500 Miles in Someone Else's Shoes

I've been hesitating on what to write about the Camino. I'd thought the lessons would all become apparent to me along the Way, but to be honest, they're only just starting to peek out of the shadows. It is like the ease with which one can solve the problems of others but not one's own: the issue has to be seen from a different perspective. Now that it has been nearly a month since I finished walking, the experience is finally folding together to the point where I can start making sense of it.

That's not to say the Camino was completely free of life lessons learned. In fact, I ran into an Italian hippie in Galicia who pointed out that the roads were paved with cow shit (I'd noticed) and said he had the realization one day that the more time he spent watching the road to avoid the cow shit, the more beautiful scenery he was missing. I agreed and added that, even if one steps in the shit, it can still be washed away. However, it was the "missing" aspect that I've only recently begun to notice.

I've been working heavily on another blog, Bill Beaver's Best Laid Plans, a travel blog. As I've been writing and incorporating pictures, I noticed how few pictures I have of some areas and how few are actually of higher quality. This may be a standard ratio among photographers, but it has only highlighted what has been missing: time.

There are ten commandments of the Camino. I have been unable to locate a full list online, only references to the list I saw but did not fully process in Castrojeríz, but one stands out right now: You shall not change your pace to match another's.

I had mapped out my Camino to start on March 3rd and conclude on April 8th. A day behind in Pamplona, I figured I would sacrifice a day in Santiago to compensate. Instead, I met two other peregrinos with whom I decided to keep pace, not the least reason of which being that one was close in age to me and attractive. I kept pace with both of them for half the Camino, hurrying through some towns I'd originally planned to explore in more depth. I caught up to my missing day and surpassed it. True, we seldom walked together for long, and by the midpoint of the Camino, both went further than they'd said, and I was left behind.

Someone wiser could have seen these two as faces who had entered and left my life, as is the natural way of things, but instead, feeling hurt and abandoned, I continued at the pace they had set. I made photographic sacrifices: it was too much of a hassle to take out the camera, and I was losing time and distance behind them. What if I didn't see them again in Santiago before they left, four days before I arrived? It became this huge, important matter that I somehow catch up with them, so much so that, even on the days where I decided to go slower, I still put in the same distances and made the same photographic sacrifices. I stopped making friends in the same way as I walked. I became hurried and impatient with people who wanted to chat. I was pushing myself to catch up with someone else's Camino and had given no more than a fleeting glance at my own Camino and what it meant to me. That, at least, has affected my journal and work afterward, especially as I read more into these places and learn more of what I missed.

Now, that being said, 480 miles is a long walk with lots to see and limited memory card space. I was subject to the complaints of my body and the more pressing matters at hand than just snapping photos, like where to rest. However, the fact remained that the complaints of my body were directly proportional to the number of kilometers walked in a given day, as set by my desire to catch up to my past friends in the future. This is a very important parallel to daily life and one that demands awareness.

I'm a people pleaser. After a year in Codependents Anonymous, this still presents a problem, especially in the way I pace my life. Right now, I am unemployed, but my biggest concern right now is not that I'm running out of money (I'm okay for a while longer); my biggest concern is that I will have to justify myself to my mother. Each time I get a text message and see it is from her, even if it's a funny picture of the dog, I immediately get ready to explain my actions in a way that she will find acceptable and thus let me off the hook. It is a mentality that regularly takes me away from what I was originally doing. I'm trying to walk her Camino.

On a project level, for the last year, I have been floundering in a field of non-creativity, owing to one of my college lessons that said something to the effect of "You only have a few years to make it in the business." This thought led me to blaze through and submit my first screenplay to multiple companies, a screenplay with which I was not personally happy but which I thought the readers needed to see soon. I jumped to match their pace and sent them inferior work. I have tried to churn out short scripts for my director friends quickly, the idea being turnover, turnover, turnover. Thus far, I have not had anything produced because the work is hurried and inferior. I'm noticing the same in my photography, ignoring lighting and rushing framing to churn out content before I'm overlooked by someone who does not exist. I am walking the Camino of the professional world.

