#I feel like I should've known what a badger is

[bewareofthenewphannie]

(by the way, until this video I was convinced that badgers are some type of bird? I don't know why I thought that and I'm sure at some point I must've learned what they actually are, but somehow I forgot. anyway, that means when phil told that badger story to his mum I always thought he was talking about birds and slightly confused what kind of bird would behave like that)

[galaxythedragonshifter]

I guess a rant or something idk.

I'm just gonna be kinda ranting a bit, so this post is probably going to be extremely long, lmao. So apologies. 😅 Also, TW: lots of serious stuff like abelism, Aphobia, kidnapping mention, r*pe culture, ect. Please be safe and click away if any of these are triggers!

I also apologize for posting something so serious, but I needed to get a lot of my anger off of my chest.

I think one of the biggest problems in today's society is basic respect. I've noticed a lot of disrespect and needless Aphobia, abelism, racism, sexism, ageism, and a lot more going around in almost EVERY community.

A lot of it is just...needless insulting and just commenting unnecessary things that had no business being there. It's happening on Instagram and YouTube probably even more than ever recently (I don't remember it being as toxic as it is now), and people are just...rude in general.

People don't seem to know how to mind thier own business and quit insulting random people on the internet. Who cares if another person doesn't want to continue their bloodline? It's literally none of your business unless the person wants to disclose that information.

Who cares if someone is Aroace. Doesn't mean you have to be butthurt about it. "Just say you're single". How about you can it and leave people alone?

Someone on Instagram posts about their experiences being an autistic person? "You're not autistic. You can talk and function." And you're not a doctor, nor autistic yourself, but here we are.

Just a few weeks or so ago (maybe a month idk), I had at least two people badgering me online about me not wanting to continue my bloodline, and saying "just donate sperm." Despite the fact that I mentioned I was female twice. It had started out as an "As an Aroace, this is an absolute win" comment on a YouTube poll. I had gotten a few innocent inquires, and I politely explained, only for them to turn more "aggressive". (A more accurate way to put it would be "insulting") They were full grown adults too. It makes me really concerned that a minor is more mature than a full grown adult who should've known better.

It's super concerning that I know how to respect people's boundaries more than full grown hecking adults. It's terrifying.

On another post, there was a girl talking about her story where her parents had signed her up for a Wilderness "Therapy" Camp. She was kidnapped, taken to said camp, str*p searched, forced to survive in freezing temperatures, her shoes were taken so she couldn't run, she was told she was only going to be there for 7-10 weeks; she was there for 13, she was taken to another location for 3 months, than taken to a third location for 9, and was only able to see her brother in person for four days.

At least 80% of the comments were downright disrespectful and disgusting. "Quit making yourself the victim." "You were probably sent there for a reason." Ect. It's disgusting, it's disrespectful, it's invalidating. Sometimes I'm not even sure why people saying that stuff think it's even a relatively ok thing to even bring up.

People need to learn to (excuse my language) shut the fuck up, get off their high horses, and and get the fuck over it. People are acting like entitled assholes, and it needs to stop. They need to stop thinking that the world revolves around them. Because guess what, it doesn't.

Even further is the r*pe culture stuff. "Were they wearing anything provocative?" "Were they drunk?" Ect. Shut up. They never said "yes" in a confident and clear mind, so keep your fudging hands to yourself. Just because someone is showing a little bit of their kneecaps does NOT give you permission to touch them, grope them, ect.

Why do people like this feel the need to say things like this? Why do people feel the need to be invalidating other people's experiences and traumas? Why do they feel like they have the authority to control another person's decisions and choices??

(and these are the same people who call the younger generations "snowflakes" for fighting for better work/life balances and better pay to accommodate for inflation)

Again, I'm sorry for the slightly more negative post. I just felt that this issue needs to be talked about somewhere.

[whisperclan-clangen]

Yarrowpaw's Injuries

“This is ridiculous,” Hopelight all but growls as Tempestchaser applies a poultice to Yarrowpaw's freshly mangled tail. “You just recovered from a broken back, and Icystar is already overloading you with patrols! Is he trying to get you killed!?”

Yarrowpaw looks up at her littermate, rage teeming in his golden eyes. She should've been able to become a warrior alongside him and their sister, Slumberhare, but just after becoming an apprentice, had her back broken by a falling tree. It's taken her the past several seasons to recover, and she's so grateful to StarClan that the injury didn't leave her paralyzed. But now...

