So Puddy wears a man fur?

I’ve been listening to Carrie Fisher read her books via Audible.  Hearing her voice while she shares about her life is such a comfort.  I’m halfway through her latest book and need to set up rules for listening.  I tend to forget other people can see me and much of it is hilarious.  I got caught chuckling alone in the elevator earlier on my way upstairs.  Then again when almost to my door, when I was laughing about getting caught the first time.  I’m pretty sure I’m on my own if our building catches fire.

There was a catfish incident on Twitter, and although I don’t know what happened, I got the impression a lot of people got burned.  I’ve never been able to keep up with group gymnastics.  It eventually makes me feel vulnerable and dumb which is irrational.  An annoying circle of wasted time, that.  I think it’s a combination of conflict anxiety and recognizing it’s a situation where my autism is a disability.  I guess feeling vulnerable makes sense.

It’s weird that I still feel a bit like it’s playing with the neighborhood kids when I play hashtag games.  I suppose it’s because I’m not funny.  It’s not a requirement for playing, but it does make it a lot more interactive.  I just cracked myself up.  See?  I was funny one time, though.  Once in two years is a horrible record but it doesn’t dampen my enthusiasm.  The guy who first introduced me to the games unfollowed me.  I assume it has something to do with my recent political meltdowns.

The kids that grew up near me used to include me in ways that disturbed my mom.  I love repetitive tasks, especially if they’re productive.  When we played with Barbie dolls, my sister and the other kids were playing while I was arranging accessories and acting like a coat check girl.  At some point, my mom saw they were dumping out toys in piles around me for me to arrange while they played together.  All I remember is that I was having a blast.

I see it as child empathy.  Kids are empathetic, but their behaviors vary from those of adults because they have less information about the world.  They’re literal.  Figuring out what made me happy, then arranging it for me is incredibly empathetic.  It’s just not how many adults do it.  Neurotypical adults add rocket science level equations, keyless secret codes, and a dash of sarcasm to their words to insulate themselves from vulnerability automatically.  I think they remember life before they started doing that, though.  It’s fear, but it comes from being hurt.

I guess I’m sad that one person hurt so many and now people I find hilarious are probably going to be harder for me to connect with after having their realities fucked with.  It’s pretty selfish, but I can’t help it.  One of the main reasons I love Twitter is because of the funny people.  I’ve had moments when the Depression Monster had me in a headlock, and a corny joke flew by and freed me.  That’s a gift, and I’m quite attached.  Especially now with the ongoing political nightmare.

I’m probably going to have to put myself on another Twitter time-out.  I keep getting stuck on frenzied retweeting while in shock over what’s being proposed for our future.  Then I come up for air and more time has passed than I realized, and my TL has 10 tweets that say the same thing with different pictures.  I amuse myself by imagining one of my followers breaking through the door to my apartment and unplugging a large, symbolic cable to the internet with ferocity, then shouting, “You shall not connect!”

Did you ever notice he got too close to you when he talked?

I’m having a sad day.  Another black man was murdered by police today.  I’ve heard various details so far, all of which have increased the tragedy, and decreased the competence of the police involved.  The event was set in motion by the victim’s sister, who called the police to help her brother.  This action of calling the police to help a black American in distress is steadily becoming a lethal choice.  I’m grateful that I reside in an area of America that allows me to appreciate the protection of my local police force, despite having brown skin.  I don’t understand why this basic assurance of safety, and fairness in accordance with the law, isn’t afforded to all American citizens and their dependents.

I recently learned that paying federal income tax is optional, and if you do, you’re a sucker.  Lie, cheat, steal, rape, and kill.  Rinse, and repeat.  Then run for president.  Americans will elect you, because lying, cheating, stealing, raping, and killing are acceptable behaviors so long as you have the right name, skin color, and blind support from those unwilling to hold you accountable for your past actions, and utter lack of character, because they strongly suspect it’s better than their own.  Fucking pathetic.

I’m an insignificant accident, stumbling through time.  I’m witness to the beautiful horror that is life.  Today, I exist.  Tomorrow, the memory of dissipation.  Entropy is a guarantee, eventually.  I concede, it doesn’t matter.

Did you just double dip that chip?

The thing that bothers me the most about politics is the way people attack others for their choice of candidate to support.  It gets so ugly and hateful.  I can’t wrap my head around hating someone solely for favoring a candidate that I find unappealing.  They have their reasons for choosing whomever they pick, and aren’t obligated to share them with me.  Their differing opinion is not  sufficient to merit being attacked.  I don’t expect anyone to have experienced my life, and the things that shape my thoughts.  I’m aware that life is a different journey for everyone.  We’re all influenced by our experiences, and the people we’ve encountered.  We all have things we value more than others.

If we all agreed on everything, we would have no reason to communicate.  It would mean we were all living the same lives.  That would be tragic in my view.  Like a grey rainbow.  Diversity among human beings is what makes us interesting.  It’s what makes us individuals.  I choose to embrace it, and enjoy learning of the experiences of others.  They interest me, help me grow, and help shape my world.  I spend a great deal of time reading speculative fiction novels.  It brings me joy to experience a world created in the mind of it’s author.  It provides color to my rainbows.  It frees me from being aware only of my personal experiences.  It’s like water, earth, and sunshine to a seed.

