“I’ll tell you what your problem is: You brought your queen out too fast.”

I had fun hanging out with M. and throwing a Stevie Nicks party this afternoon.  We’re going to watch Stevie Nicks Live in Red Rocks, next.  M. has decided he’s also a fan.  I almost said, “Performing music is totally how she got all her fans,” but I caught myself.  Whew!

I even wrote a poem.  M. wrote one too.  He won’t let me share it, though.  (It’s excellent!)  Mine is far less impressive and perhaps a bit heavy on the Negative Nancy.  Saw that coming, did you?  Heh.  Ah, well.  Here it is:

 

“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.)  🙃

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.

 

First he vomits on me, then he burns down my father’s cabin.

 

It’s been a strange day.  Time keeps getting away from me.  I talked so much today, my voice is nearly gone.  I spent time on Skype talking to S. earlier.  It wasn’t planned in advance, which stresses me out, but I enjoyed our chat.  (I had something else planned, but couldn’t work out when to interrupt and tell her.)  We talked about the strange things my body has been doing of late, and she assured me I’m not mutating.  It’s normal for women to have hormonal fluctuations during each month.  She also reminded me the levels tend to drop as we age. 😶

Afterward, I spent some time researching hair removal options.  Laser looks promising.  I noticed my internet speed was off and did a speed-test.  It was a third of usual speed, so I started troubleshooting.  After messing around with my router, (in the advanced tab, where my skill level is trial and error,) and resetting my modem, the issue remained.  I called tech support.  The woman who helped asked if I was on wired or wireless when I tested my connection.  I told her I’m a geek.  (It usually speeds up the process considerably.)  She laughed and said she’s a nerd.  All formality was dropped, and we started talking about video games, operating systems, hardware, etc.

Every so often, she’d ask a question related to my issue.  We talked for three hours.  The only time I talk on the phone is when I’m calling tech support, or my sister (who decided she doesn’t like texting.😑)  I’ve finally convinced everyone else to text or email. (It took years.)  Look at me talking on the phone for three hours!  Who the hell am I? 🤣  Turns out, Nerd Girl lives in the adjacent apartment complex, (run by the same staff.)  We compared rents and utility bills, favorite anime and manga, and generally geeked out.  It was like I knew her forever, and we were catching up.

She did a great job of keeping the conversation flowing, which made me adore her.  (The entire concept of small talk usually makes my stomach hurt.)  We talked about the creepy guy who sits in the hot tub and watches people swim.  I told her I made a story for him, so it didn’t feel gross to swim.  I decided he’s a veteran who uses the hot tub for physical therapy.  I started getting a little anxious because my inner adult insisted I was oversharing.  Then she mentioned Warcraft, and I forgot all about being anxious.

M. and Amelia Bedelia complained about being neglected.  (I usually info dump on M. while he falls asleep.)  By the time we hung up, I was having trouble with my speech.  I think my mouth is too tired to form any more words correctly.  So…  Hi.  I’m Alison 3.0, and I talk on the phone for hours at a time, like I’m a neurotypical teenager or something.  Thought you should know.  🙃

You promised a kid in the hospital that I would hit two home runs?

I’m back in Denver.  S. went on the weed tour and has been stoned since.  She’s been looking at her hand for a while now.  I’m just giggling every time I look up at her.  I remember when I went on the tour.  I saw a former Googler who kept staring at me, (but it only creeped me out in hindsight.)  I remember being floored that it was legal for us to ride around in a bus while getting high.  I studied the people and noticed patterns.  The younger people smoked about three times as much as us middle agers.  They smoked pretty much nonstop the whole time and started before we even began moving.

The tour guides identified which of us were using weed for the first time, and I was relieved not to be the only inexperienced person.  I noticed we sat by age, too.  The younger in the back, inexperienced and older up front.  I sat next to a couple from Alabama.  I love the accent so it was deliberate.  They were cool.  Adjacent was the Creepy Starer and a couple from Chicago.  The Chicagoans showed me how to use a bong, (it was huge.)  It made me choke so hard I thought I was going to cry.  But then a wave of warmth and weight crept over me like a whisper, and I settled back and grinned.

It felt like being under my weighted blanket, but the positive effects were magnified.  I felt like I was standing on the border of my inner world while still able to observe and interact with the outer world.  I think it’s what it must feel like to be neurotypical.  I felt like my body was my violin.  My ability to control it required no thought.  I still felt unshielded, but I didn’t obsess internally about things I have no control over.  I didn’t feel anxious and realized I was previously unaware of how it felt to be free of…  Free of the exhausting compulsion to be neurotypical.  Oofda.  I’ll have to think about that some more.