“It's not his fault we've got a badger in our territory,” she says. “Besides, I asked him to put me on more patrols. I'm behind in my training. This is my fault.”

“For StarClan's sake! No, it's not!” Tail lashing, he continues. “He's the leader, he should know better.”

Before Yarrowpaw can respond, Tempestchaser speaks up. “It takes time to readjust to being back on your paws after such a terrible injury.” Her voice is calm as a clear lake on a windless day, the complete opposite of her namesake, but the twitching tip of her tail betrays her displeasure with their leader's treatment of their Clan's oldest, and currently only, apprentice. “It was nothing but foolish to send you straight to investigate the sett right after returning from border patrol. He should have known better.”

Yarrowpaw feels the fur on the back of her neck bristle. “I'm not helpless! If I say I can take on more patrols, then I can!”

“That's not what I'm saying,” says Tempestchaser.

Pikedaisy, who had been listening in while being treated by Charfeather for his aching bones, chimes in, “This is just the latest in a history of bad decisions from our wise leader.” He flicks his ears, annoyed. “Honestly, he's growing senile, but he's got nine more senile lives left. He oughta retire, and pass those lives onto Riverfur. Now there's a cat who could lead us.”

“Doubtful,” meows Charfeather. Prodding at the herbs he's laid in front of Pikedaisy encouragingly, he elaborates, “He clings onto those lives like a tree branch in a flood. Now come on, Pikedaisy, eat up.”

“Will you all stop disrespecting Icystar!?” Yarrowpaw digs her claws into the bedding underneath her, ears pulled back. “This isn't about him! I should've been more careful. That's all.”

Hopelight growls again, wordlessly, frustrated that almost every cat in the medicine den seems to be missing the point. He turns his gaze from his sister to Tempestchaser, who gives him an understanding, but resigned, look.

“Whatever!” He meows. “I'm going to go give him a piece of my mind. See you later, Yarrowpaw.”

With that, he whirls around and storms out of the medicine den.

[cxppuccinxz]

You know what, fuck it, I wanna scream into the void like I'm talking to all of you

Red wolf, I'm here. I'm right here and I want you to see me. I want to be your downfall. I'm done hiding from you, fearing you, apologizing for nothing to you, trying to take you back. You're too far gone and I fucking hate you. I want to face you head on. Scream at me, hit me, kick me, punch me, I won't feel it. I can be your punching bag, just stop hurting them.

Green sheep, FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU I LOVED YOU SO MUCH I WANTED TO BE JUST LIKE YOU I TRUSTED YOU BECAUSE WE HAD SIMILAR TRAUMAS AND YOU GO AND FUCKING DO THAT?! I LOVED YOU

Light blue badger, you have no idea what you've done to me. Seven fucking years of endless pain and torture and feeling unloved all because of you. Where are you now? Am I even a person to you?!

Pink owl, I should've known there was something not right with you. You made us go around the cycle again just to serve your own morbid curiosity. Did you have fun? Are you happy now you've left us in the dust of a third repeat?

Purple deer, I love you. I don't know how, but I love you, and I never want you to know. I know you could never love me back, you never should love me back - not right now anyway - but I can't change the way I feel. You're on my mind all day every day, I worry about you constantly, I scream and cry and nearly hate myself for being given everything while you had nothing. I need to speak with fate and personally beat their ass. Why does an angel like you get nothing and sinner like me get everything?

[meowmageddon]

September 2023 Reading Update!

Wild that it's already September! Feels like my reading is finally returning to normal after the busy end to last year and buying our house this year.

Following my new monthly update format plans, I'll cover what I finished reading last month, what I'm currently working through, what I plan to get to this month, and some new and upcoming releases that sound cool! So as it's a Long Post ahead, I'll give you a break here.

August Reads Mini-Reviews

Trans-Galactic Bike Ride ed. by Lydia Rogue - 3.5 stars

The stories in this anthology varied in quality a bit, and some felt a bit young for me, despite not being YA per se. Still a good time, with a few especially memorable romps. Full review here.

