The next 50 years

I seems to me that humanity's interest in recording our history is directly correlated to our awareness of history. If all we ever hear are family stories, family history matters. If we hear of ancient times and how hard it is to get the story, we feel more need to create evidence of our experience than in times past. So that its not only the physical damage at issue in learning our past, but that the past didn't realize we would want to.

So the concern is about a very long term acquaintance. She is being attentive and generous and I truly don't trust her. Now she sent me a card with $100 in it appropos of nothing. I feel like I might be in sights of a sociopath. I mean we have no bad history but I know her brother and that cat has clearly been her victim. It's in how they fight and he loses his temper instantly with her. Tolerates no bossing and she's always exasperated and apologetic. I never twigged onto it before because I didn't know enough. So while the money is welcome it also has stress attached. Computer is down. I woke up to a crack through the digitizer screen. I may be able to use it if I can disable the digitizer in safe mode. Thing is I feel terrible today too. Yawning for no reason, dull brained, asthma is off the scales and the coughing has given me a massive headache and neck and shoulder ache and sore throat and chest pain. It's almost but not quite drowning out my usual lower back ...

 Just a shitty day for no reason at all.  Everything hurts. Tylenol is a joke. Headache, all my muscles ache, my tummy hurts. Back spasms. Sore hands. Feet aching. Can't stretch enough. Been like this for days.  But who cares? Take tylenol. Take selective seratonin reuptake inhibitors and stfu and go away.  Maybe if my family had cared enough to go to bat for me, to get me the disability support I needed, but they didn't.  So I'm stuck in a loop. Because I'm disabled I'm worthless to society. I don't have money or status or influence so I'm not worth putting any effort into. Because I'm not getting any support, I remain worthless. Because I remain worthless, I can't have support. Endless cycle of worthlessness. I am trying hard to fade into the walls because removing myself is the only "quick solution" I can offer to the problem of my existence. Just go away and suffer by myself. And whine in an anonymous blog where I can't get punished...

 One thing we learned from the character of Scrooge as written by C. Dickens is that wealthy people think about "reducing the surplus population."  Nobody's really surprised about that.  Except maybe their innocent family members.  Now everyone knows who the expendables are, they're the folks who require car. Whether because they're old or disabled.  They're the care home residents. Also known as "the vulnerable population" whom the Fox and allied networks want to test the vaccine on first. They're making the excuse that this will "protect" the vulnerable but given how rushed the vaccine is, it's much more likely they're choosing guinea pigs. But then there's this whole demographic of working class people being told Covid19 is fake. Don't worry about it. Resist it. Refuse all attempts to contain the virus as impingements on your freedom and the first in a long series of controls.  One might wonder why? Why convince the w...

 Why do I get like this? I slept fine last night. I ate a good breakfast with a cup of coffee, suddenly I can't keep my eyes open, I'm yawning and feel stupid and tired.  Why?  I'm taking multivitamines. I wish I could ask my doctor but he's a lazy fuckwit who doesn't listen when I tell him symptoms and then says he thinks I need SSRIs. Which are not rated for "excessive sleepiness" and may in fact create that problem. So frustrated. Nobody knows anything. I just look lazy and that's not why I'm sitting here struggling to think or do anything.

 I can't sleep. I always have trouble sleeping, but thought yeah, 3 hours at a stretch, not so bad, right? Wrong. after months and months it does build up and, what's more, explains the majority of issues I suffer, from the yawnies to the mood swings.  I never really made that connection till I was trying to find a reason for the yawnies. The yawnies are when I get stricken with constant yawning.  Constant. Eye watering and half asleep at my desk and wondering what's wrong with me.  Oh yeah. I thought diet, or nutrition, but the internet insists it's sleep deprivation. So I thought, ok, the woodstove maintenance and fear of being woken up by the fire department for "living in" the bus are keeping me awake, I'll move back to the house.  Great, got a good memory foam mattress, dark space, I'll sleep. Yeah right. Nope. Every 90 minutes I wake up with a hurting arm.  I flip sides. Check ostomy. Realign pillows to keep me off it. Fight the frustration and p...