In romance, well, hell, what haven't I already said about romance? To the present, I've operated my relationships on the idea that my date needed constant entertainment, a complete sharing of interests, and anything else they may request, as soon as they request it. Otherwise, they would leave me behind. And this was important to me. I have put down my own work, beliefs, and interests because someone else, whom I happened to find attractive, found them subpar. I have been walking the Camino of everyone I ever dated and completely lost myself in them each time.

So what now? The physical Camino is over, and now I'm almost a month back in Los Angeles. The question now floating in and out of my head is "How do I get back on my Camino?"

It's not an easy process. I've built so much of my worldview on expectation and assumption that the idea of dropping them is confusing. I've lost so much of my ideation process in the grand hurry that I now have to dig deep in order to get it back. I have to find a job that, yes, will pay the bills, but at the same time, I may also need to be a little more picky with what I choose instead of just picking something to be employed again and not have to explain. Hovering over this is the concern that, if I couldn't figure this out with all my alone time on the Camino, how could I possibly figure it out back in the big city of LA?

The process is already starting. It takes a return to the old world to see what has been picked up from the new one (or is that reversed?). Writing Bill's adventures, above all things, is highlighting how much is lost in trying to walk someone else's Camino. The point is, people will wait if they know it's worth their while, and if not, it is no catastrophe. I have walked to the End of the World, and I remember enough to know that this is not it. So the plan, as of now, is to finish the blog, to focus on writing a good book instead of a quick book, and to find a job that lends itself to both of the previous. It may take until May to accomplish; it may take longer. I have time, and I have my lessons to back me. However, I have to stay on my Camino now. The plantar fasciitis reminds me of that.

Driven Duck Says: Work, Work, Work

By crikey, it's been a while since I've put a post in here. Life updates: I'm finally settled into my new apartment, still vehemently single, and still working in LP. What do all of these have in common? More alone time! Whoo hoo!

To be quite honest, the first few weeks of coming home to a quiet, ratless apartment and making real meals in my own kitchen have been quite wonderful. It's only when I go elsewhere, such as work, where this seems pathetic. All the isolation I don't feel in my quiet apartment or on my adventures alone comes up in droves when I'm at work. For instance, last Friday, one of the HR staff came over to LP to deliver invitations to a baby shower for one of the other HR folks. She wanted to make sure "the whole team" was included. She didn't even address me (actually, she averted her eyes), even though I helped out in HR through the busy holidays. I understand that the role of a temp excludes one from certain perks of being at a company, but to be excluded from "the whole team" was a jab I wasn't expecting to receive.

Let's also take yesterday, for example. We had a volunteer fair at work. I shopped around to see if I could find something meaningful to take up my time. One of the groups was handing out kids' backpacks to be filled with school supplies and returned. I asked to participate (mind you, this is a charitable cause, not for self benefit), but my request was met with, "Sorry, we don't have enough supplies for temps." I mean, I get it, but after working there for nearly a year, it feels strange to have felt like part of something only to be reminded that I'm not.

Right now, what's keeping me on edge about this job isn't that it could end soon but that it could keep going. My boss is going on maternity leave in November, which means I may be recruited to cover into next year. That's easily another six months in a position where there is literally no room to transition to part of "the team." I have really mixed feelings about this. I do get a steady paycheck; I don't get benefits of any kind. I have started to grow accustomed to the area's amenities and the people, but is it all just a grand cage?

Also in question is my trip to El Camino, which I had considered taking after my assignment expired. I don't know when or if it will expire. Some might say "Take the journey; live your dream!" while others would caution "Build your nest egg; journey later." The rumor is that I can only be a temp there for a total of 18 months, but who knows what validity lies in rumors? Either way, the state of things is that I'm getting paid to help out a team to which I don't belong, which makes me feel much lonelier among people than I do when I actually am alone. There's also the alienating issue of my coworkers assuming I'm not only straight but also a womanizer, but that's the subject of a different post altogether. In the mean time, there have been no official talks of extending my position past July 29th, only more rumors. If I have no other offers by then, I will stay; if my time is up with nowhere pressing to go, I will write for a month and walk El Camino in September, Insh'allah.