Moonshot: The Indigenous Comics Collection Vol. 1 ed. by Hope Nicholson - 4.5 stars

Great all around collection! My personal favorites were "Ochek" by David Robertson & Haiwei Hou, "Coyote and the Pebbles” by Dayton Edmonds & Micah Farritor, and “Home” by Ian Ross & Lovern Kindzierski & Adam Gorham & Peter Dawes.

Babel by R.F. Kuang - 4 stars

This was very much My Shit, but also could have benefited from being a duology or even trilogy instead of one book. I loved how stuffed it was with etymology and history, though some might find that more dense a read than they'd like. The shift from the relatively slow, observational pace of the beginning to the tense action after about 300 pages can be a little jarring. And I wish we'd had more fleshing out of the other characters and their relationships, as well as time spent to take the commentary on empire and colonization back further. As my first R.F. Kuang read, it was very enjoyable, though.

More detailed review on Goodreads or The StoryGraph.

Moonshot Vol. 2 ed. by Hope Nicholson - 5 stars

It felt like the project really hit its stride here. Lots of great stories and art. My favorites of the bunch were “Worst Bargain In Town” by Darcie Little Badger & Rossi Gifford, “Water Spirits” by Richard Van Camp & Haiwei Hou, and “Journeys” by Jeffrey Veregge.

Current September Reads

Back down to the appropriate number of reads: The Library Book, The Physical TBR Book, and The Project Book.

Moonshot Vol. 3 ed. by Elizabeth LaPensée, Ph.D. & Michael Sheyahshe

As with the previous volumes, more comics, illustrated stories, and artworks by Indigenous creators. This time edited by past contributors! Over halfway through, so it won't take long to finish.

Lone Women by Victor LaValle

Things have gotten intense in ways I didn't expect it to go (not a negative!). About a third of the way through, should be easy to finish this month.

Speaking Bones by Ken Liu

Had some neat revelations and some frustrating mistakes on the part of characters who should've known better so far. Only at p. 142 out of 1047. 💀

Additional September Plans

White Cat, Black Dog by Kelly Link

This is on its way to my local library branch, so I'll be picking it up soon! It's Kelly Link's new story collection, just released this March. I look forward to more of her strange and wonderful works.

Loot by Tania James

Mentioned in my previous update, when I received it from the publisher's Goodreads giveaway. Going to start it once I finish Lone Women.

Upcoming Releases

A Crown So Cursed by L.L. McKinney (September 19th)

Third book in the Nightmare-Verse series, inspired by Alice in Wonderland stuff. I'm not always into YA fantasy, but I've been having a great time with this series!

The Pomegranate Gate by Ariel Kaplan (September 26th)

Adult historical fantasy set during the Inquisition, featuring Sephardic Jewish folklore. As Toba's people flee rather than forcibly convert, she's separated and ends up in a realm of powerful beings. Naftaly seeks to rescue her, encountering even more dangerous secrets along the way. Warning that it is the first in a series, and word on the street is that there's a cliffhanger ending.

So that's what's going on this month for my reading. If you read this far, know that I love you! 💕

[sapphosvioletts]

Quiet Moments

Bucky Barnes x Autistic Daughter reader

Request: i was wondering if you could possibly do a rewrite of tfatws for bucky x autistic!daughter for the scene in ep5 where they’re all working on the boat together, and they go into sensory overload and it’s just rlly fluffy?

Word count: 1,381

Warnings: description of sensory overload

Note: Not every autistic person experiences autism the same. I'm autistic and I am writing from my perspective of how I personally experience autism, but not everyone feels the same as me or has the same perspective as I do.

-the reader is adopted, they are not biologically related. I want my writing to be inclusive to everyone, which is why i am specifying this incase it isn't directly said in the fic

.oOo.

I try to give polite smiles as I walk by the others, but it's difficult given how overwhelmed I already am. There's so many people, people that I don't even know. I can't stand crowds and new people make me anxious, so I should've known that it would be too much for me.

When I finally spot my dad, who is on the boat doing some work while talking to Sam, I start making my way over to him. I step onto the boat from the dock, very carefully like Sam had badgered me about almost every single time, partly to be annoying and partly for my own safety.

I swerve through the couple of people on the boat until I make it to the end. When Bucky sees me his eyes light up and he smiles widely. "Hey doll, you doing alright?" I nod with the best smile I can, despite being slightly overwhelmed.