 Oh boy, I know the name of the asshole who bullied me this autumn. See, a bitch called the city with a bogus complaint and they sent this asshole in to "deal with" me and he came on strong like bullies do. Straight up aggressive, accusatory, insulting and manipulative. Like ask a question then interrupt the answer with another question or to tell me he thinks I'm lying. Over and over. Prying questions. Vague threats of "something" and "you better comply" without any direction to which I could comply, and like that. He pushed his way into my bus uninvited, then started to take pictures.  Well at that point I pushed him back out physically because my protests were falling on deaf ears. So finally we're face to face (covid and no masks) and shouting at each other. He's shouting "smoke detector" and I'm shouting "carbon monoxide detector" like school children. The whole time he's got no rights in the first place to inve...

 my brain spends a lot of time trying to explain to some future questioner why I'm disabled.  Because people hate me. They hate on me for many reasons.   Reasons like my sexuality, my gender presentation, my opinion or lack of an opinion, my honesty, my non-conformity, my morals or lack thereof.   Oh boo, I've just been hit with an attack of the yawnies. It's not that I'm sleepy, but does register like sleepiness. It's a lack of something on the body, not enough iron, not enough sugar (common if you eat too much sugar and your body overreacts) and so forth. Makes me sleepy. Can't think the higher thoughts. Plus which the damn dogs are fighting again and the parrot is screaming at them and the man in the corner is hunkering down under his headphones. 

 I think I'm there, you know.  I really do think that I've found a way to fill my time and my life without people in it. Happy alone.  It's funny, I kept thinking I had to fill my life with experiences to help me in times when I'm old and stuck.  I'm old and stuck but mostly just want to forget my past entirely. So much of it tainted with unhappy moments, tiny traumas, if you will, that I can't really enjoy my memories like I thought I would. It becomes a mining expedition for evidence of bullying far too often. "No, wait, she wasn't, yes, that's what, oh for crying out loud, why'd they do THAT to me?"  You start out reminiscing on a waterfall and end up crying for yet another new realization that just hurts.  you didn't have the perspective then that you have now, so the betrayals were invisible.  Sometimes that was the way they rationalized their behaviour, like the disney trip.  Not only family for me, though, I seem to rub every bul...

 I'm not allowed to talk about this, but yet my thoughts may come of value if I work them out right. First nations people are the ones who travelled the furthest in evolution. North america did not evolve a hominid from an ape, far as we know, but rather each and every homo sapiens arrived here after travel. Whether by bering land bridge, frozen glaciers, storm tossed boats, or hurled by hurricanes, they all came from somewhere else. Some may even have navigated frequently between here and the old world, like north africa and mesoamerica, or the pacific islands and the west coast. There is much we don't know as fact.  Well does this not suggest that the first nations people are the most explorative and innovate races on the planet? The product of the most travel and exploration.  They need to figure out on the fly what is good to eat and hunt and how, use their copious skills to tame new beasts, kill new monsters, find new foods, and etc. I hope I live to see the day they...

 it's a skill your brain needs to practice!  I mean, it's literally not easy, and you easily forget, but if you keep going and going anyway, it gets easier. Today I noticed that a newscaster's hair colour was much different, and not just the lighting colours. Well maybe, but I remember she's gone distinctly grey over the years and that the colour right now was natural grey/black, with pale pink, blue, and purple streaks in the white highlights.  Or maybe it was lighting. But anyway, my utterance was "she's having fun with her hair!  Good on her. It looks fabulous every time whatever she's doing!"  Now in olden times my mother's voice would have supplied some cutting remark instead. I expect that my unfettered tongue in social situations must have been doing the same thing, but I can't watch myself while I perform. So even doing it when nobody is there is doing good for your brain and your ability. There is a higher chance next time I'm arou...