So when I see someone belittling another because they think differently, and choose based on their own experiences, it sickens me.  It’s vulgar.  If you think your thoughts and opinions are so great that they give you license to abuse those who differ, you’re a bully.  It’s never okay to abuse someone who has caused you no harm.  Harboring hatred has consequences.  It’s so much easier to live and let live.  Agree or disagree, but do no harm.  Accept that we’re all sentient beings with varying thoughts and experiences, and refrain from attacking others.  It doesn’t cause anyone to change who they are in order to appease such unreasonableness.  It only magnifies your own insecurities.


I’ve been thinking a lot about America of late.  One thing that I believe about my homeland is that overall, we’re kind, generous, hard working, and we share many basic values.  This is true of humanity as a whole in my opinion.  Most of us want to be able to spend our lives in the company of the people we enjoy, (or not), while pursuing our passions.  We all have things we’re passionate about.  We may share about them with anyone and everyone we encounter.  Or it might be something private and done in isolation that fuels you.  And everything in between.

I’m passionate about computers.  I put forth great effort at all times to refrain from speaking about them to other people.  The desire is there.  Unfortunately, few people I encounter on a regular basis are interested.  Some people humor me.  Thanks.  But life (and by life I mean occupational therapy), taught me how to detect whether or not the person I’m speaking with is interested in my topic.  It was difficult to master.  In fact for a while, I gave up on talking to anyone about computers, because it seemed like I was the only person who finds them fascinating.  That sucked.  So I went back to working on detecting interest.  I’m still working on it.

I think there are few Americans who when alone, discover another human who is vulnerable, and in need of their immediate assistance, and instead of helping, turn and walk away, (or worse).  I think they’re a small minority who have no compassion for another life.  I hope.  It’s hard to gauge.  I think most Americans would help whoever they encountered that needed them.  I don’t think they would refrain to assist over things such as sexual identity, gender, skin color, religion, disability, etc.  I think it wouldn’t matter in the moment, and they would set aside their fear, and rise to the occasion to the best of their ability.  I want this to be true.  I need this to be true.

I know there are people in my country who despise me on sight for being black, autistic, female, and dressing like a nerd on Garanimals.  I can sometimes tell which parts of me they find so offensive in that initial momentary gaze.  I’ve met some people like this on my journey so far.  Racists make me want to disappear at first.  Then later I rage at myself for having such an ableist reaction.  It’s unsettling.  But I think what has struck me hardest is the fact that it’s really fear.  This epiphany has tempered how I react to blatant racism.  When I think to myself, “Wow, I scared the shit out of that guy!”, instead of, “I hope you die in a fire, you racist piece of shit!”, you can see that it’s a pretty good attitude adjustment.  One that leaves the door open for that guy to realize being a racist is wrong.

That guy would likely help me get my shoe unstuck from the railroad while a train is coming.  Even though he hates “them colored folk”.  I’ve always held strongly that people can say whatever they want to me, and how I choose to react will be based on whether or not I detect malice in their words.  If I think they said an awful thing because saying awful things can be funny sometimes, then I’ll probably laugh.  If I think they said it because they meant it, then hid it behind a neutral to positive emoji, I’m going to come back to them for clarification, reaction pending.  Might be an asshole.  Might be ignorant.  Probably both.  No reaction.  But if someone says something to me, and I’m sure they’ve said it with malice, then there’s a good chance I’m coming back mean.  Not overboard, shatter your world mean.  Intentional mean that I think you can handle without crying.

I don’t like conflict, but I’m not afraid of it.  I notice things to the point of being weird, so when it comes to verbal conflict, I can pack a hefty punch if I’ve observed for a bit.  I firmly believe that insulting the content of someone’s character in retaliation to malice is fair game.  But insulting something that they have no control over is kind of the definition of asshole.  I red card that mess.  I think others who come from large families know what I mean when I say we tend to go through life expecting things to be divided equally and fairly between everyone.  So much of our childhoods were spent hovering over a knife while Mom cut a candybar into equal portions so that everyone got the same amount, and WWIII was again avoided.  It’s hard to let go of a law that was absolute in my formative years.

I guess I was raised in a social monarchy, so I’m a natural social democracy supporter.  I think deep down, it’s a human trait.  I like nice things.  But not when my having nice things means someone else gets none.  I’d rather we both have nice things, or both have kind of nice things.  Or even both have nothing.  I feel connected to society when I get my fair share, and sacrifice my fair share.  I feel a sense of rightness about it.  It’s peace.  And much like many parents of multiple children state repeatedly, if you can’t share and play nice, you can’t play at all.  I want this to be a universal law.  I think it would make the world better for humans.  Also, I think if my Mom ran the world, Palestine and Israel would both be somewhere else, and the entire concept of holy land would become a forbidden topic, as well as a quick way to find yourself in bed with no dinner, Missy!  Or something.