session: august 2007

Doctor: How are you?

M: Okay.

Doctor: A colleague just flagged me down in the hallway and gave me this book.

M: What is it?

Doctor: It's supposed to be a kids book about Asperger's. She said she was on vacation, saw this at a bookstore, and got it for me.

M: It's for kids or about them?

Doctor: I'm not sure. She just gave it to me. I thought maybe we could run through it together. I was wanting your feedback on it, if that's okay.

M: Okay.

She takes it out of a shopping bag. It's a picture book for kids. Each page pairs a cat photo with a different trait of Asperger's.

Doctor: Neat idea.

M: Cats do have that sort of aloof, picky thing going on.

Doctor: They choose when to receive affection, when to not. They're very particular about everything. So.

She reads the book out loud. At one point it says something along the lines of, "If you have Asperger's, you perceive the world in a very different way. Family and friends will wonder why you are different. Some people will think you are strange. Others will think you are a genius".

M: I got fucked on that one. When I expressed above my age-group, I got black eyes. Bad grades. Confused looks.

She keeps reading. Again paraphrasing: "As a grown up, you may begin to feel like an alien, like you were born on the wrong planet".

M: That's sort of dark.

Doctor: I've heard you describe that, though.

M: No, it's good to have that in there. I guess it's not sugar-coating anything. It's using the photos to soften the blow. "There's some loneliness. On the bright side, here's a kitty. It's adorable."

She reads the rest of it, puts it down.

M: What do you think of it?

Doctor: I'm more interested in your thoughts.

M: Seems like a good overview. It is strange though, as a book for kids. It really focuses on the differences. It's not the cheerleading approach you normally see.

Doctor: Which I like. I've seen some parents want their AS kid to "get better" as quickly as possible. They'll push for some pretty unfair goals. I like to really emphasize with them...well, exactly what the book said: your child is seeing things in a different way. Don't force expectations on them.

She pauses, upset.

Doctor: I see that sometimes, in here. A parent will get on to their child for something that is completely harmless. It's just a different way of speaking or acting, and I have to tell the parent, "You can't punish them for that. That is part of who they are." I think about what you went through sometimes and...I don't know...it's unimaginable to me...

M: I don't know. I think what made it weird is that my parents actually weren't cruel or critical towards me. It's almost worse that they tried so hard...it's not really worse, but it was depressing that they wanted things to go better yet couldn't quite figure out how to help. The culture of where I came from, a small town like that, it was not a good environment for someone like me. Their default solution for every problem was sports. When I wasn't making friends, they put me on a baseball team. When that went awry...a basketball team. Everything, it was always sports for them.

Doctor: What age were you?

M: This was all elementary school. From second grade on, I'm in competitive sports. It was very confusing to hear comforting words from my parents...to see them clearly trying to help, wanting things to go better for me...and then to feel so much discomfort. I had a hard time making sense of it. I could look around and recognize: "I'm supposed to be having fun. This is what kids are supposed to be doing." Yet internally, I was in trouble. Getting overwhelmed, vomiting constantly, losing weight when I shouldn't have been. I was a nervous wreck.

Doctor: And they didn't see any of that?

M: They saw it. They just had no way of responding appropriately. There was no diagnosis at that point in time and again, the cultural factors...it was no good. You can definitely see the crude logic at work in their sports solution. I just didn't fulfill my part of the equation and thrive. The vomiting, in particular, was really confusing for them. That wasn't the reaction they were expecting. And they were never able to adjust to the reality of...you know, my reality. The disconnect between us never really improved. Have I told you about the day I finally realized that my parents were not helping?

Doctor: No.

M: I had, like, this awakening in sixth grade. It was a very specific moment where I realize, "My parents...nice people and all...but their critical thinking skills are a bit lacking." In sixth grade, the bully thing became a problem. There had been normal amounts of it up to that point...mild stuff; getting shoved around and tripped...but it began to escalate over time. This kid punched me in the mouth one day. And I'd been working on this tooth...it was a baby tooth and it had been loose for a few days, so I was slowly working it out...and when the guy hit me, the tooth perforated my bottom lip. Which personally, I didn't care for. It was painful. And my parents: their response is to say "Well, that does it. We're putting you into karate." I had a hard time understanding that one. I was like, "Okay. So I'm getting smacked around at school...and the plan is to put me around kids who have permission to hit me. Terrific." For me, that was the epiphany: their help is not helping.

Doctor: Did you tell them any of this?

M: I tried, but I never quite got the words around what was happening. The social and sensory confusion was beyond anything I could articulate at the time. Also, I tended to just go along with their suggestions. I never...I don't know. I didn't know what else to do.

Doctor: Ugh. That's why I wanted your perspective on the book. Something like this could be a great educational tool for parents.

M: The person who gave you the book...they bought it specifically for you?

Doctor: Yes. Colleagues are always sending things my way. If they come across an article or book...

M: About the autistic spectrum?

Doctor: Yes.

M: I thought you were a general psychologist.

Doctor: I am. I am not a specialist, but I trained with autistic children. With Applied Behavioral Analysis. I've ended up being one of the few people in this part of the state with that background.

M: And now people send you stuff.

Doctor: Yes. Books, articles, DVDs. Referrals, of course.

M: Do you mind me asking about this?

Doctor: Not at all.

M: Are all of your clients on the spectrum?

Doctor: I will work with any issue, any age group, but currently, most of my clients are somewhere on the spectrum.

M: It's weird because you work with that population, but over all this time, I've been your only AS adult.

Doctor: With the diagnosis being relatively new, it missed your age group. You and I read that memoir- Pretending to be Normal- and I've been finding exactly what she described: that when diagnosing a child with AS, it's common for the parent to realize that all of these traits fit them. It explains a lot for them, about their own life. So when I come across an adult with AS, that tends to be how it's happening.

M: But if they're having kids...I mean, these are people in relationships. Things can't be going too badly.

I'm angry and laughing at the same time.

M: "Gosh honey, that sounds like me." Fuck those people!

Doctor: They're high-functioning. But M...you are extremely high-functioning and you know that. The deficits with social connections have been serious. But you live independently, support yourself. That's huge. A lot of the clients I see, they are low-functioning in a broad range of areas.

M: Getting a sense of what the baseline experience is...that's been difficult. There's so much information online, and a lot of it is different. I guess the idea of a spectrum has made it tough to learn about, because of all of the newness and variations. I'm too scattered to organize all of that.

Doctor: On the one hand, screening techniques are getting better, so we're finding more of it...a broader range of it. On the other hand, it's a bit of a buzz word. It's going through this phase where the diagnosis is being tossed around a little too casually.