 I just feel like bitching. I'm trying on these tests and doing so badly on the logic tests it's really discouraging. I can't leave the weed alone for a whole week even, and lately, not even for a whole day.  I can't go more than fifteen minutes between pees. The odds I'll even take the LSAT much less do well are so low.  Even if I did manage to do as well as I thought I could (and don't anymore) and I was like, perfect score, or something, they'd still probably not be able to put me in school. Let's pretend my mother died and left me tuition money. STILL would probably be turned down. Like "oh, you're disabled you can't come in as a regular student but we've already filled our disability quotia with much more disabled people than you. Better go apply to mcdonalds or something." I've been trying to find a way to be part of my society for my whole life and everything I could possibly do they tell me I can't, or that I can...

 I was just seeing some pics from my time after surgery. I remembered feeling like they thought I was a problem patient. I remember that one patient next door complained at any sound of existence and wakeness from me.  Even the sound of watching a video on my phone or talking to a friend. I have a picture of a biker roomie they gave me and he and I got along so well they got mad at us for laughing!  (I have more reasons than the filth to hate that hospital) The whole time I just accepted the idea. But let's examine it. The idea here is that I am so morally reprobate I need to be kept caged and isolated unless someone equally morally degenerate, like a hells angel biker drug dealer (he was) comes along to partner with me.   But why am I so toxic to morals? That's something I always accepted that "moral people" were going to look down on me and treat me like a pariah or criminal. Sure enough it's been going on a long time.   Reasons they might think this...

 It's funny how many people think I've engineered my life for minimum struggle and effort. It's one of the many reasons they have for not letting me participate in anything.   I hate it.  I didn't understand till I thought about the LSAT and possibly coming out employed that I realized how bad it was. when I think about my future next year, after I've done the LSAT and it is behind me and every time my brain comes back "are you sure we have to keep living?" I mean, i'm living because I"m not dead. that's it. I'm utterly directionless. nothing is important except those stupid fucking dishes. I mean, dishwashing is ok and I could do it as a job, but it's not exactly something you'd find fullfilling.  Lots of little things can fulfil one.  Yes. But many require investing cash.  Oh I'm just raging all over the place. With no marijuana in my system it's just massive. Nothing to dull the angst and anger. Nowhere to put it. I did ...

 In the dream I was in the back of the bus putting supper together. Now I normally cook all our food on the weekend.  Like roast or smoke a turkey or a couple chickens, and we eat off it all week.  But people showed up. They showed up to help with the fence, after it was done, in time for supper. Three of them, plus a friend. I had to give them all our food. I had to open the fridge, smile, and put on a thanksgiving feast, never mentioning that's our week's worth of food and I"ll be scrambling to make it up. I woke up as one does from a nightmare. Thought about the story of stone soup.  I'll retell it quickly. A beggar man came a knocking on an old woman's door. the woman lived alone at the edge of town in a small house with sparse furnishings.  "Please maam, can you feed me?"  "No, I have only enough for myself, go."  "Please maam, I won't need your food, I have a magic stone, I only need a pot and water and a fire. Please help, I'...

 I got to what the LSAT is and laughed at how simple it looks. I know the questions will require thinking. In fact I realize they'll require that I quit smoking weed on the regular. Perhaps I'm ready, perhaps I should take a break and see. It will help with dealing with people too I don't doubt. It may be legal but it still gets judged. I want to sit the LSAT.  I want to start by doing all the free stuff I can and training. I'm smart, remember?  I love learning. I do fabulous on the following types of questions:  The LSAT consists of six 35-minute sections. One scored Analytical Reasoning section | 4 scenarios with 5-7 questions each One scored Reading Comprehension section | 26-28 questions Two scored Logical Reasoning sections | 24-26 questions each One  unscored  section that could be Analytical Reasoning, Reading Comprehension, or Logical Reasoning One  unscored  writing sample I need to do this. Just for fun! But I need to do it so damn well ...