Marriage Mirage

I try not to write about other people in this blog, because eventually it will come back to bite me in the ass. However, though isolated I may be in waking, the Dreamworld is full of people influencing me in ways they would never imagine while awake. For cases like these, I must maintain anonymity. I'll refer to the persons in question as X and Y. Like the chromosomes.
Rock on.

I understand that a long dream is normally around five minutes but feels like an age. The one that concluded last night's slumber was a doozy on the sense of wellness. In it, Person Y announced his plans to marry Person X. Their relationship was widely known and supported, they had stable jobs, and they were very much meant for each other from the start. The issue was that I never saw or spoke to Person Y throughout this entire dream. My job was to go pick up the bride-to-be at a party.

When I arrived, there were about five brides-to-be, all about the same age and description. Somehow, I knew which one was the right bride, but I couldn't bring myself to approach her. How would I introduce myself? What if she was truly charming? I wanted something to be wrong with her, and she morphed through all phases of crassness. I lingered on this for a long time.

I'm at a stalemate when it comes to romance. When I see a happy couple, I'm filled with two emotions: bitterness that they've found their other halves and hubris that I am still free to do what I like without accounting to another person. These are easily the two strongest emotions I've been feeling the last few months. I know I'm unsuitable for a relationship, because of my cynicism, paranoia and need for solitude, but the longing still presents itself at times. The happiness that surrounded the prospective union of Persons X and Y left me feeling empty on awakening, though it is important to me that I not find myself entangled in another naive, possessive, loveless mockery of a "relationship." Each additional day that I've been single feels like a landmark, and truly, when I am adventuring alone, I barely miss other people at all. But it's in the planning and the aftermath, when I ponder what it could have been like with someone else, that I feel very sad.

However, because of the steps I have taken in the last few months/years, I decided I was not going to let this resurgence of self-pitying emotions spoil my day. I combined a few techniques in the shower: the feeding of the demons and the cleansing radiance. I gave the loneliness demon a morsel of my angst, and it went away. I envisioned myself as a blazing light cracking through the gunk the demon left behind, and when I got out of the shower, I felt clean in more ways than one. Nonetheless, I still wish I could find a more lasting approach to this, preferably a social one that doesn't turn the social experience into an obligation but marries the need for companionship with the desire for freedom. Maybe it will be there when I wake up next.

Enter the Rabbit

It's that time again when the years shift gears, and the sights and sounds of the past make way for the hopes and fears of the future. This upcoming year, I seek to focus on the hope aspect as I make my Ass Burgery resolutions for 2011, the Year of the Rabbit, my year.

Bun
I want to keep exploring religious experiences and learn how to better understand and connect with the divine. This will mean being more open about religion with the people in my life and asking to attend services with them. I may start reading the Bible at some point in the year; I just need to figure out pacing.

Meat
I need to re-think my workout routine to incorporate more variety; instead of just doing weights during the week, it will be important to work on my cardiovascular health and flexibility. I'd like to find some new activity groups and take a class or two, if I can find one that is convenient and affordable.

Cheese
I want to make some more friends, and I want our friendships to be unmasked, which means cutting down mightily on the showmanship and focusing instead on reality and intimacy. I always vow to work on correspondence, but really, it's a struggle all the time. Surrounding all of these elements, I will be developing healthy boundaries to stave off the psychoses.

Lettuce
This will be the year I learn to love myself. This will involve taking more pride in my accomplishments, reflected on The To-Smite List, and really letting go of the past. I discovered a new technique for handling demons, which is to feed them rather than fight them. I look forward to putting this technique to the test and tending to my family of pet demons.