M: That seems awful. Applying it casually.

Doctor: It is. If you diagnose a child, every aspect of their care and education can change, so it is very much a life-altering event. And as you know, if you diagnose an adult, that seriously impacts their sense of self.

M: I guess I saw some of the "casual" diagnosing with the first psychologist that I went to. He was a moron. He literally had the diagnostic manual in his lap. He started reading out loud from it. He's saying, "Okay, symptom one...check. Symptom two...check. So you probably got that Asperger's thing". And that was it. I mean, he got it right, but he was so half-assed about it. It made it hard to take him seriously.

Doctor: I go a...different route. People want a diagnosis on the first or second session, and I say, "This can take months." Symptoms from different disorders can look very similar. And the impact is going to be huge, so I am extremely conservative about when it's applied.

M: The symptoms and how they're supposed to look...that's one thing that made understanding the diagnosis confusing for me. Early on, I remember reading about AS and thinking, "I'm nothing like these people". The symptoms, as I had experienced them, were all tangled up and blended in this weird way. The book you just read lists the common traits: intense preoccupations and social difficulties. My preoccupation, from early childhood...

Doctor: Was the social difficulties.

M: Right! That wasn't supposed to happen. One trait fixated on the other. You hear about people who obsess over....like, obscure historical facts, or clocks or computer programming...they focus on things external to themselves. I went the other way or something. I was consciously trying to puppet my body, memorizing social cues, movements and inflections. I was so involved with the mechanics of it that it never occurred to me to step back and think, "It's just possible- maybe- that 20 years of this constitutes a preoccupation."

Doctor: You did amazingly well though. You learned a lot.

M: But in an area that I'm inherently weak in. The preoccupation thing, that's supposed to be a perk, not a compensation.

Doctor: Not necessarily.

M: Even the book mentioned that... that "AS frequently gives people the ability to pursue a fulfilling career". It's like, if you learn a lot about something that most people are unfamiliar with, you're an expert. But with body language, I learned a lot about something most people do without having to try. I broke even.

She doesn't say anything.

M: That's sort of funny actually. I'm waiting for you to laugh at that.

She doesn't say anything.

M: Anyway. I was kind of lost in the artificial mechanics of it all until I talked with you. Those two traits; the preoccupation was difficult to see because it didn't sound like the book descriptions, and the social difficulties were difficult to see because I can mimic body language. To be honest, that still confuses me. Can you think your way out of a neurological condition?

Doctor: That's a big debate right now, as to whether or not someone can shift out of the diagnosis. It really depends on who you ask. I had a professor who believed that, if you improved beyond a certain point, you ceased to meet the criteria for the diagnosis. Other people feel like...these being neurological issues...if the diagnosis fits, it's permanent. You can work on things, develop coping skills, but you're still living with the condition.

M: I've never asked you directly about...you know, your background and focus. It meant so much to me that, for a long time, you were not pushy about the diagnosis. You had implied things about it early on, but...

Doctor: I have no interest in applying a label. What I see with you...and with almost every spectrum client...is a perfect storm for self-loathing. I see unique thoughts and reactions and all of these wonderful qualities, yet the feedback from the rest of the world can be extremely negative. Or worse, you get ignored. And it's not a matter of finding the right diagnosis or label. That's important, that's necessary. I'm just finding that, ultimately, it gets down to the same issue: protecting your sense of self from this environment of ignorance.

She picks the book up, flips through it.

Doctor: I love that she found this on a book shelf. I love that this is out there. Some parent is going to come across this...they're going to have this "unusual" kid and, you know, something is going to click. This sort of thing, as it becomes more widespread...it's going to help.

M: Or, it could lead to the over-diagnosing of cats.

Doctor: That's very possible. So...you like the book?

M: It concisely covers a lot of territory, which is good. Are you going to start using it?

Doctor: Maybe with the kids. Seems ideal for parents. Definitely with the teens. It could be a good ice breaker for them.

M: Do you have teen clients? I'm asking a lot about other clients lately.

Doctor: I see three teenagers with AS.

M: Worst time of my life, adolescence. Complete nightmare.

Doctor: It's a struggle for everyone. Asperger's can be fuel to the fire, if there's not support. All three of them are asking the exact same question right now: "what is my place in the world?" They feel very lost right now. You okay?

M: That's just upsetting to hear. Whatever they are going through is going to be made so much easier by the fact that they are getting to meet with you. I know that you're the only reason I'm making it through this. I think about that first psychologist a lot and how he tried to apply Jung to what was going on, in this completely absurd way. I have this fear that other people are going to show up there with similar issues, and he's just going to completely fuck them up. I mean, if I had actually listened to that guy, it would have been a disaster. All I can think is: what if one of your younger clients had gone to him first? They need help understanding their own reactions to the world, and he'll say, "It's archetypal. It's a timeless battle within your consciousness". The teenagers you mentioned...if they had ended up seeing him instead, that would have been so unhelpful.

Doctor: I'm trying to remember...I think that in this part of the state, there are only two practicing Jungians.

M: I wonder if they hang out.

Doctor: I don't know.

M: I bet they hang out; play with mandalas together; interpret one another's dreams. "I dreamt I was a pony". "That means your animus is perfectly balanced". "Awesome". Fucking Idiots. Hoo. I'm off-track today. And anything relating to that first guy...that's like an instant bad mood for me. I shouldn't be talking about this.

finding the edges

This is about first awareness. I say that here because, as is my nature, I'll be round-about. Bear with me.

If you think of a memory and ask, "How old was I when that happened?", one way to make an estimate is by contrasting the experience with a range of age-based milestones. "Well...most kids are doing that around sixth grade, so it was probably around then." In other words: from where you are now...and from what you know about normal behavior...you reverse-engineer an answer.
But with the verbal comprehension I had as a kid, I deviated quickly from the milestones. It was advanced to the point that it is difficult now to accurately label memories. Not that "advanced" meant a whole lot in my case. By mid-adolescence or so people had caught up. And in other ways I was developmentally sub-par...spatial thinking a mess, not doing well with school work, not making friends, etc. It's just- much to the chagrin of my parents- words had a very strong hold on me at a very young age.

In other words: I was a loquacious little shit.

I've heard from my parents that, when most babies are beginning to repeat their first word, I was speaking in complete sentences. Confusion ensued. If people saw me in my mother's arms and started making faces at me, talking in baby-gibberish, I might string a few sentences together in response. Which I think is cool, personally, but it caught people off guard. There's something eerie about kids when they have those anomalous grown-up moments. In fact, there's an entire genre of horror film based on that phenomenon: the kids-knowing-things-they-shouldn't-know genre, where some pale, morose kid slowly looks at an adult and says ambiguous shit in a monotone voice. "They're coming to get us, mother". It's stressful. The public isn't down with those kids.