   A little old man had a little old house.  He wasn't much liked, got treated like a louse. No friends at all, and family unseen, this little house is the best it's ever been. The neighbors saw the disarray, the size of the lot, the possible pay. "We should save this poor man, and send him away, then the lot can be developed and children can play. He'll get a better place, somewhere away, this eyesore just cannot stay."  So the marshall was called, his face was appalled, the little old man was alone. His manners were foul, his clothes even worse, and even his car was begging for a hearse.  No trial, no mercy, just boards on the door, he just couldn't go and live there any more. He haunted the yard, he lived in his car, then the thing needed repairs and could not go that far. The city they came, still once again, and took that shelter too, and left him in the rain. The moral of my story, and this is quite true, you aren't always helping with the help that ...

 Somehow I need to get it bone-in understood that I am not going to be understood. Not. Not the search for why. Not the quest for a solution. The down deep acceptance of it as a fact as deep as the coldness of winter and my autism itself and, yes the ostomy. Because they can't see me. Because I can't be understood. I will also find little sympathy. I saw these last few days the complete absence of attention I've been complaining about in my spouse. I watched one person, holding my entire case in his hands, summary on a cover letter, and declare it not worth reading.  I watched the eyes glance and the face moue into a distaste and the whole demeanor change.  It is pointless to try understand because that guarantees I will stay in the cycle of accepting that any reason could exist that makes sense, or that it could be any other way for that matter.  You don't adjust to things that way.  I don't think that means I stop being the person I respect. I'm the only perso...

 So I'm stuck in that in between place. Not disabled enough to be someone's ward, too disabled to be a real person.  Everyone at some point lectures me on trying to get things for free. When it's the only way anything ever comes to me. Free is all I am allowed to have. Ever. You can't have unfree things if you haven't got money. You can't have money if someone won't give you any.  Now someone please figure out how I get them to give me money with the abilities I have.  Yeah, nobody has ever done that in fifty years.  Including me. I haven't failed to try. I have simply tried and failed. And failure isn't a crime.  Failure is not a crime. Society compounds the error of child abuse by treating failure as a crime. By treating differentness as a thing which is judged on it's ability to make us succeed. yet every last one of us knows the system is rigged. And when called on to fight the corruption, it would appear nobody does. They say things like ...

 A very long time ago there was a woman who rode the buses all day on a bus pass. she carried knitting gear and wore a cape that said "please let me be free" in embroidery. Her hair was an amazing confection of curls piled to the top. When she exited the bus she would fling herself off dramatically like pretending to fly, or a circus act landing.  Whee!  I asked her one day about the cape.  She told me she wanted to be allowed to go to siberia so she could be free to knit. That she used to knit for her daughter but her daughter was gone now and she couldnt' find enough peace to knit anymore.  I didn't get it. What went on in my mind for the next twenty years was most unkind and I am sure I've spoken unkindly to others about her. Well I think I finally understand. I'd like to just sit and knit. Or weave. Or just make, and I feel like every attempt I make to create a quiet space to create is invaded by other humans who come specifically to rattle my cage and ups...

 I really do find myself crying "why me."  Even though I try hard not to. So the fire marshall handed me off to the city bylaw officer. I'm emailling her now. I wrote the city hoping to address city council. Some of them know me, but would need to hear and see me in person to know. Well the bylaw officer is emailling me. Asking me for a phone call and I'm refusing. I just can't cope with voice communication well enough. I get railroaded.  She's using phrases like "just worried for your safety" which is code speak "come on, I can't fuck you over till you trust me."  I don't. I'm done trusting people with no prior evidence of their decency. I'm done giving the benefit of the doubt.  I don't get it, I'm not giving it. If things get threatening i'm going to CC my lawyer next. Or at least ask if it's time to contact him. But for now I'm expressing my genuine intention of taking the vehicle of contention to a s...

