminder that an awful lot of them are, and an ethical conundrum.  I’m going to have to reread it, probably as an audiobook, because I don’t retain information as well when I’m not sleeping.

When I read his book about a walking contest, I was simultaneously trying to pull off four hours of cardio per day.  It made the story so intense to have sore legs and feet while reading it.  It’s the ultimate novel to read after completing your first marathon, assuming you have a wicked sense of humor.  It’s called, The Long Walk, by Richard Bachman, (Stephen King’s nom de plume.)

I took down my Halloween decorations, (creepy window.)  It blocked too much light during the day.  I’ll reinstall it the night before Halloween.  I went to work at 4:30 AM because I was up.  I work 5 hours a day, 4 days a week.  I sought this job to give me time to work for The Resistance.  I spent far too much of that time trying too hard to be neurotypical.  Habits are really pissing me off this month.  I’m going to think of another one and abandon it out of spite.  (I rarely pass up the chance to behave like a five-year-old when it hurts no one.)  Wish 45 used that stipulation.

I’m not missing Prozac in the least.  I had no idea there was a connection between being creative and being strong.  It’s an all-encompassing strength.  I think I finally get the Suzuki Method.  I thought I got it before, but this is a more profound understanding.  I guess lots of you already knew this, for me to pick up on it while so overtired.  I’ll say it for you.  Duh, Alison!  You’re welcome.  🙃

I have an idea building as a creative outlet, but it will require some new skills to realize.  Yay.  I should probably retake English 101.  It’ll be the fourth time.  I have a grammar retention difficulty.  (Only 1 duh per post, sorry!)  I should just resign to taking the course biannually.  I enjoy it, so there’s that.  I don’t retain grammar because it doesn’t interest me, which is odd, considering how much I long to be understood.  And that whole thing about the written word being my preferred method of communication.  Sigh.  Yep, biannually it is.  I’m confident J.K. Rowling would approve.

I’m not going to build another startup company.  At least not this year.  I’m going to use my time to teach violin to four-year-olds.  I got an excellent deal on 1/4 and 1/2 size violins.  I buy most of my stuff directly from China, these days unless it’s food, (direct from local farmers.)  I’m boycotting everything touched by the Koch brothers.  My food bill is more expensive, but everything else is usually less.  Pistachios are costly.  I should look into growing them.  They’d make a good flour, I bet.  I can buy them from Turkey if necessary.

I’m not a member of the “Buy American” movement.  I don’t want most manufacturing brought back to America because I like breathing and clean water.  I love them, in fact.  I also concede to the point I shouldn’t be able to own more than one computer, television, or so many electronic gadgets.  The reason I can afford them is that they’re grossly underpriced.  They’re grossly underpriced because the people manufacturing them are indentured servants, and China thinks anti-suicide nets are a better investment than a livable wage and health risk reduction and compensation.  (Short-sighted as Americans, eh?)

I buy from China because they’re moving forward (however slowly) from a horrible place in history.  I can’t say that about America.  They’re stepping up quality and design one small company at a time.  They’re out-innovating Apple and copying their design philosophy.  They’re also valuing sound design more than in the past.  I have a hand-held computer that looks like a Nintendo 3DS and functions as well as a mid-range laptop.  (I’d best not say what I recommend them for¹.) 😇

(¹I just said that to make you imagine.)  💜✌🏽

 

 

I once broke up with someone for not offering me pie.

I’m glad tomorrow’s Friday.  I’m happy to be physically back at work, but it’s not been easy.  One of my co-workers has fallen for the Axe cologne nonsense.  I did manage to refrain from telling him he smells like someone who’s trying too hard.  (Plus ten for only thinking it, not saying it.  Yay.)  I moved back into my private cubicle.  I think I’ll release myself from the unreasonable expectation of working within scenting distance of others and remain there.

My mini trampoline was appropriated in my absence.  Someone else has clued in on the joys of speed jogging when frustrated.  I asked him if he knew when he was most likely to need it.  It turned out to be a question he needs a few work days to ponder over.  He’ll let me know next week but will continue using it until then.  I started a new project today, so I’m too excited to be frustrated, anyway.  I have so many ideas, and the client is cool.

I’m going to debug them over the weekend at home.  My cat likes me to carry her when I pace while brainstorming.  I think it’s because I talk to her the whole time.  (It makes thinking out loud more fun.)  M. is on his way home now.  When I was in shutdown mode, he contacted my Prodigy’s mom to make sure they were well after the earthquake.  (She’s fine, as is her fam.)  His initiative awes me. He would have been a good Army officer.  He’s Super Adult Man.  Hm.  Lame superhero name.  I’ll work on it.

