The next 50 years

 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...

 I'm watching this guy on youtube in an artificial community with a simple economy. People try and sell things they find in the minecraft world to each other with diamonds as currency.  Its really quite a good simple economic model. Well this one guy was really low on diamonds and resources. Someone who had more resources for various reasons set up a game in the game, and our protagonist won big big big. Like beast mode good.  So He starts going and spending it at all the shops in town. My first instinct was "hey man, keep some against the future." But then I realized if he's got a shop, and he has, and he's splashing that cash all over town, then the others can come buy from him and keep his income going. He gets all the goodies, and the economy gets a boost, and everyone else buys more stuff from each other, so they can buy more, and only saturation or resource depletion is going to get in the way of it.  If the items sold are crafted from renewables and most th...

 Not that I have much choice but I just don't want to keep trying to see a doctor. They all, every fucking last one of them, conclude on the basis of a few minutes observation, that I'm crazy. Whatever lable of crazy they want, they all want to put me on SSRIs. A powerful drug that should only be used in conjunction with therapy and very close monitoring.  Not one of those assholes ever takes a look at my lifestyle and social supports. Not one of them considers what life would be like with no direction, purpose, hope, dreams or goals, and not much more social interaction than a prisoner in solitary.  Except that much that is more, is more than I want. Because it sucks. I've been to psychiatrists and therapists. Those who took time to sit and talk with me inevitably concluded that I am suffering an excess of sanity. That I am the person poorly adapted to a maladaptive world. The stress of this is what depresses me. The utter lack of support or resources depresses me. My au...

I think what I need to do is twofold. Now trying not to give a shit about anything, that's failed every time, but I should still try, right? Caring is my problem from my POV. I wouldn't feel bad if I didn't give a shit, without having to change anything else about myself. Just attack it from "so who fucking cares?" Which is the other part of the thing I need to work on. I've fallen into that self pity pit again. I need to remember how I dealt with it last time and start over. Again, though, it really comes down to attacking my motivation for caring. So what if people hate me?  I wouldn't care if I didn't have these fancy expectations of how people treat each other and how the world should be. And where do I get those? From stories. STORIES. Not experience. Not how I'm treated or how I see others being treated. But from manufactured tales of how people ought to be.  Well they ain't. The world ain't a nice place and nothing in it is coming to...

maybe it's time I listed what I think makes me a terrible person. Why people so universally hate on me. I have a temper. I lose my temper when I'm stressed and shout and swear and slam things. The dogs get terrified and hide. I can't say how often. It can be weeks or days or hours. Good days, bad days, and I don't know what the key is except I feel extra crappy those days and too crappy to put up with crap. I am a negative fuckwit. I am always thinking of how something might go wrong, what needs to be done or added or fixed. what advice I think I should give someone. complaining about me, my life, my health.  I hate the world. I hate my life and my place in the world. I generally don't like people, although there are people I do like.  But generally speaking, I'm a hateful person. I am picky. Can't just eat what others are eating. can't just dress, act, talk, or walk like everyone else. Everything has to be unique. Sometimes on purpose, like how I dress....