Tomatoes
I want to get a stable job and put my finances in order. I'm already taking steps toward this by creating a budget chart and investing in Personal Finance for Dummies. Learning to be aware of and to manage my bank accounts will be a revolutionary step toward responsible adulthood. Also, I want to train my focus so that I can finish my projects in a timely manner, while taking into account the fact that I do need to have fun here and there.

Onions
This will tie in with my demon work, but I want to learn to embrace my emotions instead of hide from them, both in my mind and in expression. I want to revel in both happiness and sadness.

Ketchup
I want to find someone who will treat me with respect, who can handle my light and my dark, and who will actually enjoy my devotion. I'd like to be in a relationship longer than three months.

Jesus and the Purple Dinosaur

It's nice having young cousins. They have an uncanny skill to help relive the rambunctious days of yore, whether they're hitting you in the face with a lightsaber, throwing screaming toy monkeys at you, or just clobbering each other. When the family came over for Christmas night dinner, these two reminded me of an old chant I hadn't heard since Kindergarten:

Joy to the world: Barney's dead.
We barbecued his head.
Don't worry 'bout the body;
We flushed it down the potty
And 'round and 'round it goes,
And 'round and 'round it goes,
And 'round and 'round and 'round it goes.

The actual parody has been updated for the times, but I can't, for the life of me, remember who is the modern equivalent of Barney the Dinosaur. Regardless, in my younger years, I and my fellow young men never questioned the content of this song. It was perfectly justifiable to deliver the fate of Benito Mussolini upon Barney the Dinosaur because of one song:


"Love? Eww... Who talks about love? Who gives hugs and kisses? That's disgusting. We may only be seven years old, but we are MEN, and MEN do not do these things! In fact, to show our disdain, we're going to concoct our own version. As MEN. That'll show 'em."

I hate you. You hate me.
Let's gang up and kill Barney.
With a gun to his head
And a knife to his neck,
Pull the trigger; now Barney's dead.

I bring this up because the memory of my young MANHOOD happened to get triggered on the traditional birthday of another conveyor of love, who said "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind—this is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments." (Matthew 22:37-40) This fellow, like the purple dinosaur, was murdered by MEN.

Is it natural to choose bread and circuses over the more complicated concept of Love? To this day, I still have a difficult time just saying the word "Love." it has been ingrained in my head that "Love" is the purple dinosaur, that Love is stupid, saccharine, and superfluous, not to mention unMANly. Not only is it difficult to say the word, but it's also impossible for me to demonstrate genuine, unmasked affection, especially through great big hugs and kisses. In order to make them more tolerable, they have to be accompanied by the lust factor. I wonder why this defense mechanism has persisted all this time.

It's not unusual for people to favor bread and circuses to the more complicated sensation of Love. It's the same reason I instantly get defensive when Christians say the name "Jesus." The ideas behind Jesus are simple, yet they feel complicated and intimidating. It is easier—and even more widely promoted among MEN—to embrace the brain-dulling ideas of anger and lust than the challenges of Love, and I have spent many years enamored of both. In the process of despising the dinosaur, I have denied myself the very thing that he preaches.

With the Year of the Rabbit starting soon, the challenge of letting go of my anger and learning to love remains at the top of my priorities. It is terribly difficult to let go of something that has been a part of one's personality since childhood. It will require new sources of support and a new degree of reward and punishment to accomplish in a new year. Once and if, however, it can be accomplished, the change will revolutionize the very foundations of my life. Super-de-duper amen!

Damnster: The Damned Hamster

Picture a hamster. Cute little devil, isn't he, albeit a little gluttonous? Well, to work off his gluttony, he decides to go for a jog on his wheel, but don't that beat all... some sadistic bastard has decided to hang a juicy strawberry just out of reach beyond the wheel. Oh God, that strawberry looks good!

So the hamster, glutton that he is, starts running. He runs and runs, or rather waddles at high velocity, over-sized testicles wobbling to and fro and catching on the bars of the wheel ever so often. In any case, this hamster is on a roll. He can see that strawberry. He can smell it. He can nearly taste it. It's a few friggin' centimeters in front of his face, and he's hustling as fast as he can to get it.