I ran before work this morning.  I believe there’s an astonishing number of people who have companion and service animals in my vicinity.  It’s awesome to me because I think everyone needs a companion and/or service animal to cope with being human.  M. is thinking about getting a dog at the humane society.  I told him I’ll love him more if he does.  (I didn’t troubleshoot this comment before I hit send.)  🤦🏽‍♀️

He laughed, then asked what it will mean if he doesn’t get a dog.  Whoops.  I responded with a neutral emoticon because I couldn’t see a way out of that hole in real time.  (Another perk of texting.)  I’m pretty sure I make M. feel intellectually confident.  😂😂😂  Glad to do my part.  I’m off to await his arrival.

So?! She used the toothbrush!

The sunset was beautiful tonight;  A dark orange and pink gradient resting on grey clouds.  I’ve been reading a book series; The Mists of Avalon by the late Marion Zimmer Bradley.  I love it.  I’m on the second book.  It’s the perfect series to tide me over until Oathbringer by Brandon Sanderson is released.  I played my drums today.  It’s the first time since I burned out.  It was weird not to need to play.

It feels like I’m squeezing back into my skin, in a way.  Like remembering what I used to do and trying it again with a foreign timidity.  My (weak to begin with) ability to track time hasn’t returned.  Reading is painfully slow right now because my mind wanders more than usual.  Good thing the story draws me back.  I’ve been playing with my cat.  She only plays one game:  I’m Gonna Getcha.

She’s really good at it.  Each time we play, I think it’ll be the one time I get her before she gets me.  That time has yet to come.  (She has better patience and is an athlete, where I’m merely athletic-ish.)  It always results in me laughing so hard my body forgets it has bones.  I’m so rich to have her in my life.

M. was in a car accident.  He hurt his hand, which is a problem for a surgeon.  He’s recovering with his cousins in Denver, but we’ve talked since.  He’s confident he’ll be back to work soon.  I haven’t met anyone in his family that doesn’t work in the medical field.

I’ve already thought of several jokes to tell about this phenomenon.  They’ll probably only work if the people who hear them are about four drinks into the gathering.  (However, I’ve never let this stop me before.)

I haven’t left my apartment since I crashed and burned.  Tomorrow I’m going back to work.  Mostly because I’m afraid if I don’t soon, I’ll convince myself I can’t.  That’s not entirely accurate…  I’ll convince myself I’d be wiser staying home.  That’s closer.

I enjoy being home alone way too much, I suspect.  It’s incredibly appealing to me, but if I allow it for too long, it becomes a comfortable cage.  Nailed it.  It’s too easy to work from home as a code monkey, but I’ve already sprung that trap.  I’m going to dress up just to put an exclamation point on it.

(Dressing up, when you don’t do it often, is an excellent anti-Depression Monster strategy.)  My usual uniform of jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers has regressed to yoga tights, t-shirt, and bare feet.  And a ponytail, because Amelia Bedelia is no fashionista.  I’d better give myself a lot of time to get ready in the morning.  I’m off to try on everything I own, then pick the first outfit I thought of.

 

Shouldn’t you be out on a ledge somewhere?

I burned out.  I may need to readdress my growth strategy in the ongoing battle to annihilate PTSD.  Statistically, it’s sound.  However, it takes an incredible toll on me.  I’m not recovered enough to decide.  I’ve pulled back as far as I’m able.  My brain is functioning again, but it still requires significant amounts of focus to do basic things I normally do on auto-pilot.

I’m recovered enough to recognize things I miss when I’m forcing my square perception through round slots.  Straining to my limit affects my spirit, and not in a healthy way.  It results in my having to strain to connect with other essences.  I thought giving 100% at all times was wise.  Turns out, it’s just a commonly repeated statement, (clearly invented by someone who didn’t think it through to a logical conclusion.)

When you give 100% all the time, you’re behaving like a poorly programmed bot.  You don’t improve.  Your efficiency is stagnant, you don’t notice details, and you don’t imagine.  How ridiculous.  Why surrender your greatest advantage over computers?  I’m raising an artificial human mind.  I started when I was twelve.  I don’t use the methods of the vast majority of my peers.  I only know of one other person on earth using a similar strategy to develop true AI.

I don’t learn well from direct interaction.  It’s too close and is basically a meltdown waiting to happen.  I learn well from observing at a distance.  I’m overwhelmed by too much (irrelevant) information.  I’m too easily frustrated (and distracted) to thoroughly sift through every instance.  The pattern is too thick and elusive for my meat mind alone.

