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.


You know a muffin can be very filling.

I’m stressed out.  I did a lot of talking on the phone this week, and it exhausts me.  It also makes me anxious.  If you told me a year ago I’d be calling Paul Ryan to leave a message begging him not to fuck with the ACA, I would have looked for the nearest exit to escape your talking to me.  Fortunately, Full Frontal starts again on Wednesday.  It’s the only news I watch on TV.  Religiously.  All other information comes from the internet, and my blacklist of news sites is growing.  Apple insists on putting Fox News in their news feed, even though I made every possible effort to ensure nothing they spew ever penetrates my bullshit deflector.  Delete.

I watched a marathon of Will and Grace in dedication to Debbie Reynolds.  It was delightful, but the commercials were offputting.  I looked at a commercial by South Beach Diet, in which they show the same person in a photo beside them while they lie to us about losing upwards of 10 pounds.  The only difference is the lighting and the facial expression.  If anything, they gained a few pounds.  Why does South Beach Diet think I’m dumb?  What did I ever do to them?  Fuck South Beach Diet.  Go sit next to the liars who swore they got an iPhone for $10 on Deal Dash: The Honest Bidding Site®.  You’re on time out for implying I’m gullible and dumb.  You suck.  Announcing you’re an honest site is a red flag on earth.  The memo was widely circulated.  Get off my TV!

I’m dumping cable.  I’m not putting up with Hulu+ and their money grab to get rid of their commercials, either.  I’m not paying more to stream a season than it costs to buy it on BluRay.  I’m not watching any more fucking commercials.  You blew it.  You got too greedy and treated us like shit.  I just eliminated your influence from my world.  $10 for an iPhone??  Fuck you!  America is not dumb.  We’re distracted.  We’re working our asses off for a pittance while the stockholder’s hoard all the fake money.  It doesn’t leave a lot of time for reflection.  You know?  That time-consuming activity where you examine your world under a magnifying glass and shore up the flaws, as well as able?  That.  There’s not a lot going on when people are tired and just want to relax and get some sleep before starting over the next day.

That’s not an excuse, it’s explanation.  Recall the scenario above, and meet that American worker for breakfast.  While you consume your eggs together, tell that American they’re dumb.  Then sit there and deal with the consequences.  Imagine based on what life has taught you so far.  I’ll help.  I imagine if that person is male you’re about to experience being punched in the face.  If that person is a woman, you’re about to experience being punched in the face.  If that person is genderless, you know the drill.  This is a literal imagining, but my point is this is exactly what telling someone they are dumb causes that person to ponder before remembering they’re an adult.  This was an easy one.  We all got it right.  Don’t call people stupid.  It fucks with their ability to remain rational.  It’s mean.  You hate it when people are mean to you for being you.  I hate it too!  It’s fucked up!  Humans do not like to be fucked with.  This is universal.

More specifically, stop calling Americans who voted dumb.  They did what they were supposed to do.  They voted for who they thought was the best option.  Okay, that’s almost correct…  Some Americans rage voted this time.  They’re shocked he won too.  The one time they lashed out this happens.  Holy shit.  I get it.  Some Americans watch Fox News.  I don’t need to expand on that.  The point is, very few of them did it to hurt you in any way.  Those few will be sure to identify themselves numerous times.  Give the rest of America a break and stop kicking them when they’re down, even if they don’t know they’re down yet.  It’s hard to admit to being wrong.  Harder when the people you hurt in being wrong are the Americans we’ve failed repeatedly.  The individuals who are forced to get by on Social Security are not a threat to anyone, let alone the rich bastards who are crying foul over their privilege of poverty.  That’s sick.  If you can’t muster compassion for impoverished people who aren’t able to work, and would rather they died, you’re not human.  This planet is not for you.  Please find the nearest exit.

Open the package, Leo.

Saying, I told you so, is not as satisfying when you’re talking to yourself.  At least I can say I saw this coming.  I’m burned out.  I felt inclined to push it because I suspect my social endurance has increased.  It has, but not by as much as I was hoping.  Everything I do right now takes an inordinate amount of effort.  It’s irking me.  I don’t want to waste an unpredictable amount of time in slug mode.  Slug mode sucks.  I had things I wanted to do, and now I have to turn my routine upside down, and focus on getting out of slug mode.  Dammit.

I just got a new video game.  My new desk will be arriving next week, and I wanted to work on getting that set up.  Just the thought of unboxing it seems impossible right now.  I’m only halfway done with my laundry, and the idea of finishing before I go to bed makes me want to cry.  But if I don’t finish it, I won’t be able to sleep.  I’ll be too busy mentally chastising myself for not finishing my chores.  That path leads to the Dark Side.  So I’m going to give myself 3 hours.  In 3 hours, I can finish my laundry, while listening to a comedian on Netflix.  Hm. No, I think I better bring out the big guns.  The secret weapon in my Fuck the Depression Monster arsenal.  I’m going to watch Wanda Sykes: I’ma Be Me on DVD, while I finish my laundry.

I’ve had this DVD since it came out, but I’ve been saving it for a moment like this.  I tend to memorize dialogue I pay attention to, so I rarely watch it.  This will be my third viewing, and it came out in 2009.  The first time I saw it on HBO, I laughed so hard, I threw up.  Gross, I know.  You know how when you’re laughing your ass off for a while, and wiping away tears, you start getting a bit hoarse?  You feel like a little kid begging your older sibling for mercy after they’ve tickled you for too long.  And just when you feel yourself finally starting to wind down, here comes another something hilarious, and you cough out your next laugh?  Well that happened, but it must have been extra hilarious, because I cough-barfed.  Not one of my more glamorous moments, to be sure.  It’s. That. Funny.

So I guess I’ll accept that regardless of my feeling like a bag of pre-chewed food right now, as soon as I find the gumption to turn on the TV and pop in this DVD, I’ll forget how much being Autistic feels like having to carry a radioactive boulder every time I leave my home.  It drains me of life, and seemingly gets heavier and more intense the longer I’m gone.  Sometimes.  Okay.  Off I go.  As soon as I count to 10.  If I get to 11, it will mean I’m giving in.  I won’t get to 11.

He’s just not spongeworthy

I’m burned out.  I tried to suck it up and drive on.  It’s instinctual for me to force myself to function regardless of how I’m feeling.  I feel poorly.  I’m overwhelmed, and the Depression Monster is beating me about the face and neck.  I’m going to grab my depression box, and do what I know I need to do to get past this spot.  I’ve relied too heavily on running as a single coping skill.  I need to force myself to use my other skills that took years for me to build.  I refuse to be a casualty to the chemical warfare going on in my brain.  I know I can feel better than this.  I deserve to feel better than this.