Of course, he's going nowhere. The strawberry stays suspended before the hamster's greedy, beady eyes and slowly dries up and withers. That verklempt hamster just keeps going, tears mixing with sweat as he watches his prize fade, not noticing that his own body is withering away from exertion. His own balls just aren't dragging anymore. With a groan, he seizes up and rolls out of the wheel into his wood shavings.

He stares up at his prize with his greedy, beady eyes and realizes that it's still hanging right in front of him, but now there are no bars between them. Yet, he's exerted himself so much that he just can't grab it. Damned be the hamster who cannot step off his wheel!

I won't write an essay on the symbolism behind this anecdote about greedy little rodents, but let's just say the hamster and I have a lot in common. However, today I learned how to get off the wheel. Once I get my strength back, I just hope the Powers-That-Be will replace the stale strawberry with one that is fresher and more delicious.

Be Strong, My Heart

Be strong, my heart
In time of doubt,
And trust that you
Can do without.

The gold has cracked,
The lead revealed,
But have some faith
And so be healed.

Be strong my heart,
Through darkness, shine,
Though you're not his,
You're always mine.

See Saw

My cousin sent me a text message the other day, the first I'd really heard from her in nearly two years, and that includes the times we shared Christmas Eve dinner. Apparently, she just wanted to clarify that, no matter what our grandma may have told me, she wasn't really a bitch. Small talk progressed from there, though I was able to glean that the point of contention in the conversation was myself. My cousin had brought up her current problems, and our grandma had countered by saying that I had it worse.

I continue to be astounded by how opposite my life runs to the remainder of the world. When I'm at the bottom of the world and all is doom and melancholy, everyone is suddenly busy with their own affairs, yet when I'm on top of the world and all is sunshine and peaches, I become the talk of the pity papers. It makes no sense.

It may be dependent on who gets what side of me more. I noticed the other day, as my good friend asked me to write a letter of recommendation for his marriage visa, I realized that for the last four months, the only words I'd received about his fiancé were complaints, and consequently, I felt no inspiration to write such a letter, regardless of how much my friend proclaimed his love for this person. Having received only that side of his relationship, I could not see the positive in it. I think that may be the case with how my life comes across to others.

After many years of self-loathing and fishing for compliments in the pity pool, I've found that it is much easier to change one's own attitude toward oneself than others' attitudes toward oneself. One is with oneself for every mood swing and inflection, but it is not so with others. Thus, there is a delay, and all falls to confusion when, on a bright and cheery day, you are approached with condolences. Once things are sorted out, it's hard to be certain how you felt before the conversation took place, and by the time you've convinced the other person that you were in high spirits, their negativity may very well have reversed that, putting you in a foul mood while they saunter off under the impression that you're just dandy. It's a right mess, it is.

Updates and Thanks

It's amazing how quickly this last month has passed, and already Thanksgiving has swept on through like a turkey with a jet pack... and a lot of meth. Nonetheless, tardiness aside, I'd like to take a moment to express thanks for a month of multi-layered progress:

Bun:
- I'm learning to add the spi- to the -ritual.
- I'm discovering that a life of misery is not the will of God.

Meat:
- I have started to incorporate stretching into every workout.
- I am learning how to subsist on more than crackers and mashed potatoes.
- I have done the unthinkable and attained mastery of my domain.

Cheese:
- Having removed myself from Facebook, I am attracting more direct and personal relationships.
- I am practicing the principle of not letting the sun go down on my wrath.
- I am learning to handle confrontation and, once initiated, resolve it.
- I am removing the pressure to socialize, in favor of something more genuine.
- I am learning to communicate more directly and efficiently.
- I am taking further interest in the detailed lives of others.