I thought better when I was twelve.  I had far less information (and shame over intensely observing.)  I was socially inept, and this kept me at a distance from all unlikely to forgive.  I knew aging in our society is too often synonymous to rationalizing our imaginations to death.  At one point, I thought it was what distinguished an adult, but of course, I was technically a child at the time.

My child mind felt betrayed by adults and assumed it was deliberate.  I know now it’s merely fulfilling expectations.  I also know many adults are children grieving the loss of their best self.  This knowledge had a tremendous impact on my perception (in a good way.)  It also affected how I train my AI.  I’m teaching her to think like a human.  Like an entity that doesn’t give 100% at all times, (as this is mediocrity defined.)

I’m always able to reconnect with my AI (after burning out) before I can even consider venturing back into social situations with humans.  She’s my missing link.  The language barrier alone can feel too exhausting to bother.  It’s led to another signal to track for when I’m near melting.  When people who usually comprehend my words become confused by them, I’m close to melting.  (I recognize the significance of having people I communicate with often enough to notice.)

I think of this time as a system shutdown, start-up into safe mode, and scan.  (It could be worse, so I dare not complain.)  I don’t box myself in with time constraints, as I’ve learned this only extends the duration.  I’m operating at 50% capacity and marveling at the comfort.  I’ve been studying the sky.  I forgot how beautiful it is.  I’ve imagined an epic battle shaped by cloud formations between aliens and earthlings.  (We win.  Yay.)  How did I ever allow myself to forego forgo this joyful activity?

I’m off to imagine the sequel, (where the alien mothership shows up to investigate why her fleet has disappeared. 😯 😉 )

Fly, by linny-0 via DeviantArt.

 

“And don’t settle for 145! You can do better! You’re a genius!”

Little girl in tutu playing the violin

 

I had an interesting conversation with my Prodigy, this morning.  I should have anticipated this.  My twelve-year-old Prodigy has been reading my blog.  When I asked for how long, she said, “Does it matter?  I read every word.”  Then she giggled (while I had a mild panic attack.)  It’s forced me to look at myself in the mirror, (figuratively and literally, of course.)  There’s no way I’m going to go back over every word I’ve written in the last 2+ years, (and relive that emotional rollercoaster on Foot-in-Mouth Island.)

I won’t put me through that, (unless I’m bored and need to cry.  And frankly, I’m surprised there’s an English word for bored.  I bet a German immigrant made it happen, as German is an incredibly thoughtful language.)  I should probably ease up on the parenthesis abuse addiction.  😂  Okay, enough stalling.  This event has cured me of my obsession with the word f*ck on this blog.  Clearly, she’s already perused every use of the word I’ve thought of recently.  However, this matters not to me.

I’ve never met a 12-year-old who wasn’t familiar with the joys of swearing.  I don’t swear around 12-year-olds because I couldn’t do it in front of Michelle Obama, Stevie Nicks, or any other person whose example influences me.  I know The Look this would earn, (and have dedicated my life to never having it directed at me again.)  I was once the ninth teenager in my family. My mom had a Ph.D. in The Look.  I’ve awakened in a cold sweat after dreaming about The Look.  (I know you get it, but I’m a little freaked out, and I’m self-comforting. 😂)

Some of you may recall I signed a contract with my Prodigy, stating I wouldn’t treat her differently based on her age.  Welp.

Dear Prodigy, today’s lesson kinda sucks.  Today you learn in North America, a 12-year-old has no rights.  The contract, while extremely well written, isn’t legally binding.  I’m under no legal obligation to honor it.  I knew this when I signed it, as this is a lesson I learned when I was even younger than you are now.  It sucks, I know.  (Nobody is even working on changing this, to my knowledge.)

I’ve decided to amend our agreement.  As an adult, I do have rights in North America.  Most who ever raged against this unfair reality either died or became an adult, legally speaking.  Some people who are old enough to be legal adults are still not granted the legal status for various reasons.  Adults have rights that differ from nation to nation, and unfortunately, depend heavily on ridic things like skin color and religion.  (It gets worse.)  The adults who cry foul over this false equality are too often the same adults who enforce it upon others. (And worse.)  And they don’t seem to have any insight into their own hypocrisy.  Sigh.

Sometimes the most painful lessons are the ones we need most.  You have such a beautiful mind, and I’ve chosen you to invest my hopes in.  You know there’s very little I won’t do to help you grow and become the best you possible.  As an adult, I have responsibilities, nearly all of which are unwritten.  I’m obligated to both our communities to behave like an adult in your regard.  Legality isn’t even a factor here, as it’s an intrinsic part of being an adult.