"You wanna help sand the wood?" Sam asks, and I nod my head. It looked like my dad was doing the same thing as well, so I could stick by him. Sam smiled and got up, handing me the sandpaper instead. He went off to another part of the boat to work on something else, leaving just Bucky and I.

It was peaceful, both of us just sanding the wood with the sound of the crashing waves behind us. My previous anxiety slowly went away, being relatively far away from other people, and just the peaceful environment.

Bucky started telling me stories about what has happened while he was gone with Sam, of course trying his best to tell all of the embarrassing stories about Sam.

I'm cut off from my laughter at hearing a story about Sam, by another man also on the ship. He was calling Bucky over, probably needing help with something. Bucky gives me a sympathetic smile before leaving to go help the man, murmuring a soft "Be right back" as he stands up.

The first couple minutes went fine, but the longer I went without any distractions, the more the anxiety began to creep back up. I don't have Bucky's voice recollecting the current events to distract me, I don't have something else to bring my focus to. Well, besides sanding the wood, but that's not necessarily distracting enough.

In fact, I started to notice how terrible the feeling and sound of the sanding is. The weird vibration and scratching feeling seems to go up my whole arm, making me shiver. The sound of the scraping on the wood, as well as the constant conversion that I'm overhearing despite not being close to anyone, the nonstop rocking of the ship, and the waves that were once relaxing, now feel painful to my ears.

Eventually I can't handle it any longer, and drop the sandpaper. My hands come up to cover my ears and I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them again, my head whips around frantically, looking for an out. I don't want to be here anymore, it's all too much.

I anxiously bite my lip when I see that the dock to the entrance of the boat is packed with people, so my only way off the ship is blocked. My eyes fall on the next closest spot I could go, which is the entrance to the lower part of the boat. It's dark, away from everyone, and hopefully quiet, it seems like the next best option.

I climb down the ladder and immediately run to the back. I slot myself between the wall and what I'm guessing is some sort of machine or power something, I honestly dont really pay attention to what it is, I have too much else going on in my mind.

I hug my knees to my chest and stuff my face into my knees, finally letting my tears fall. I hiccup with my sobs and start rubbing my hands up and down my shins quickly, looking for some sort of stim that brings me the right stimulation I am looking for.

It's hard to explain to some people, why would I want more sensory stimulation when I'm already overwhelmed? But it's more just needing the right sensations, almost like there's just too much going on inside of me, too many emotions and feelings, and it's hurts not being able to get those out. It feels like my body is just too still and calm for how I'm really feeling. I start to rock back and forth, not caring about my back hitting against the wall.

I only look up about 10 minutes later when I hear a voice, but it's a nice, familiar one this time. It took a second for my eyes to adjust and see clearly through my tears, but I eventually make out Sam standing in front of me.

He comes a bit closer and kneels in front of me, not touching me, but still showing he's there for me. As he speaks he keeps his voice gentle and quiet, not wanting to overwhelm me even more. "Hey, do you want to go back up to your dad?" My eyes widen and I shake my head no. Everything up there is so overwhelming, even just the thought of going back up makes me shake with anxiety again.

"That's okay. Do you want me to get him and bring him down here instead?" I nod to that, and so with one last soft smile, Sam gets up to get Bucky. I put my face back in my knees while I wait, my sobs thankfully calming down to just steady tears. Talking to Sam definitely helped, it was a nice distraction, even if it was only very brief.

Not even a minute later I hear the ladder creak and see a large figure coming down, who I know to be my dad by his boots. He steps off the ladder quietly, his footsteps also very quiet, much different from his normal footsteps.

When he spots me he makes his way over to me and sits down in front of me, but still leaving a good enough distance that I don't feel trapped. For a couple minutes we both stayed quiet, only enjoying each other's presence as I slowly calmed down.

Bucky finally turns his head over to me when he sees my breathing has turned to normal, compared to my previous shaky and slightly hiccupy breathing. "It's overwhelming up there, huh?" He asks softly, a gentle smile on his face.

I nod and look down, almost ashamed. No matter how many times Bucky assured me I have nothing to be ashamed about, I still can't help it. But instead of bringing attention to it, which would undoubtedly only make me even more flustered and overwhelmed, he instead only spoke softly.