Lettuce:
- In absence of a logical reason to be depressed, I've decided to be cheerful.
- I'm discovering the things I like about myself.
- I'm raising my awareness of my limits and flaws and addressing them directly.
- I'm learning to separate my past behavior from my current, progressive self, and thus stop the trains of thought at the station.

Tomatoes:
- I have started to take more regular breaks at work.
- I'm finding ways to make work more exciting, for instance, pretending that I'm the HR equivalent of Jack Bauer with limited time to sort 500 applications.
- I'm letting myself spend money.
- I'm planning ahead.

Onions:
- I'm discovering that subduing my emotions, then chastising myself for having subdued emotions, is stupid.
- I'm exploring my feelings of sadness and anger when I feel them, instead of trying to force them into the shape of delight.
- I am acknowledging my moments of happiness with the understanding that though they may not last, they are enjoyable.
- I am letting myself be moved by music.

Ketchup:
- I am again single, but I am shedding bitterness as I become more aware of how I approach relationships.
- I am working to resolve previous issues that have corrupted my perception of relationships.
- I am re-discovering "No" with the understanding that the right people can still say "Yes" a week after hearing "No."

You own one too? Yes, but I loaned it to Sgt. Pepper.

I've hit a stumbling block on my path to a positive attitude, and it is the very nature by which I connect with people. I've never been able to grow close to a person through discussion of the weather or childhood frolics. No, the closest I can get to another person is through the broken heart.

Commiseration over past pain is the quickest way to intimacy, because it immediately places two people against an ominous foe: other people. They are then both on each other's side, fighting for and with each other, comrades in arms. This has long been the deciding factor in whether people become my friends or remain acquaintances. There must be a past history of pain, and in order to find the emotional intimacy I crave, I have to find it. The problem with this approach is that it invariably turns the conversation negative and frankly makes me come across as morbid. Maybe I am. Nonetheless, a story about past injury is the most revealing sort of story a person can tell, laying bare the vulnerable interior to scrutiny. Revealing it is a sure sign of trust and security in the other person. It is Connection.

So the problem being faced at this point is how to attain the same degree of intimacy, if possible, using a more positive approach, one that does not turn the conversation toward the side of gloom. Or if there is no alternative, then it becomes necessary to wait and see, to find a way to enter the subject and exit it, retaining the connection while shedding the gloom. Taking suggestions...

The Gentleman

Old habits die hard, this one harder than the rest. It's cost me plenty over the years, and I've gone through all manners of counsel to be cured of it. It's left me sweating at night and cold in the morning, wealthy on Friday and broke by Sunday, on Cloud 9 at the start of the month and in Provo by the end. I've been "sober" for almost a year, but in the last few weeks, the great whirlpool has finally sucked me back into... dating.

Yup, I've been asked out. A couple of times in fact... And then I asked back... And so far, things have been going pretty darn well, and I'm terrified.

"Why, Kyle, would you be terrified of things going well?" might ask Hypothetical Post Viewer.

"Well, HPV," I would respond, "when things have started well in the past, they have ended very badly in the future."

"But you've made some major progress in the past few years," would retort the Hypothetical Post Viewer. "You've connected with yourself, learned how to subdue your impulses for control, and stopped idealizing other people."

"That may be so, HPV, but I have not yet tested my progress with another person. It's scary! Don't you know anything about testing?"

In any case, this particular fellow, who for now shall be known as The Gentleman, is diggable, i.e., I dig him. He's fun, creative, adventurous, and surprisingly chivalrous in a world of cads. I started off resisting the push of romance, but I think I've been won over. That makes me nervous.

While I'm constantly fighting off the old psychoses, not to mention the promise I made to myself that I would not date for a whole year from last December, there is still the strangest sense of impropriety to the whole thing, as if I shouldn't be dating again at all. It's this nagging little voice that says, "It's going to go exactly the same as before; why bother trying to stuff a sense of normalcy between cynicism and bitterness when you know how slippery it is?"