Anyway. The point is that there was a period of time when I was very focused on crayons and I'm not sure how old I was when it happened. I could have been anywhere from 3 to 10. I can recall the specifics, but not when they happened. I just remember that at some point I began to remove the paper from crayons.

With any new box my parents gave me, I would open it...take the crayons out one at a time...tear the paper covering off of each one...and then flush the pile of shreds down the toilet.

The crayons, once free from their cocoon, were pleasant to hold. The way they felt sort of like plastic...hard and soft at the same time...it was nice. The wrappers, on the other hand, were too raspy, had too much texture. It's not easy to describe, but it's like when you step on snow and your foot crunches down further than you were expecting...the sinking/dread feeling in that moment of surprise, that's how a thing can feel if it's texture is a little too rich. Not unpleasant, necessarily; just not something you're ready for.

Crayon-smell was also muchly intense, at least with a few of the colors. Blue crayons I could smell all day. They had a sort of fresh, neutral odor that I loved. Red ones were alluring, very sharp and magnetic. (To this day, the color red has a peculiar effect on me, I don't know why. Just...women in red sweaters...rowr.)

Green crayons. No. They smelled acrid, awful. As soon as I opened a new box, I had to take the green crayon out and hide it. Sometimes I would hide it under a couch cushion. On at least one occasion, I opened the front door and hurled it as far as I could. A difficult moment to explain to the parents.

"What are you doing, young man?"

"It had to be done. The green one smelled like squirrel."

"What?!"

I don't know. I'm lucky that psych meds weren't prevalent at the time.

I either had no reaction to the other colors or have forgotten what the reaction was. Blue. Red. Green. Those were the stand-outs.

I soon learned that mom and dad hated the paper shredding. "Why are you tearing up your new crayons?" Very strange...they viewed my improvements as destructive...so I tried to educate them. I responded with words. Then lectures. Then dissertations. They responded with reprimands. Then polite nods. Then silence.

A frustrating time, because words had always seemed so completely sufficient. And a painful time, because of what I didn't know: that other people were not having the same perceptual experiences. The scents and wrappers didn't bother my parents. They weren't bothering my teachers or other students. It didn't matter that I could explain (without hesitation) what I was doing. I could not explain why.

So whatever age this was...where the crayons are an issue...this is my first memory of language and reality clashing. This is when a subtle tension began to whisper in my ear, "Something is wrong. Something is happening." And at the edge of this awareness...this incipient turvy...I lost faith in what mattered most to me. Increasingly, words felt hollow. Disconnected.

Difference...it's important to add..is not a bad thing. But the awareness of difference is terrible. I don't even know what to say about it at this point, twenty, twenty-five years later. I tried to beat it, fill it with words, accept it, beat it again. And I still hate it. I still feel like a failure against it.

Be that as it may, there are other conflicts...subtle, whispering. Contrarians. Voices still trying to build up words, give them connection, substance. Working on a theory they've developed...a questionable theory...that one edge implies another. The other side. The question is there, anyway: can one be round-about without ever making a circle?

session: april 2006 (0)

Doctor: Last week we discussed comfort in the presence of other people. We're trying to define what that would mean for you.

M: It's frustrating. That should be an easy thing to define, but it's one of the more difficult issues I struggle with. I feel so strange around people, my body does. I can enjoy a conversation, personalities, thoughts, but I always feel so physically detached.

I tug at my wrist.

M: My body just doesn't seem to fit very well. So I've been thinking about this but it's confusing.

Doctor: How do you feel in here?

M: It's pretty bad. I would have to say much worse than usual. Because...you're right there. You're just sitting there and looking at me for an hour, it's very awkward. Usually when I'm around someone I become hyper-aware of my body and every muscle feels like this foreign object. But in here, since we sit facing one another, the weirdness is intensified. I've mentioned before: that's why I bring my coffee mug each week. I need a way of inconspicuously hiding my hands, just giving them some place to be without it being obvious that that's what I'm doing. I use this throw-pillow as a make-shift armrest so that my elbows will have a place to be. I have to consciously arrange myself each week in the same way that someone arranges trinkets in a display case.

Doctor: What's it like with other people? Let's say someone you're used to being around like your roommate or a family member.

M: It's slightly more bearable in cases like that. It never goes away but with a handful of people, it's bearable. In general...I'm trying to think how to describe it.

I pause, chase words around.

M: The sensation is comparable to what most people experience when they are giving a speech. Because on any other day, a person does not have to put conscious effort into the placement of their hands. The gestures they use, or when their hands are by their side: these things happen without the person ever having to think about it. But if a person is standing in front of an audience, suddenly they are aware of their hands in a conscious way. They can actually feel them dangling there and they think, "Er, what should I do with them? Should I cross my arms? Stick them in my pocket?" Which is interesting. In those moments, people are experiencing their hands as objects...things. A posture they might normally hold in an unconscious way- hands by their side for example- now feels unnatural. So let's say that the person decides, in front of the audience, to just keep their hands by their side...they are actually acting out their normal posture. They are making a conscious calculation, "Here's what I normally do" and then placing their hands in that posture. Mimicking themselves. Re-enacting their own normalcy.

Doctor: And this is what you typically experience.

M: I have to do that with my entire body any time I am around any person. I can feel my facial expression, my shoulders, arms, hands, all of it, and I have to consciously think about where to put them all. My body is a marionette. And I'm good at it now. It's still awkward but I've done this long enough that I've developed what are essentially programs, coordinated groupings of movements. Sub-routines. Schtick.

Doctor: This sounds so unpleasant.

M: No fun. Miserous.

Doctor: Has it felt that way consistently? Has it ever been different?

M: The sense of my body as an object really only happened once I taught myself how to mimic body language. Prior to the marionette...it was very weird. I've never really talked about it before. I'm not sure how to talk about it.

Silence. I think and think.

M: Body Dimorphic disorder...is that what it's called? When a person has a pathologically distorted self-image?

(Anorexics have this...they look in a mirror and actually see huge amounts of fat even though they may be very thin. )

Doctor: Yes.