"I get that. There was a lot of people, I was thinking of heading back in to the house soon anyways. It was getting pretty hot too." I give him a small, tight lipped smile. He'll often subtly try to give his similar experiences whenever I feel ashamed, to show me that I don't need to be ashamed or embarrassed.

He doesn't rush me to get up and leave, he instead relaxes against one of the other machines with me. He's close enough that I can reach his metal arm, so I hesitantly each out for it. He smiles and moves closer to me, letting me hold his hand.

I play with his fingers, feeling how the metal plates move and shift, and the very soft whirling noise that you could so easily miss if you aren't paying attention to it. His arm is great for stimming, and once he found out how much I love it, he's starting offering his metal arm out for me to hold as a habit.

He watches me with glassy eyes as I fidget with his metal arm, my face relaxed and even slightly content, but my eyes are wide with curiosity as I stare intently at the small plates moving. Neither of us say anything, we don't have to. We both know how thankful we are for each other, and it's especially in the small, quiet moments like this that we both feel it.

[spectrumed]

9. conversation

(I wrote this after having a few drinks, so I apologise for the occasional digression.)

One time, some years ago, I was at medborgarplatsen in Stockholm. I was about to watch a movie at the cinema there, Filmstaden Söder. I can’t remember the movie, but this was at a time I wanted to prove my worth as a cinephile, so it wasn’t a blockbuster. For those of you who don’t know the way around Stockholm, medborgarplatsen is a square that is pretty close to the heart of the city, some may even argue that it is the heart of the city (though, I wouldn’t.) The name translates to “the citizen’s place,” an example of Swedes’ general commitment to all things egalitarian. Though, nowadays, most citizens can only dream of living in a place as central as medborgarplatsen. Södermalm, the borough in which medborgarplatsen is located, used to be known as quite the working class slum. Though, like with most global cities these days, things have changed. I don’t much like to complain about gentrification, I think it has more to do with governments’ reluctance to build new apartments, preferring instead to stick their heads in the sand and pretend as if population numbers aren’t increasing. Like, sure, I am not asking you to tear down all those old buildings to build new ones that’ll have enough room for more people, all I am asking is for you to expand, build more homes near the city and develop the right kind of infrastructure and public transport that allows for people to not need a car to get around. Cities are supposed to be lived in, they are not history museums! It drives me nuts, all these NIMBYs and their incessant whining and complaining about basic and inevitable societal progress. GAH! JUST BUILD MORE GODDAMMIT!

… I am sorry, I think I happened upon a tangent here divorced from the actual topic I wish to discuss. In any case, I was about to watch a movie at the cinema, and I had an hour or so to spend before it started. I was around people. Naturally, I was uncomfortable. People, you never know what they’re up to. They could be spying on you. They could be recording you. Or worse, they could be entirely indifferent to your presence. It is scary how others treat you, or how they refuse to treat you. It is easier not to be around people. Or well, be around people on the internet. That way you can get some social interaction, without having to be physically present. Being face-to-face with a person, that can go either one of two ways. Either you find a familiar soul, someone you can relate to. Someone you can love. Someone you could imagine spending your life with. Or you find someone that makes you feel icky, someone who makes you want to jump off a cliff. And it is difficult to find a cliff when you’re standing in the middle of a city, at a public square. Not many cliffs are to be found in the middle of cities. You���ve likely experienced the sensation of finding yourself in an uncomfortable situation, one you wish you could escape from, yet knowing that you are stuck. The icy feeling overtaking you. The dread. The profound desire to just do whatever you can to convince whoever is pressuring you to go away and leave you alone. Even if that means paying them money.

A person came up to me looking for charitable donations. Now, I am not a rich man. I certainly don’t spend all day long biddy biddy bum. I am not a wealthy man with a wife looking like a rich man’s wife with a proper double-chin, supervising meals to her heart’s delight. I wish I could give more to charity, but I can’t. I feel very uncertain about my future. I fear for my economic prospects. Don’t ask me for money, I don’t have any to give. There are plenty of filthy rich people in this world, ask them for their charitable donations. Many of them don’t even pay taxes. Surely, they have lots of cash. They stay in their penthouses, worshipping Mammon, and they certainly don't go down any citizens’ squares. What kind of money do you expect to receive from bothering a person like me? I don’t look rich. Or maybe I do. Someone might look at me and think I’m one of those rich kinds of nerds, an internet wiz kid, a programmer who made some website that’s now really famous. In any case, I am not. I am just a lost and confused sheep yearning for a shepherd to guide me.