I need to focus on rehydrating.  I can feel a headache threatening to take over soon.  I still haven’t started my vector art project.  I thought about it more and changed my mind about the photo of Stevie Nicks I’m going to use.  I’m using one from 2016 instead.  The Stevie Nicks that exists today is the Stevie Nicks I’m learning so much from.  After I got over feeling sorry for myself for not knowing about her until recently, (and it took a while,😂) I figured there’s a reason it’s now.  This is when I was ready.  I think I had to grow and experience some things first.

I’m realizing Stevie Nicks’ generation is presently guiding me in many aspects of my life.  Through music, The Resistance, and I’m reading novels by authors who are taking me back to the 60’s and 70’s and showing me how things were then, and how it’s affected them.  It’s not a conscious decision, but it’s the generation I’m hearing and heeding.  It’s fascinating and surprisingly comforting.  I finished Hearts in Atlantis by Stephen King earlier (and for me, that’s fast reading.)  I couldn’t stop.  I lay down to sleep and then got right back up and read some more.  (Being an adult rocks sometimes.)  I don’t have any criticism for Stephen King’s writing.  I’m baffled any exists, to be honest.

I guess humans generally don’t get art in general.  The inclination to criticize art is something that should be discussed with a psychologist or religious leader, in my humble opinion.  I think art is my second favorite thing about being alive.  People are my first favorite.  I’m just not certain they aren’t the same thing.  I’m off to find a new book.

 

Yeah, he’s dating a crayon.

I’m in Denver.  M. is babysitting Amelia Bedelia in my absence.  She thinks he’s a heated cushion that dispenses treats, too, so she’ll be okay.  I have a pet cam near her climbing tree thingy.  I can talk to her through it using my phone.  She usually comes over to see how I’m doing that, then knocks it to the floor.  She’s on a lifelong mission to make sure all surfaces are clear of objects (not nailed down.)  She’s totally winning.

S. (M.’s sister) and I have been blasting Stevie Nicks music and dancing around.  I got too hot, so I’m taking a cool down break.  My body sucks at regulating my temperature.  If I get too hot and continue doing whatever activity has me overheating, I barf…  I can juggle, too.  🙃  The TV is 75″, which sounded awesome at the time.  Now I find it overwhelming, and I’m tripping over people’s skin in 4k.  It’s not as perfect as it looked in 1080P.  The actors are so real.  I mean I knew they were real, but apparently, I used to think they had fake skin.  I like reality better.

 

I’m trying to distract myself from acknowledging my anxiety.  Between the news and being away from home, I’m a bit rattled.  So I should totally stop writing about it.  S. has been noticing weird shit about me out loud.  I hope it doesn’t mean I’m getting on her nerves.  It’s making me laugh because it’s shit I never noticed.  Like putting my plate up high while it cools, then forgetting about it, then remembering when I realize I’m still hungry and it’s less appealing.

I helped her get to the this is why I don’t cook part.  (Nature knew there were going to be people like me, so she made fruit and nuts.)  S. is an excellent cook.  I’m going to put forth extra effort to eat dinner at the table with her while it’s still warm.  I think I probably fucked up, but I need to think about it some more.  I put my food up high because I have a cat, but she’s not here.  Ah well, I’ll do better at dinner.  S. is a lot of fun to hang out with, and she’s funny.

There are going to be two new Harry Potter books!!!  I didn’t expect it, and I’m so happy.  There are so many books I’m looking forward to right now.  I collect things to look forward to in the future.  They’re my little arsenal of guided anti-depression missiles.  When the Depression Monster has me in an illegal hold, and I can’t muster the energy to hold my head up, I can still think about joyful things to come.  I have notes to myself in my hallway to remind me it’s there when I need it.  (I pace a lot when I’m anxious, so I figured two birds.)

I miss M. and my cat (and would very much like to return home immediately.)  Sigh.  I met two of the kids who will be attending the camp earlier.  They’re so cute I can barely stand it.  We mostly talked about their missing teeth (twin 7-year-olds.)  I’m excited for it to begin on Monday.  I have a sponsorship prospect meeting next week, (S. is going with me, yay.)  The camp is going to be free if I have to pay for it out of my own pocket, but that’s not likely.  Frankly, it would be worth it to me to pay kids to attend.  Fortunately, I’m not the only one who understands how to invest in the future.