M: When I was a kid I don't think I had a self-image. I'm trying to think of ways to describe it. It's like some sort of dimorphic issue was at work only instead of having a distorted self image, I was unable to form one at all. When a person looked at me...my body felt like liquid. If they looked at my nose, it began to feel hot, distended, wrong. If they then looked at my hand, it started feeling weird and my nose would go back to feeling normal. My body image was extremely fluid...it would shift and change constantly; and it didn't always feel bad. Sometimes things felt fine...but it was this random, unpredictable thing. I had no control over it. I think the sensory confusion...the way everything impacted me so strongly...it preventing me from feeling at home in my own body. And early on, social-data...the way people move all over, create so many different types of input...it was one of the more confusing, uncomfortable sources of stimuli. Oy. Does this make any sense at all?

Doctor: Definitely.

M: I've never said some of this.

Doctor: It sounds like you had a very reactive self-image.

M: Reactive, that's a good word. That's exactly how it felt. It was terrible. Eventually- by the time I was in junior high- the feeling became so overwhelming that I began to vomit several times a day. I had trouble keeping food down; my weight dropped quite a bit...I think it was around 8th grade. The doctors couldn't figure it out. They thought maybe I was a tad "anxious"...needed to work on breathing exercises. I was always getting this completely inadequate response from people.

We sit for awhile, no one says anything. Which is okay, I could use the slower pace.

M: You have a new purse.

Doctor: I do.

M: It's pink! Doctor...it's pink. No, no.

More silence.

M: I've never been able to figure out what caused that. The Asperger's label is too new to me. I'm having trouble understanding it in relation to things that have happened. I was hyper-aware at an early age...did that cause it? Or did feeling so detached cause the hyper-awareness?

Doctor: What are some of your earlier memories?

M: I remember a lot of smells. I guess that's normal, there's a strong connection between memory and smell. I remember around two or three years old noticing that each crayon had it's own distinctive smell. Instead of coloring with them, I would spend hours just breathing them in. The red one smelled like rich soil, the blue one like a car's bumper...the smell of the green crayon always made me feel nauseous, I had to hide that one. I haven't thought about this in years, but I remember feeling intensely nostalgic as a kid. Textures and smells would be so intense that I knew I would remember them my entire life. I remember being around 7 or 8 and standing at the pencil sharpener, turning it, grinding my pencil, and that smell- pencil shavings, they have that peppery smell, and I realized that for the rest of my life this smell would remind me of this moment. I immediately became nostalgic for the moment that I was in. I almost cried because I knew I would be haunted by that moment. I thought: "I'm going to finish sharpening my pencil and then this intense smell will be over...I'll have the memory of this moment forever but the moment itself is about to end." The same thing happened with bricks. I loved the rough texture of bricks and one day I was in the lunch room just feeling this one brick thinking, "When I'm grown up I'll remember this lunch room but I'll never be able to recall the exact texture of this particular brick. I'll forget, because I won't be able to touch it." It's like with the pencil: that one brick made me nostalgic for the moment I was in. I was having a perception and an imagined memory of that perception all at once.

Doctor: I don't think we need to categorize everything, but that certainly sounds like AS. Most kids never think about the pencil shaving and bricks around them, but many people with Asperger's have a strong sensory intelligence.

M: Huh. I just tended to think I was off-kilter. I can't even imagine what my teachers must have thought, seeing me sniffing the pencil sharpener and caressing bricks. I'm lucky they didn't medicate the hell out of me.

Doctor: It's just a different kind of awareness.

M: You know, a few weeks ago your cell phone was on the desk and it was pink. This is a troubling pattern.

Doctor: If you want to change topics, that's perfectly okay.

I don't say anything.

Doctor: Pink is my favorite color.

M: You're supposed to be building trust with me.

december 2007

I mishap myself.

I'm in a tiny white room. A nurse checks my weight, blood pressure; leaves. The physician walks into the room. I say patient things. He says and does doctor things. As that's happening, he chats. He always chats.

"You still work overnights?"

"Yup."

"You like that?"

"I do."

"Turn this way, please sir. Lift your right arm. I can't imagine working nights. I don't think I could fill up all those hours. Like, what do you do all night?"

"I tend to read a lot."

"Hmmm. Left arm. I'm trying to guess what you like. You're into...the Russians."

"The French. A lot of Proust lately."

"Oh. The whole thing?"

"I'm working on number four."

"Both arms up now, over your head."

He starts pressing, says "Right scapula...any pain there?"

"No."

"I read some French guy in college...Balzac?"

"Lost Illusions, Peret Goriot?"

"Can't remember. Long time ago. Blech. Wasn't my thing. This hurt?"

"No."

"This?"

"It's...weird. It goes numb."

"Proust...man, that's dense. What's your fun reading?"

"We probably define 'fun' a little differently."

"Come on! What's your fun reading?"

"Sometimes...if I've had a really tough week...I'll read philosophy. Mmm...precious, relaxing philosophy."

He stops what he's doing. He stares at me. He looks concerned, uncomfortable. He asks (in a cautious, slow voice): "We're not talking about Sartre, are we?"

"Yes! Look at your expression. I'm not reading it currently, but for awhile there. I mean, come on...who doesn't love Sartre?"

"Umm..."

"'Nothingness lies coiled in the heart of being....like a worm.'"

He mock shivers, resumes pressing, prodding.

"Does this hurt?"

"Feels weird. No pain. Not down with Sartre...but you're aware of Sartre. What's your preference?"

He brightens up.

"Bentham! I'm a Bentham man."

"Of course."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're a doctor. Bentham ensues."

"Such a cool guy. Love that he had himself stuffed."

He keeps going back to the right scapula, pressing; "Huh. Nothing against Sartre. Just...I don't know."

"Are you kidding? Your condemnation is a good thing. Nobody wants to hear their doctor choose Sartre over Bentham. I can relax. The stranger with his hands all over me is a Utilitarian. Whew!"

"There ya' go. Good point. You can put your shirt on."

He asks questions, scribbles notes, says, "Off to the specialist. Now...I can vouch for his ability. I cannot vouch for his philosophy. Want me to check on that for you?"

"No, no."

"Come on. What if he's not into Bentham?"

"Unthinkable."

"Fair enough. Now get out of here. Go read something fun, for Christ's sake."

asperger's syndrome meets alpha male syndrome

[January 2007]

7a.m., Monday morning. I make a rare appearance in the break room at work. I'm sipping coffee, trying to wake up. I'm standing in the corner hoping to avoid people, but a co-worker makes intentional eye contact and starts walking towards me. I think, "Why, god? Why?" I can't remember his name or which department he's from.

The protective social mimicry kicks in.

Co-worker: Dude, can you believe it?

Me: Dude, I really can't.

I have no idea what he's talking about.