The person showed me a series of photographs of women being victimised. Some tortured, some beaten up, some exploited. Pakistani women. The person was raising money to help Pakistani women. A noble mission, certainly. What was I supposed to say? Was I supposed to say that “no, I don’t care about Pakistani women” and just walk away? I didn't want the person to think of me as some callous western chauvinist who isn’t willing to spend some of my money to make a real change. I do care. I care very deeply. But, well, I just don’t really have money. Not in that way. Not in a way that can make a difference. Still, if you’ve got a truly burning sense of justice, a desire to see things wrong get fixed, see the righteous win, then you will want any kind of cash donation you can get. I sympathise. I understand that the person showing me the photographs may not have cared to figure out whether I had money or not. I clearly did not look starving (I am fat.) Surely I could afford to make a donation. Even the littlest bit counts. I needed to give. They needed me to give. Just give a little bit. C’mon. Don’t you care about Pakistani women?

I ummed and ahhed for a bit. I felt cautious, nervous, wondering how I could possibly explain my concern for these women while also recognising my lack of being able to really contribute monetarily to help them. Of course, at the moment, my cognitive functions weren’t properly functioning. No, I was stammering, I was overwhelmed, I was suffering a sensory overload. All these people around me, all this noise. I could have given the person asking me for a donation just some coins, a paltry sum, then pretended as if that was enough. But I didn’t. I gave him half of the money that I had on me. Not too much, but a significant amount of Swedish crowns. More than the cinema ticket cost me. Money I wasn’t prepared to spend at that moment. Still, it served the purpose. It made the world around me calm down. It lessened the storm. I don’t want to live in a world of chaos. I want things to be ordered. An ordered world can be understood, it can be categorised. Chaotic agents threaten the peace. Chaos makes me worry I might be exposed. I don’t want anyone knowing just how weird I am, just the kind of freak that I am. I want them to think I am normal. It’s easier to pretend to be normal when everything is calm, when people don’t freak me out.

One of the biggest social mistakes I’ve made is engaging in conversation with a person claiming to need money to take a bus to the dentist. They claimed that they had a dentist appointment, and in fact, it was paid for. They just didn’t have the money to pay for the bus. They needed me to give them just that little bit of money to buy a bus ticket. Simple, right? They were eager to convince me, so they began sticking their finger in their mouth, pointing at the tooth that needed to be pulled out. I told them that they didn’t need to show me, I believed them. But of course, I only said that because they made me feel uncomfortable. Did I believe them? Of course not. The person was clearly just looking for cash, a real scam artist, but I wasn’t socially adept enough to dismiss them. Sure, I can look back on it and think about this or that thing I should've said. Instead I just awkwardly mentioned needing to catch my own bus and that I didn’t have the time to talk. The scam artist followed me, continuing to engage me in conversation. I tried to appear sympathetic, I tried to appear normal, and the person took advantage of that. They needled me. They urged me to pay attention to them, making me feel like a monster if I didn’t. In the end I told them I would get them the money, but instead I ran and stepped on the bus heading back home to my place. They didn’t follow me. Of course they didn’t follow me. They didn’t have a bus ticket.

I came across them later, days later, at the subway. They saw me, tried to get my attention, but I ran into the crowd, hitting the escalator before they could get close. Later I saw them get accosted by security guards, clearly reprimanded for their behaviour, scamming people. Cornering people, telling them lies, then asking for cash. That’s not virtuous behaviour. Still, the security guards could only do so much. Did they stop the person from trying to scam people? Of course not. The person kept on badgering whoever paid them just the littlest bit of attention. Whoever looked kind. Whoever would be inclined towards making charitable donations. I had escaped that one time, but the person was adamant that they wanted me to give them the money they thought they deserved. Whenever I’d take the subway, they’d be there, trying to get my attention. And I kept running. I kept doing my best to avoid them. I felt like a real fool. Why couldn’t I just assert myself, pump up my chest and tell them that I was on to them? I knew the truth, I knew they were a fraud. Yet, I just wanted to avoid it all. I wanted to pretend as if I didn’t know them. That everything was just calm and peaceful, and there wasn’t a storm brewing somewhere nearby. This was everything about being surrounded by people that I hated. This, right here, was the ultimate reason I knew for wanting to become a hermit. Not having to put up with this kind of bullshit.