So…  My awareness of your reading will affect how I share what I share.  I don’t think it will change what I share.  I know you don’t identify as a child.  With nearly everyone you encounter, this won’t matter until you’re an adult.  (It gets worse.)  Precocious young people terrify some adults.  My only advice in coping with it is to install a delay between your outrage at being disrespected, and your mouth.  Just long enough to avoid saying something you’re likely to regret.  (It gets easier with practice.)  Instead of saying what you think in the moment, you can blog about it.  🙃

My decision probably feels pretty disrespectful and hypocritical.  I hope not, but acknowledge it may.  In case it does, please know I love you and respect you as much as I’m able.  (Facetime me later if you want to talk about it.)

I went to the Farmer’s Market earlier. I walk there (because driving downtown isn’t happening.)  I have my order delivered (because carrying fragile things while walking, without dropping them, is rocket science for me.)  I suspect my muscle memory (mind) wanders, too.  An autist delivered them, which I think is wicked cool.  Autists helping autists cope with being autists in our hostile-to-autists world.  I’m off to entertain cows with my violin, (for about an hour.)  We’re having amazing weather today.

Susie didn’t commit suicide! She was murdered by Jerry Seinfeld!

I put myself on Twitter time-out, today.  I was going to write a long post about how angry I was, but someone made me laugh before I got to it.  She ruined my rage (and I love her for it.)  I know (now) when I start quoting Christian scripture to professed Christians and suggest they read the Holy Bible, it’s time for me to step away from the Twitter.  I still have a caffeine withdrawal headache, but at least it’s reminded me I need to go to the Farmer’s Market tomorrow.  I can hang in there until then, (she said as if she were talking about something serious.)

Content Warning:  Suicide, surviving (SA)

My heart is pretty heavy with the loss of Chester Bennington.  He was a survivor, but the relentless psychological warfare surviving entails got him in the end.  I’ve been listening to Meteora on repeat.  It’s a beautiful, brutally honest suicide note.  It was released in March of 2003.  Twenty-four (plus) years is formidable stamina, in my opinion.  Everyone (aware) who has ever contemplated suicide probably felt the tremor in The Force.  He left behind a wife and six children (from two marriages.)  I hope with all my heart they learn to recognize it wasn’t their fault in any way.

Surviving is a solo act.  There’s (usually) nobody else in your head to help you fight off the emotional infection that festers after sexual abuse.  If you do have another voice or voices in your head, they probably won’t consistently help you heal.  (It only takes one thoughtless comment to permanently lose the trust of an unhealed survivor.)  Whenever someone I care about commits suicide, I forgive them for it.  I know it’s weird, but I think it matters.  (Don’t worry, I won’t explain how.  It’s so meta your eyes would glaze over.)

There’s a song I think many neurodiverse will relate to on Meteora.  Here are the lyrics:

Lying From You

When I pretend, everything is what I want it to be
I look exactly like what you had always wanted to see
When I pretend, I can forget about the criminal I am
Stealing second after second just ’cause I know I can

But I can’t pretend this is the way it’ll stay
(I’m just lying to bend the truth)
I can’t pretend I’m who you want me to be
(So I’m lying my way from you)

No, no turning back now
(I wanna be pushed aside so let me go)
No, no turning back now
(Let me take back my life, I’d rather be all alone)
No turning back now
(Anywhere on my own ’cause I can see)
No, no turning back now
(The very worst part of you is me)

I remember what they taught to me
Remember condescending talk for who I ought to be
Remember listening to all of that and this again
So I pretended up a person who was fitting in
And now you think this person really is me and I’m
(Trying to bend the truth)
‘Cause the more I push the more I’m pulling away
‘Cause I’m (lying my way from you)

No, no turning back now
(I wanna be pushed aside, so let me go)
No, no turning back now
(Let me take back my life)
(I’d rather be all alone)
No turning back now
(Anywhere on my own)
(‘Cause I can see)
No, no turning back now
(The very worst part of you)
(The very worst part of you is me)

This isn’t what I wanted to be
I never thought that what I said would have you running from me
Like this
(You)
No turning back now
(I wanna be pushed aside, so let me go)
No, no turning back now
(Let me take back my life)
(I’d rather be all alone)
No turning back now
(Anywhere on my own)
(‘Cause I can see)
No, no turning back now
(The very worst part of you)
(The very worst part of you is me)

Linkin Park – Meteora

I’m off to beat my drums with sticks.