Co-worker: You know what I'm talking about...right?

Me: Of course. You're talking about...you know, what a surprise it was.

C: I know! Twenty-one six at half-time!

I blank out...pause...then realize that this is likely a sports reference of some sort.

M: I mean, really. It was crazy.

C: Psshh. Best-team-in-the-league my ass.

M: Fuck 'em.

C: Did you see the whole thing?

M: Hell yeah. You didn't give up on it, did you?

C: Almost. Dude...I almost stopped at half time.

"Half time"...we're probably talking about football. Was the super bowl this weekend? Should I make a super bowl reference? No. Not yet. Rule #1 in conversing with humans: stay vague.

M: Still, games like that...that's what it's all about.

C: Oh no doubt.

Shit. He's looking at me expectantly, but I'm out of ammo. I'm glancing at the door behind him, thinking, "He's on to you! Run!"

M: So.

I need to bait him into saying something. What do they do in football?

M: The, um, throwing game...

I pause to see if he'll pick up the slack.

C: Seriously. It killed, you know? I mean, it was non-existent there for awhile, I didn't think it was gonna happen, but damn. It killed.

M: He stepped up when it mattered.

I'm assuming there's a notable "he" involved; seems like a safe bet.

C: They oughtta shorten his last name to just "Man", you know?

What?

M: Yes! There's an idea. And put a "the" in front of it. The Man.

C: Boo-yeah!

M: Woo!

He holds a fist up. I experimentally hold a fist up. He proceeds to tap his knuckles against mine. Oh god...I think I've just been initiated into some kind of weird sports cult.

M: Wow, look at the time. I'm late for a meeting...

C: Take it easy, bro.

I flee the scene.

session, February 2007

(For most of 2006 I refuse to accept the diagnosis. I explicitly refuse to discuss it in detail with Psychologist Number 2. Over the course of a year, I'm indifferent about it...then extremely bitter...then basically in denial. This is the first time she begins to push a bit, focus on it.)

She holds her hands up, palms out.

Doctor: Just as a hypothetical...

M: Okay.

Doctor: I've been wondering what it would be like if you met someone like yourself.

I can't think of anything to say. She waits.

Doctor: What do you think that would be like?

M: I have no idea.

Doctor: I would be very curious to see how that went.

For some reason, I can't come up with a response. More quietness.

Doctor: We know you do well in neuro-typical settings. You can get out there, socialize, participate. But what would happen if you didn't have to be observing and reacting to your surroundings?

I make an ickish face.

M: Are you asking me how I would respond to "acceptance"?

Doctor: No. This would be something else. What would happen if you met someone who knew exactly what you were experiencing, without either of you ever having to say anything?

M: I guess I can't think of an answer.

Doctor: Would you be interested in that?

M: I've never felt curious about it. My assumption is that meeting someone with AS...I mean, that's what your talking about, right?

Doctor: Yes.

M: I assume it would be just like meeting anyone else. We'd sit there, say a few things. I don't know. It would be just like any other conversation. I'd react to them based upon their statements, not their diagnosis. What would be different?

Doctor: They would implicitly understand.

I think and think.

M: That implicit thing...I get that here. I talk to you. You understand what's going on. I've never felt like I need to replicate this, if that's what you mean.

Doctor: But...huh.

This confuses her.

Doctor: If you met someone like yourself, you wouldn't have to talk things out, explain them. There would just be this shared thing going on.

M: That's true. It's not that I have no desire to meet another person with AS. It's just...I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like, either way, positive or negative, so it's hard to have much of a reaction.

Doctor: Again, that's just a hypothetical, something I was thinking about. Another client of mine...I wasn't present when this happened, but they met someone else with the diagnosis and he said it was a very positive experience. For him, just knowing that he didn't have to alter anything or explain anything.

M: Do you have other adult AS clients now?

Doctor: No. This was a teenager. I'm seeing kids for the most part. The adults aren't coming in...and unfortunately, I don't think there are any groups in the area, for people with Asperger's. There are several for family members of people with autism, support groups, but that's about it. And if there were one, I'm not sure you should attend at this point. You may not be ready for that. You may not be interested.

M: From what I've read online, I don't seem to have much in common with other adult AS people.

Doctor: I remember you saying that. You've looked at some of the adult communities?

M: Right.

Doctor: And what did you think?

M: Across the board, they described AS as if it were a really cool club. When discussing neuro-typical people, for example, it sounded like they were describing members of a rival fraternity. Like, "Why are normal people so obsessed with small talk? Silly typicals...their quaint habits amuse us." That was sort of the tone.

Doctor: Hmm.

M: A pride thing, which is great. I'm just not...I don't know. I'm not in a place where that's happening. I'm down with self-acceptance, but when I read someone using "neuro-typical" as a pejorative, I just lose interest.

Doctor: If you met someone in person, though, just one on one, it would probably be different.

M: Probably. I guess I shouldn't make assumptions about what other adult AS people are like. My only understanding of it is based upon what I've read, and I have trouble knowing how representative that is.

Doctor: Let's step back for a bit and focus on this.

I stretch my arms...start pulling my hair.

Doctor: I think the diagnosis- accepting it- has been a real barrier. We're trying to establish a certain set of goals- making friends, finding a companion- and my fear is that your real goal is: "not having these difficulties". It's something we keep running up against. Any time you try something new...anytime you make a change in behavior...it evokes your differences and you become upset, depressed.

M: I've had a hard time absorbing it. When I read about it initially- the technical stuff, or the experiences of other people- it doesn't make sense to me. I don't think I sound like other AS people. On the other hand, I don't understand it very well...and I'm sitting across from a psychologist. You work with the diagnosis, have more experience with it, I should just ask you questions.

She waits.

M: People with Asperger's...it seems like most of them are very analytical. Very much into math and computers. I'm terrible with both of those things.

Doctor: Those are not givens. I work with AS clients who dislike math; who know nothing about computers. But analytical? I would describe you as analytical.

M: I don't obsess over train schedules. I don't interrupt people so that I can talk endlessly about obscure historical facts. And that seems to be one of the more common traits, that whole "fixation" thing. That's in the diagnostic descriptions.

Doctor: I would say that you have...your thinking can be very focused. You are a big-picture, black-and-white thinker. But in conversation, you've learned the give-and-take. I've never found that to be a problem with you.

M: This isn't...fuck. The DSM. I've read that. I don't sound like that. This is not making sense to me.

She folds her hands together. Waits.

M: I said I would ask, but then I didn't ask.

I untie my shoes. Re-tie them. I drink coffee.