One time, the last time, the person came up to me, I couldn’t escape. I was waiting for the train. I was about to get to a lecture. The person saw me, and they stood right in front me. I was wearing headphones. I pretended I could not hear them. I pretended I could not even conceive of them, as if my mind were someplace else entirely. I pretended as if I had erased them from existence. They didn’t immediately catch on. They stood in front of me and they began commenting on my appearance. They decided, quite unusually, to congratulate me for my beard. Stating that I looked good with facial hair. Of course, I do. My beard looks amazing. I am not insecure about my beard. I may be insecure about my weight, I may be insecure about some things, but the two things I am not insecure about are my height (I’m 6’2”) and my beard. Still, I refused to acknowledge the scam artist’s existence. Other people waiting for the train were looking at us. They thought it was strange that I just stood there, looking straight ahead ignoring the person standing in front of me. But I did what I needed to do. The scam artist touched me, I still ignored them. Honestly, that is one of the most uncomfortable things I have ever experienced. Their hand on my chest. Them touching me. Still, I didn’t budge. Eventually, they gave up. They went away. I had won. I should’ve felt good about myself, I had come out on top. But I didn’t. I still felt awful. I had hurt their feelings. Why am I so weird, why am I so awkward? I really don’t know how to behave like a normal person.

I think I do better in long conversations with people than in short little chats. You can’t just get a quick impression of me and think you know me. One reason why I don’t think I could ever make for a good one-night stand. Unless you know me, I’m not a real person. I am just a caricature. I don’t feel as if I am really there, as if my presence alone is enough to make me a person. I am only a person through commitment, through being understood by someone else that has the right kind of patience to put up with me. For the most part, only I myself have that kind of patience. That’s why I enjoy my own company. I feel as if I freak out too easily when meeting new people. I feel as if I overwhelm them with information, like as if I am some walking thunderstorm demanding their attention. Yes, that’s the great irony of it all. I say that I struggle to put up with the chaos of others, the wild sea of people swarming the city, yet I am the worst chaotic agent of them all. I am a mess of a person. I am hullabaloo incarnate. And that is why I feel such an incessant need to repress. Don’t press the button that lets open the floodgates. Keep it all bottled up. Keep on being repressed. Keep on staring straight forwards, ignoring that person trying to scam you for money.

Of course that person isn’t reading this blog post. They’re busy trying to find some other sucker to pay for their drug fix, or whatever it is that they need money for. Maybe they’re just trying to pay for rent. In any case, if I had the person here with me, right at this moment, I would tell them… Well, I would yell at them… I would absolutely admonish them… I would... I would… I would probably just ignore them. It is so easy to try and pretend as if you’re more sociable than you actually are. In your head, things seem so easy. Yes, I know what I’d say, I know exactly how to express myself. But in reality, well, things are complex, the overwhelming actuality of it all swamps you. When haven’t you had that idea for the perfect comeback of a line to sling at a person you’re quarrelling with only after the argument is over? When haven’t you had an idea for just the right and proper way to awe another person with your mind and your words. I am sure they will be impressed with me now, if only I say the right things. If only I can act the right way. If only I don’t fuck it up. If only I don’t act like such a dork.

This blog is easy. I get to think about every word I express here. I get to erase sentences I don’t like. That backspace on the keyboard, it’s well-worn with use. Some folks don’t understand how I can be autistic and still be as good with words as I am. This is my second language that I am writing in. I am not some mute little chicken, some gagged little monkey. I know how to express myself, when I get the time. When I get that moment to write, I will write, and I won’t stop until I am done. All my posts I tend to write in one go, late at night when I should be going to bed. When I am in the right mood. When all those synapses in my brain fire the right way. Those moments, they are common, but they aren’t to be summoned just when I need them. They come when they wish to come. I can only be a passenger, going along with my brain, doing whatever it demands. In those other moments, those moments I am standing there, waiting for the train, I may become entirely mute. I may not have a single thing to say. I may look like a real dummy, some real himbo, utterly lost for words. I am not pretending, at those moments. I truly am lost for words. At some times, language is easy. At other times, I don’t even understand how to string a basic sentence together.

I am tired. I am going to go to bed.