The best part is they’ll graduate with tools that apply to all aspects of life.  You want to be a ballerina?  Perfect!  I’ll teach you how to map your course, and troubleshoot obstacles along the way.  Hacking is about finding solutions to questions with the means at hand.  It’s generally considered to be a method of subverting computer security, but that’s an outdated interpretation, in my opinion.  To me, hacking is about critical thinking, perspective shifting, puzzle solving, brainstorming, and MacGuyver’ing.  It’s about thinking differently and optimizing.  (I did a better job of explaining in the handout, but I can’t reach it from here.)

I recognize my autistic acquaintances and friends may be thinking, “So hacking is like being autistic (aspie) on purpose.”  Yep.  What we do on a daily basis to fit in as best we can.  (Except it’s optional.)  I suppose I’m kind of giving ladders to already tall people in some ways.  However, I want today’s children to (figuratively) be able to reach everything on the highest shelves (of life) when they’re ready.  Even those that don’t exist yet.  Perhaps especially.  I’m cold now, so I’m off to dance.

 

Three squares? You can’t spare three squares?!

I conveniently forgot some of my quirks typically eliminated by using Prozac.  I’m a bit surprised by how quickly they’ve returned, although I am pretty much sweating it out of my body as fast as I can.  Today it’s supposed to storm, but it’s sunny and humid right now.  The air feels too heavy to breathe.  Fortunately, I’m heading down to Denver with M.’s sister later.  She’s going to help beta test my Hacker Camp.  We have four little girls and two little boys this first time.  They’re all nieces and nephews of the people I used to work with.

Their ages range from 7 to 13.  We’re just doing day camp, so they go home at the end of the day.  Two weeks with weekends off.  If it goes as well as I’m anticipating, I have an entire curriculum I designed over the winter that will involve an after school program.  One of my former co-workers is an art student (working part-time.)  She’s an amazing illustrator.  I hired her to do branding and to make my Hacker-in-Training manual look lovely.  I can’t wait to see what she’s made.

It’ll be fun checking in on my former co-workers.  They’re sophisticated Denverites, now.  I’m so proud of them.  I don’t fit there anymore, but I miss it sometimes.  I liked working exclusively with autistic people.  It still feels odd not to hear a periodic yip sound from D.  I didn’t realize how comforting it was until it was absent.  It must have been a subconscious anchor.  Neurotypical (NT) people don’t have tics, (visual or auditory.)  I can float completely away from them if I’m not vigilant.  The differences between working environments are most notable in cost to my energy level.  NT work environments take a lot more energy.

The brain zaps that indicate the Prozac is leaving my body have begun.  It’s a bizarre feeling.  It feels kind of like an electric shock originating in my brain, but it’s not at all painful.  The duration is so short it’s over before I notice.  I imagine tiny people reviving my brain cells in a little emergency room.  Clear!  Each zap brings me closer to The Muse.  I forgot about how much time I used to spend imagining, (before Prozac.)  It’s slowly returning.  I’m going to have to tighten up my daily schedule and use more whiteboards.  My hallway and bathroom walls are where I keep my visual cues.  I don’t even allow myself to think about not having them.  It’s too disturbing.

I’ve accepted I’ll always need a cue sheet in the shower.  I’ve wasted too much time trying to force myself to be neurotypical in ridic ways.  When democracy is restored in America, I’m going to retire.  I have lots of plans, and some are likely to work out.  My dream is to create a space designed for people like me, then maintain it.  Like me is deliberately vague because I’m still working on a definition.  I mean people who would enjoy it.  In my imagination, where it now resides, it’s a gentle place where you go for a stroll, or to sit while taking a rest from forcing your square peg into a round hole.  Where you can set down your masks and exhale.  Where having no shields doesn’t hurt.

So far, I have a vague image.  I have time for it to come more into focus.  It would be easy to say it’s for autistic people or it’s for neurodiverse people, but easy is too often wrong.  I’ve never met anyone who didn’t wear masks.  Fortunately, my imagination is about to make bail.  I’ll know when I write my first poem (in ages), things are as they should be.  Before Prozac, I wrote poetry often.  The Army was a favorable environment for poetry, and when I was a private, I had lots of time to write while being introduced to the Hurry Up and Wait lifestyle.

I’m taking my new iPad 10.5″ Pro instead of a laptop.  I’m hoping it entices me to do some artwork.  I saw a photo of Stevie Nicks I want to turn into a vector so I can blow it up and have it printed on vinyl.  She was probably in her twenties, and she’s oblivious to the camera.  It’ll take a long time, but will be so worth it.  It’s a strikingly beautiful picture.  Mostly because it captures her without any shields.  Photographers should be granted invisibility cloaks because most (neurotypical) adults are never unshielded near a camera.  Stevie Nicks drops her shields when she performs, and it’s as significant as her talent and energy.  The combination is like an irresistible magnetic pull.