M: My shoes feel weird today. People have bad hair days; I have bad shoe days. Ack. You told me early on that you thought AS fit, but you weren't sure....and since then, we've referenced it a lot, used it as a framework, but we've never explicitly discussed it. And I don't know what you would say now. Would you say that it's accurate?

Doctor: Yes.

M: You...I don't know why this is so hard to ask. You've seen people like me?

Doctor: Yes. Some clients remind me of you very much. They're into books. They're verbal. Articulate. Struggling socially. Other clients...I have one who is highly skilled at origami. Another who focuses very intensely on anime. Not math. Not computers. And with some clients, they're not focusing on a single topic. Their issues are completely different. A lot of the time I am working with sensory issues...learning to identify them, manage them...

M: And so...ugh.

Doctor: It's not, "Do you possess every possible trait?" They will differ from person to person. They will differ to the point that the specific diagnosis can be difficult to pin down. What I can say with confidence is that you are on the autism spectrum. And you understand that concept?

M: I think so. I have a general understanding of it. It's just a broad range of things.

Doctor: Right. Another thing to keep in mind is that you are 31 years old. Traits can change considerably over time, especially given your history. You're just in a different place than what a lot of the diagnostic descriptions present. Ultimately, it gets down to the core traits. Some of them you do not have at all. Some of them you have only mildly. But...

She waves her hand in front of her eyes.

Doctor: You are blind, socially. When it comes to body language, non-verbal cues...you are seeing these things amazingly well. Better than most of us. But you're not integrating them...and you're not sending them. Whatever accounts for that- be it AS or something else- it's going to be a spectrum disorder.

M: So we're basically using AS as a default setting?

Doctor: No. I think it fits. It accounts for everything. A "default setting"- since you mention it- would be something like Pervasive Developmental Disorder Not Otherwise Specified . But with your blindness, the way it manifests itself...that's a very big clue. There is one other thing...ummm....Non-verbal Learning Disorder. Are you familiar with it?

M: No. I thought that was just a bigger word for hyperlexia.

Doctor: No. It's a category that is much more focused on the social difficulties.

M: I just hate that it's all so vague like that. There should be more specificity with something as serious as a neurological condition. If the concepts are going to be so broad, why not create a catch-all diagnosis and get it over with. What was it you said? Pervasive Developmental Disorder?

P: Not Otherwise Specified.

M: Why not: We'll Get Back To You On That. "Oh no. I have WGBTYOT." It's a tortured acronym. How would you sound that out?

Doctor: I don't...

M: I'm a woodge-butt-yacht. A woodgie.

Doctor: M. There are other clues here, that help categorize what's going on. All of your coping mechanisms...like the marionette...what are they geared towards?

M: The social.

Doctor: The social. Body language in particular. Early in your life, some part of you knew what was going on. You may not have understood the exact nature of it, but some part of you recognized the social blindness and tried to compensate for it. Everything you taught yourself...observing people, moving like people...it was all for the purpose of filling in those deficits.

M: Okay. What's frustrating is that I was able to have that insight..."I need to learn body language"...but I then proceeded to fuck it up so badly. I wish I could have followed through a little more.

Doctor: You did amazingly well.

M: Doctor, what standard are you using? Well, you're probably going with the objective, psychologist point of view. "He did well...for an introverted dork who likes to say random weird shit." My standard for success is different. It's, "Am I getting laid more than once a decade?" And...thinking back here...nope. Not feeling too good about my social skills. They suck. On the bright side, this will all make for a riveting sexual biography: chapter one...the end. It's brief. Which is why I worked in that surprise ending. The part where surprisingly little happens.

Doctor: Okay, M. Stop for a second.

M: But I could...

Doctor: Stop, please. I know you are being facetious, but I'm not always sure where the humor ends and the self-loathing begins. So if necessary here, I want to correct you. You mentioned that you say "weird shit". And I have to ask myself: "Does he really believe that? Or is this part of the joke?" Do you think you say "weird shit"?

M: No. I don't actually think that.

Doctor: Okay.

M: A lot of this is difficult to talk about, so exaggerating, I guess it helps a little.

Doctor: Just wanted to check.

M: All in good fun.

Doctor: Good. And by the way.

She smiles.

Doctor: I caught you earlier.

M: What do you mean?

Doctor: When you were describing what would happen if you met someone else with AS. I caught you. You said, essentially, that their diagnosis wouldn't matter. That you would just react to their statements. *Gasp* Is that possible? I thought having AS meant being invisible.

I pause, thinking back.

Doctor: AS is like this "barrier that's impossible to get past". But...if someone else has it, you can see their personality. That is what you said, right?

M: I don't remember.

Doctor: Seems like another person could just as easily see your personality. Unless, of course, you're the only person who can get past small talk and body language and all of that.

I growl and fidget. I stare off to the left, at the bookcase. She leans sideways, puts her eyes in my line of sight.

Doctor: Caught you.

people sketch- from August 2007- (part 2)

The week off continues...

I read too much. More lately than I've read in my entire life. Series, volumes, epics. By the end of each day, my eyes hurt.

I drink too much. I find that I can't exercise when hungover. My head feels thick, dizzy, and it tilts me to the left. I drift or something. I'm on the treadmill and every 5 to 10 seconds I bang into the side rail.

...clomp, clomp, clomp, bang, "Fuck!", clomp clomp, clomp, bang, "Fuck!"...

One day I finally do the unthinkable...I go out. I haven't thrown myself into new situations with new people in many years, so I talk myself into trying. I go to a pub. I have the option of sitting in a booth and being alone, but I talk myself into sitting at the bar. I tell myself, "Be social. Interact with humans. Make your psychologist happy."

A guy walks in, sits to my left. He's wearing a white dress shirt, black pants. His sleeve is riddled with stains.

I say, "Waiter."

He says, "Olive Garden. Best job ever. Love it."

He waves at the bartender, says, "Dude, I am so sorry about last night." He turns to me and explains: "I was here last night. Got totally messed up." He asks the bartender, "Did I pay my tab?" Bartender replies, "Yup" and the guy tells me "Sometimes I get so out of it that I forget to pay. That's happened at least three times now. I black out, wake up at home and there's a message from the bar...I'm special, they've got my personal info on record...I'll hear, 'Beep. This is The Bar. We've got a tab here you need to pay on.'"

I tell him, "They must trust you...to let you leave like that, without paying."

"They know I'm just drunk. And I'm a waiter. They're good to waiters here."

I drink too quickly. Thoughts swim, merge; they feel like wax in a lava lamp. I can't stop blinking.