I've lived in some pretty drekky homes. Like that basement room. Unfinished concrete, with wall panelling on 1/1 frames to create "rooms."  The "kitchen" was under the wooden stairs, the stove well under where it can set alight our only egress. The kitchen "sink" was the bathroom sink, the fridge was half blocking the hallway. One tenant slept in a large closet off the main area. I was nicely set up with my own single room, a wire folding bedframe that I owned, two cardboard boxes with a candle stick and a sheepskin, and a small 3 drawer dresser.  Yep, nicely set up. Little grey square of a window about 10" above my head that didn't open. That was my first "home" on my own. Previous to that I lived on the largesse of a christian lady who gave me shelter, then briefly rented a room from some bachelors who decided me staying alone in my room suffering wasn't going to work for them. So that lasted a month. I mean, I know, I was cryi...

 http://www.pete-walker.com/fAQsComplexPTSD.html I'm reading along here, once again trying to find out how to ease off the constancy of triggers.  I guess I already have quite a lot of methods of coping already but I see there's need for more.  I'd like to see that I'm doing it before I get going, for instance, and remember to stop. I'm only just coming to understand the whole business of triggers.  Starting to understand that I'm being triggered. At this point I'm working on avoidance but it's incomplete. Sure I can stop watching TV entirely, but it comes up in the stupidest of reminscences.  Like a post on afros and the only afro I ever met in my entire life is tagged to a terrible time in my life and belonged to a queen bully. But I was too autistic to recognize the dynamics. Well with the CPTSD one of the symptoms is fawning, and I realize that's what's going on when I sit there endlessly trying to explain myself.  But others see it as making...

 A long time ago when the internet was wild and young and nobody was policing yet, I surfed some very dark back pages. Well really it was the newsgroups and file sharing sites. You'd find child rape. I think I viewed maybe three or four files before deciding my curiousity was served. I deleted them and never did it again. It was still awhile before the police formed ICE, but I really didn't want that stuff.  There were also snuff porn clips, cannibal and bdsm fantasy art, etc.  I was just really learning about humans. Well this one child has haunted me. Her eyes were so hollow and resolute, her expression flat.  Her pose was terribly uncomfortable but that paled in comparison to what the hairy male torso and arms was inflicting upon her. The title of the clip had indicated that he was demonstrating how well broken in this child was.  The child in question was not more than four or five. Perhaps six if tiny enough, and her face, and that expression, as the man di...

 "just be a good human, be humble, be kind, spread joy, peace and love."  Ok, I'm down with that, except that part about being humble. What the fuck does that actually mean?  Because far as I can tell, it means "and don't argue with assholes, let them have their way, or you're a bad person who thinks too much of themselves.'  It would seem that having self confidence prevents you being a good person?  Yeah, it's that dumb.  I think the humble part is the christian injection and christianity is all about making us chase our tails desperately trying to follow instructions that, while seeming good at first, in fact are impossible. How can you be a good human while still thinking you're a worm beneath the foot of anyone "better" than you. The whole idea of humility assumes there's "betters and lessers" and that the betters should simply pretend they're not better, so the lessers can feel ok.   IOW, I think Humility is a cro...

 So I have a tree problem.  As trees are, it's big. I can't be stuffing wood in the back of my smart car, to haul to the dump for burying.  Nor can I season it as firewood in my yard, it's manchurian elm.  I'm not sure if there's a penalty for that, but they conduct sweeps looking for elm firewood and maybe they take all your wood? Well so the trees got really big while I was sick. Out of control huge. Beyond my capacity even while well.  I was beginning to wonder what it would cost to get a professional to cut them. Well it would cost around two grand, maybe three.  Yeah, which i can't find in my wallet for any amount of wishing. Magic doesn't like money and you can't magic up money therefor.  You have to cheat people for money more than you've earned. Ok back to the story, so this one arborist pointed out that the electrical wires are all through the trees and he can't even go at it till the city does the "electrical clearance" part o...