I’m still brainstorming a way to see her sing live.  I noticed she’ll be performing in St. Paul next month.  It’s not an option, but knowing me, I’ll probably get excited about being in the same time zone as Stevie Nicks.  (I’m weird like that.)  Hopefully, they’ll release it for purchase in the future.  What I’d really like is for someone to film a Stevie Nicks concert in VR (virtual reality), so those of us who aren’t wired for big crowds can experience it too.  (Repeatedly.)  That would be so. fucking. awesome.  So yeah.  Someone get on that.  I’m off to finish packing.

I can’t believe that you saw her before me.

I realized I don’t code most of the time anymore.  I think this is a good thing because I laugh more.  It feels like I broke an addiction because I get random urges to start new projects all the time.  I thought I would have a harder time letting go.  It’s mind boggling how much time I’ve spent writing code on a computer in my lifetime.  It’s probably just under the time I’ve spent sleeping.  I’m impatient.  If something takes ten hours to complete, there is no way I’m going to break that up.  I know my limit is between 19 and 21 hours.  (That’s not typical, however, and I swear I’ll never do anything that long again.)

I can stay awake(ish) for 32 hours, but those last several hours are wasted time.  All I do is nod off, startle myself awake, laugh about it, (rinse, and repeat.)  I fell asleep on guard duty once when I was in the Army.  The fucker who was my relief saw me, went and caught a tarantula, and put it down my shirt.  I ripped my shirt off while screaming and running in place.  Then I burst into tears and told him I hated him, while he fell on the ground laughing.  Fucker.  Although, I never did it again.  Fucker.  (Full body shudder.)

I’m well into my second reading of The Dark Tower series, by Stephen King.  I’m just marveling at the details this time.  I think the mastery lies in his restraint.  He only told us enough of the story to force us to obsess over what he didn’t.  Human brains make premature determinations all the time, so he left room for the Constant Reader to use their own imagination and cryptography skills to add even more richness to an already lush tale.  I know!  Holy shit!  No two will experience the exact same story.  Sigh.  My next boyfriend will be more of a reader.  (It’s a joke, mostly.)

I read an article yesterday about Prozac being used to “treat” autism.  The Army came to that conclusion when I was a teenager.  I always forget about the delay.  It seems an unusually long one, though.  I’m not a parent, and I’ve already shared my thoughts on the drug.  All I can say is thank goodness I don’t have to make such a hard decision for someone completely dependent on me.  And I know that’s just one out of thousands like it.  I can’t even have a dog, so I’m generally awed by good parents.  It was the single parent of an autistic kid who helped me realize activism isn’t optional.  (Last year, sigh.)  I’m always late to the party.

I’m super anxious today, and I’m subconsciously trying to match it by speeding up.  My heart is telling me I should be running, not sitting on the floor typing on a laptop.  I’m having a difficult time remaining seated.  It reminds me of the time my PC doctor yelled at me for jumping up and down when I was supposed to be waiting to get my blood pressure checked.  (Jumping up and down makes it feel like time is moving faster, and makes waiting less annoying.  Duh.)  It scared the shit out of me because she came up behind me.  I must have accidentally let the I’m about to cry face show for a second because she immediately apologized.  It was a tiny bit funny.  Sometimes I have to admit I am too fucking literal.

I saw an interview on Youtube with Stevie Nicks and noticed she was rocking throughout the interview.  I mentioned it to M., and he said, “She’s not autistic, she’s high on cocaine.”  (I didn’t ask him if he thought she was autistic.)  I paused for a second to decide if his reading my mind was funny or infuriating.  I decided it’s funny.  (I kinda think everyone is half black, might be undiagnosed autistic, loves Star Wars, reads, and sings a lot until otherwise is proven.)  That’s right.  Still not sophisticated.

One thing I’ve learned from Stevie Nicks is to trust my intuition with a fierceness when necessary.  Also, I noticed she doesn’t tear people down.  I like that quality in a person.  For those who also wonder;  she still looks gorgeous because she stays in the shade, uses La Mer skincare products, and never ever goes to bed with makeup on.  I’m settling for 2 out of 3.  I can’t stomach paying that much to stay cute (while not being a rock goddess.  Besides, La Mer would be foolish to make her buy it.  All they have to do to make bank is put “Stevie Nicks uses this” on the bottle.)  I’ll just be kinda cute instead.  It looks the same from my perspective.  😂