"They have a lot of televisions in here," I say. "It makes my eyes hurt, woo."

"I don't watch television," waiter-guy says. "Unless I'm out like this or something. But at home, I don't have a television".

"You're intellectual. Intellectuals say that sort of thing."

"It's not that. It's just a computer thing. I'm on the computer a lot. Warcraft."

He looks at me. I don't say anything. He says, "You haven't played Warcraft?"

"I haven't."

"Well, it's kind of pointless. I'm not into it really. I play a little bit, but mostly I'm too busy for crap like that."

He mentions a topic, but then backs away from it. Interesting! He's worried I'll judge. I'm curious: if I say something about the game that is false, will he correct me? If it's true that he "doesn't have time for that crap", he'll let it go. So I start playing a little bit.

I say, "Warcraft. That has...like, magic hobbits?"

"No, no. Mages."

"And you fight...evil goblins?"

"Orcs. And it depends on which faction you're with. You could be a orc and fight the mages...well, technically you're fighting the Alliance, which includes the mage guild..."

He pauses, then says "But, you know...I only play a little. Never have time for it".

"Right."

"It's like I said, it's sort of pointless."

He's in retreat mode again. I have to keep him going: "Doesn't sound pointless. Sounds like you're really having to employ strategy, logic..."

"You do!"

"Sounds like chess a little bit. You're having to think."

"It's like chess, but way more complicated. I'm mean, with the guilds, you're having to compartmentalize your powers and then sort of delegate everything...like, depending on your skill level, you're having to delegate this finite quantity of power and that all gets down to the specializations of the characters..."

"And they participate in factions?"

"Um...it's more complicated than that. It's hard to describe, because I'm not overly familiar with it..."

He keeps repeating this, it's awesome. He has to throw out these defensive clarifications. Hee.

I ask, "What's the difference between a faction and a guild?"

"Okay. It's like this: in the game, you have to choose to be on one of two sides..."

"Good versus evil?"

"No. It's just two sides. It's value neutral. And those are the factions. There are two factions."

He names then. I can't remember the names.

He continues: "Then, within each faction, there are a variety of skill subsets; characters with a specific focus. Some characters focus on magic, some on weapons, some on intellectual ability...and these specializations, these are the guilds."

"Which guild are you in?"

"Oh, dude...I've got like twenty characters going right now. I'm in all of them. You have to employ all of the different guilds in order to win a fight. You can have multiple characters or you can join up with other online players. What I've learned (the few times I've played) is that: when you're in a fight, you have to counter-balance the skills of your characters so that you can inflict a maximum of damage."

He describes a typical fight and begins lapsing into increasingly obscure gaming lingo. I'm zoning out. All I can manage at this point is, "Chessy."

"Totally. Very chess-like. You should play it. It's really, really good."

I pretend to watch television. He keeps going. I think, "Please stop now" but it's my fault, so I feel trapped. I hear the phrase "skill level" 800 times. Eventually, he starts calling people on his cell phone. He tells someone, "Dude, I kicked his ass. It was brutal. He broke out this little sword and this little pouch of magic stones and I was like, 'Hello? I can hurl lava.' Boom. Destroyed him."

A guy takes the seat to my left. He watches a television that's showing a news station. He glances at me and says, "The media, man. It's all lies."

Conspiracy theorist. I should have stayed home.

He asks, "You don't buy into it, do you? The news?"

"I guess not."

I'm conflicted about whether or not to have this conversation. On the one hand, I'm curious about which sort of conspiracy person he is...left-wing or right-wing? On the other hand, it will bore the shit out of me either way. There's always this part of me that wants to know, that wants to label, but it's tough to stay motivated. And after the Warcraft monologue, I'm mentally tired.

The guy says, "It's getting to where they don't even bother with news anymore. They'll talk about the weather or do these little puff pieces. It's all distraction. Noise."

Generally speaking, there are two conspiracy people:

1. book-of-Revelation, mark-of-the beast types; they fixate on "single currency, single government" paranoia and utilize catch-phrases such as, "New World Order" and "cashless society". Also knows as: Christians With Too Much Free Time.

Or...

2. 9-11-is-a-lie, the-buildings-were-rigged types; they fixate on "neo-con/Israeli" paranoia and utilize catch-phrases such as, "Building 7" and "controlled demolition." Also known as: The Politically Disaffected (with too much free time).

I say, "So, the news is a lie. Example."

He says, "Like with 9-11..."

I say "Excuse me," walk outside, call my former roommate and say, "You have to rescue me. You have to hang out with me today. I'm at the pub. I need a normal conversation today. I might lose it if I don't have one. I'll become one of Them."

I go back inside. The guy is waiting: "There is so much they never explained. Like Building 7..."

And so on. I drink an ungodly amount. By the time my roommate shows up, it's too late: I'm one of Them. We move to a booth and I ramble for hours about my topics of choice: depression, isolation, anxiety.

He listens and nods politely and that's what friends do: nod politely as you drink and hyper-verbalize your despair.

I go back to work a few days later.

The End.

preface

She's on one side of the room, in her usual cat-like repose. I'm on the other side...fidgeting, swatting at my shoelaces. I squint at the clock. The session is almost over.

M: Can I tell you a story? Do we have time?

Doctor: We have a few minutes. It's okay to go over.

M: Okay.

I mirror her repose.

M: In tenth grade I went through this very...strange period. It was a transitional period. Because, prior to that I was socially awkward and terribly anxious. After that I was socially adept but depressed. It is during tenth grade...I was 15...that I'm really experimenting with the marionette. I am observing people and then practicing specific movements. Externally, everything seems normal. Mom and Dad...Ozzie and Harriet...they can't see what's happening. I go to school, home, church; I am jumping through all of the requisite hoops. Internally, things are getting off-kilter. I begin to consciously set up goals relating to body language. I am saying to myself, "I need to practice hand movements"...so for that week, the theme is Gesturing Casually. I sit in class or on a bench in the hallway and all I do is watch the way people move their hands when they talk. Then I initiate conversations and repeat what I've seen. I mimic and, as I converse, I'm talking myself through the encounter: "Tone down your left hand; move your arm less but your fingers more; etc." Discovery Channel has 'Shark Week', I have 'Elbow Week'. Eventually, I start to take things further. I notice that, if a person is walking and they look "busy", no one interacts with them. People can sense when someone is on an errand and they tend to give that person a little extra space. No one interrupts them or stops them for small-talk. I find this to be fascinating. For weeks and probably months, this is the theme: Looking Busy. I sit in hallways and observe. I pick up on the fact that a lot of it involves the eyes. It's hard to explain but the mechanism is...looking very focused, even though your eyes are actually on nothing. Does that make sense?