 One of the happy things for me was that I loved and idolized my father.  That was a happy thing, a rock in my mind, a safe space.  Father's love, daddy's girl, my dad was amazing, etc.   But he wasn't perfect, for all he insisted he was. I forgive him, did he or didn't he get sexual, I don't know, there's no memories even now of anything improper. But now when I see "daddy's girl" and "daddy loves you" on things out there, I'm sad. Goddamnit, another trigger. Another thing to be sad about. How in hell do I go another fifty years in this head?  Memories don't erase. Knowlege doesn't go away. How do I just relax and be happy if everything I see, think or do reminds me of something sad?  I already accept that I have to keep apart from others for being too negative, but this? Am I never to be content and at peace, or even happy, ever again?

 So first the Jeffrey Epstien scandal broke.  Then Netflix put out a docu interviewing his victims, talking about his operation, and etc.  Then I came across Anneke Lucas talking about the european wealthy pedophiles and her suffering at their hands. Then I start to understand myself a little more. I do not believe I've been raped, but I do believe I've been molested.  I think I was molested in the evenings as a way of getting me to sleep. I think I was molested by a grand parent briefly, and that might have been oral? Or there wasa neighborhood boy who tried that on me. Probably because I was always sucking my thumb. BTW, late lasting thumb sucking is a symptom of childhood sexual interference.  Hanging onto juvenile behaviour like that for self comfort. But lots of other things can cause it. As with every other sign in myself of possible interference, other things could cause it. I think I remember the neighborhood boy. After that period, sexual assault took a...

 Oh the skeletons, the skeletons that rattle in my closet.  The clicking and the clatter beats my brain into a batter I only asked what's the matter now they cannot still nor shatter. I had to clean the closet out you, see, the smell was much too odious to me. I needed the light, the air and the space, I wanted to put some clothes in their place.  But now they dance about the place, alive as live can be. They meddle and they clatter and they do so bother me.  The knitting's all a-tangle, the loom it's gone to dangles, and I can't find my readers even if they're on my lid. You must clean out your closet or the bugs will never quit, you must shovel out every ounce of blood, tears and shit. It's a thankless task and most wait too late, and the wash water is tears for all the grief that you ate.  It won't be pretty and it won't be nice and the empty closet will feel cold as ice. The grief that you know feels safer than this, but courage won't count if yo...

 There's literally a slide picture that my mother took where my father's hand disappears under my lucky blanket, my pants are partially down, he's slouching, I'm sucking my thumb, he's got his eyes closed, face relaxed, as if asleep.  I may not specifically have memories of abuse, but that's about all I don't have, really.  It's possible that the early sexualization, so early in fact I didn't know to hide it at first, started the isolation that led to my becoming socially deprived and unable ever to catch up. The extra whammy of a narc mother pleased to support the bully agenda and keep me to herself was not to my advantage! By age eight I was already feeling suicidal. I remember trying to imagine myself to death.  I also found it a good way to go to sleep. I suffered such terrible insomnia. Sometimes when I tried to sleep, I'd suffer a weird night mare that would seize me out of sleep instantly and leave me bolt upright staring in the dark. The ...

 I'm listening to someone's story.  It's a story of horrific proportions. Something out of the trashiest smut novels that ever occupied the space under a mattress.  I've read too mny fiction and fantasy accounts not to believe her story. I also keep needing the comfort of "she could be an actress with a good script."  But I do believe her. Well of course her story isn't what I"m here to work on, but my response to it. First off, I feel better about my life becuase it truly could have been worse. I wonder how my sweet cousin was treated.  She's touched ever so lightly on the fact that she wasn't untouched, but this kind of thing is so heavy. So damn heavy. If it wasn't for the foul fiction I've face, from age 11 onward, I wouldn't be able to stand to hear it at all.   My mother read novels with severe sadism and rape scenes intricately described for the purpose of pornographic enjoyment.  I got my hands on them, well before I should...