D: Yes.

M: If someone has this mildly intense expression, but they're looking ahead, at nothing in particular...and if they're walking briskly...they Look Busy. I make note of the basics and start to practice. One day, I stand up in the middle of class. The teacher is lecturing...we're supposed to be taking notes...I stand up and walk out of the room. The teacher doesn't stop me. I walk back into the classroom and a few minutes later do the same thing. The teacher doesn't stop me. So, over the next few weeks I repeat this, over and over, only at some point I stop going back to class.

Doctor: You just leave?

M: Yes. I Look Busy, walk out and roam the hallways. I start skipping class...and the goal is not to avoid class, the goal is to get out and practice more. Like, if I'm walking around between classes, the stakes are higher. You're not supposed to be in the hallways without a pass, so I take this to be a challenge. I walk around looking for teachers and principles to walk past. I want to see how far I can take it, the invisibility.

Doctor: And you never get stopped?

M: Some. I did so this many times that I inevitably got caught from time to time. I would say 4 out of 5 times I would skip class and not get caught. If I did get stopped, I could never think of a reason to lie about it, so that was a good time. A teacher would ask, "Why are you out of class?" and I would respond, "I'm skipping. Why?" I would get detention and immediately go back to skipping. I didn't care. I was having too much fun.

Doctor: It sounds like there was an element of enjoyment, of game-playing.

M: Definitely. So. I'm experimenting, learning body language. And eventually the skipping gets old...so I take things even further. I'm strolling around the hallways one day, missing class and finally I think, "Why not leave school"? I hop into my car and drive off. And the only thing on my mind is: where can I learn more? Where can I both pick up and practice newer body language? I go into town. I stop at various places...stores, restaurants, side-walks...and then I discover the ultimate place for observing body language. Banks. Banks rock. No one is there unless they are on a dull errand so everyone is in a hurry; it's this buffet of rushed walks and focused looks. Walking into the first bank during this period I thought, "And lo the Manna of Normalcy hath found me."

Doctor: Not, I have to say, typical 15-year old behavior.

M: No, no. Oy. Most 15-year olds, if they skip class, it's for the purpose of obtaining beer or roaming around with friends or smoking pot. I'm skipping class and hanging out in banks. I got weird.

Doctor: Not weird. You're observing, establishing goals, game-playing. There's nothing "weird" in that. It's just...not typical.

M: Well, the point is that, in tenth grade, my average day was complicated. I was getting very lost in my head and becoming very invisible. And I cannot describe what it was like to go home at the end of the day...to get off the school bus and hear from my parents, "How was school, honey?" That was a difficult question for me. How do I even begin to answer something like that? "Well mom, I didn't go to school. Technically, I did spend one hour on campus, roaming in circles, practicing my shoulder placement. But otherwise I was in a bank lobby working on my Businessman Walk...which mostly involves leading out with your toe and de-emphasizing the "pendulum" action of the knee in favor of a more stilted, marching action. So. How was your day, Mom?"

Doctor: A little tough to work that into small-talk.

M: A little tough. When I failed to make friends as a kid, they couldn't handle that. By 15? There was nothing about me I could share. There was nothing in their world view that allowed for what I was becoming.

oz

Dorothy gaped, afraid, at the visage of wisdom. Toto reacted with boredom. He just barked and took a peek behind the curtain. And there it was, wisdom...this wrinkled liar. Pursued by science. Pondered by philosophy. Discovered by a dog.

This is why animals are considered to be animals: they lack the decency to gape. It's the intellectual equivalent of blushing. Really, is it too much to ask? We're sensitive about our truths. We need them intact. If you ask, no one...not even Plato...heard the clattering of dropped spoons at God's final brunch. It never...wait, what was I talking about? Christ I'm unfocused. I don't know what's going on. Oatmeal! That's what I was saying. Oatmeal. It rocks, you know? Cold weather, something warm like that. Good stuff. Anyway.

initiatory ramble

sometimes i go running in the middle of the night; i sleep during the day and sometimes when i'm up i'll put on the right shoes...the soft ones that make me bounce when i step...and i'll start running; whichever direction, i don't care. down sidewalks, through lawns, up and down parking lots, it doesn't matter. i'm an idiot. you have to get the laces all equally tight...the pressure has to all be the same...otherwise, when you run, it feels like your foot is trying to squirm it's way out. what would happen, in reality, is that your shoe would fall off, but my mind tells me, "oh shit, it's trying to get away; your foot, it's escaping." and then i have this image of my foot popping out of my shoe and hopping off and it would be difficult to chase down, because one of the feet required for the act of "chasing" would be...well, off. which is what makes the foot's escape plan so brilliant: knowing that it couldn't catch itself without it's lack of not being there. i am not a graceful runner, so it works out that my bouts of running happen at night. at the very most, someone looking through their window might spot a gawky, dork-like blur jotting past, but that's about it. identity is softer at night, less real.

it can happen that i'll read without my permission; it's midnight, i wake up, suddenly there's a book in my face; i'm not aware of it until the windows are glowing...sunrise...i realize my eyes hurt. they're strained and...i'm not sure...but i may forget to blink or something. my eyes lunge at words and forget to pull back, in their best imitation of gravity. my eyes do tricks, like fleas, like fish.

the part i hate most about the grocery story is the walking-in part because you're approaching the automatic doors...and you see them closed and you're supposed to move forward on the assumption that, once close enough, they'll swing open for you...but it's happened before that you almost walked into them, because they were malfunctioning or something...and that embarrassment branded itself into your muscles; so now when you're getting close to the doors, you slow down and tense up and watch them like a hawk, mentally daring them to stay closed..."do it; stay closed; i'm ready for it"...and the fact that you are quietly engaged in a power struggle with doors, that doesn't feel particularly healthy, but you can't seem to help it; you glare at them anyway, showing them your competitive indifference, your defensive lack of concern, "i dare you, stay closed"; they whoosh open and you breathe out and you hope that no one saw your weird little moment there.

the other thing about the grocery store is that you overhear bits of conversation and you want to interrupt people and tell them to explain the context of what they're saying, just so that you can make sense of their seemingly random words; you walk past a couple in the soup aisle and you want to approach them, say "wait, your cat doesn't drive tractors? what?" the ambiguity of over-heard conversation reminds you of your lack of omnipotence. it's annoying. and you're easy going...you don't have to be omni-potent; you'd settle for tri-potent; two-and-a-half-potent; whatever. it's all good.