 I've been studying up on queer history.  Because youtube has it and it's there. But what's coming out for me is how much of my life has been subtly affected by straight moral codes. I've been SO queer, as a woman, queer.  I mean, all the queer man things, the bright colours, art, outrageous fashion sense, sensitive emotions, and on and on.  Queer as it gets. But female. Which made it feminine.  Ultrafemme sometimes. Yet not. Because I'm not. I'm a man. Even queer men get masculine sometimes and it leaks out. Which is fine when you're a man. But not so fine when you're a woman.  What would you get if you dropped a queer man, not a transwoman, mind you, a cisman. He is male and thinks of himself as male, etc., but straddles the middle of the gender scale with feminine qualities. Now were these inherent in my character or created by my experience? After all, I was being raised to be feminine.  Well at any rate I see the sexin both genders so I can't ex...

 I see better why people try to keep others out of isolation, more or less. I mean, they put people there to punish them for poor social behaviour, but then talk about how inhumane and damaging it is.  It's a funny world. So one of the things I just learned is that when you're alone that much, this much, like me, it causes face blindness.  When I was young, I had a knack for faces. I was proud of it.  My social skills were far better too, I could slap on a smile and work my way through some compliments and the rest.  Nowadays I can barely talk enough to complete a transaction. Funny thing is, it results in further social isolation.  People just don't want to deal with it.  They'll all have reasons, none of which will be valid.  Kind of like I've fallen into the Uncanny Valley where I am too human to not be human enough. "Something wrong with them."  And of course I also have a ton of side effects from the isolation, such as lack of conversati...

 I was feeling bad I'd never put more work into painting. Then remembered I really just couldn't afford supplies.  I spent so much energy just maintaining a home for myself there wasn't anything left. I never had outside supports of the sort that could actually let me invest in art.  Not till about 15 years ago, and we're still always struggling. For me, art keeps having to be a practical activity with something use worthy out of the end. But I do suffer jealousy seeing artists get offered retreats and studio space and donations of materials. I just do. I am denied the milk of human kindness because they just plain dislike me. I'm the dislikeable one. And I can't help it.  I mean, how do you explain that your disability is being an asshole? It makes no sense. but they all sense it eventually and they just think I'm not trying.  I don't even understand, at what am I trying?  To copy other people?  I can't, I don't know how. I can't remember wh...

 Well the fellow seemed to get really cold as we dealt with each other. It was strange, and he pretty much pushed me away from helping unload the wood delivery.  I said to myself, ok fine, screw helping, and went off to do other work. Came back near the end and at some point I'd mentioned to the son my cancer and he'd mentioned his granny's cancer and I inquired what it would cost to remove some trees.  And he warmed up, made sure the wood pile was out of the way of the doors closing and etc.  But see, I got this deep feeling my androgyny irritated him, till it was explained by cancer, and then he just let it pass. I didn't discuss it or correct when he pronoun-ed me at his son. I was sure if he'd said he or she and I mostly wanted to just focus on business anyway.  But this trans stuff is hard. Men are mean if you don't pass.

 Oh it's definitely him. After a week of avoiding him, just twenty minutes of talking has undone all the relax.  I was feeling sane and healthy.  I was not smoking dope. I was getting energy. I was thinking straight. I was even pooping again. Then he's here and nattering at me with his horrible right wing stuff and my stress levels just shattered records.   Oh I hate him. I feel so trapped.

I have an issue with face-to-face communication.  I'm eloquent enough, but not the least concise. I cannot get to the point often. Sometimes it flows like someone is speaking through me, other times I'm just following a boulder down a hill hoping I don't hit anyone, but isn't it a nice boulder? Maybe?  Frankly who can tell, it's spinning too fast and nobody knows where it'll land. me included.  My talking gets away on me like that.  Afterwards I'm just horrified, when I get alone and can think again. And that's the problem. My thinking capacity is halved when I'm required to converse with words. I cannot say why in a scientific sense but I can say it's an autism thing. What I also cannot say is this, when someone's there. I'm fine in writing. I've got time to think, to edit, to be intentional. I want to be intentional with my words but the brain simply can't do both. I can't both talk and think on three tracks.  Normally I...