A lot of this is the past talking, coupled with advice from my elders that has stuck with me: "It is a naive infatuation." I can't have that be the case any longer; I need to know that I can feel real emotions for a real human being. The fact of the matter is that I enjoy spending time with The Gentleman more than I initially anticipated and that I want to have more adventures with him. In order to enjoy them more fully, however, I must learn to distinguish the emotions, both as I feel them and as others tell me I feel them. Then, maybe, I can get a grip on normalcy and maybe even enjoy guiltless dating. Inshallah...

Jiz and Onions

It is absolutely amazing what the tedium of filing can do for one's sense of self awareness. When one's brainpower has been reduced to a trickle, it is somehow opened to the most unexpected revelations. Case in point: today, while sorting through three hundred employee applications from New York, I realized that my most intense moments of fear, self-loathing, and doubt occur when I am exhausted.

I shook my head to clear it, realizing that the night before, when I wasn't tired but got to bed late, I was quite happy. After waking up and missing my workout, slogging my way to work with bags under my eyes that could catch a piano (you know, like that one commercial...), I discovered that I was depressed. "How odd," I thought to myself, but as I looked back on the day, I hadn't been depressed when I was interacting with my coworkers. In fact, I had been quite merry, but after I had gone off by myself to file, losing that interaction, my face reverted to tired mode, and it all came back to me what my grandma said about smiling: Do it.

When I'm tired and alone, my face sags. Somehow, this continuous sagging translates in my brain to sadness, and when my brain senses sadness, it starts to produce more, spiraling out of control until what was once a "Good grief, I'm tired," becomes a "Ugh, my life sucks!"

To test this hypothesis, I thought back to the previous night, in which I laughed hysterically over a little video called "Jiz" {Warning: video contains potentially offensive language; I mean, just look at the title}. Anyway, I started cracking up, so hard, in fact, that some of my other coworkers had to come over and make sure I was all right. The miraculous thing about it is that after I had wiped away my giggletears, my entire outlook on life had reformed. I only vaguely thought about those other things that had been killing me moments before, and I was ready to get right back into... filing.

So, on an emotional level, this looks promising. If I can keep a series of thoughts or videos in my mind that will produce a smile, I just might have a cure for my bouts of depression. Or I could just get more sleep. Nah...

Let's Put a Smile on That Face...

A commonly referenced trait of Asperger's is underdeveloped facial expression. In other words, happiness, sadness, anger, jealousy can all be boiled down to:

^     ^
(o) (o)
U
---
For instance...
Any given person: Hey, Kyle, how's it going?
Kyle: Great!

^     ^
(o) (o)
U
---
Or...
Any given person: Hey, Kyle, how's it going?
Kyle: I'm feeling a little under the weather today, actually.

^     ^
(o) (o)
U
---
Or...
Any given person: Hey, Kyle, how's it going?
Kyle: You are the type of person who disgusts me in every way. Now get out of my sight before I am forced to alter my expression from

^     ^
(o) (o)
U
---
In any case, for starters, my grandma has told me to smile more for years. Ironically, it was a trip to the dermatologist with my grandpa that gave me a little lesson in facial expression. I'll try not to go into too many details (Asperger's symptom) or speak too inappropriately about the situation (another Asperger's symptom), but while the doctor stuck my left sphinctercushion with anaesthetising needles and the warning that "this may burn a bit," I concluded, amidst the searing pain, that if I screwed up my face a bit, a little crossing of the eyes and sticking out of the tongue, it wasn't quite so bad. In short, by emulating some sick love-child of Red Skelton and Medusa, the painful experience actually turned into a rather amusing one. Before I knew it, he'd sliced off the dysplastic nevus, and I was just a bundle of giggles.

~ ~
(oo)
U
O
I'm not sure whether to consider this a step forward or backward. On one hand, I was able to express myself facially, but on the other, it was not exactly the most socially appropriate time to be practicing self expression. Nonetheless, I recommend trying it the next time you find yourself undergoing minor surgery on your birthday.

{Disclaimer: I do not, however, recommend trying it when someone else is undergoing minor surgery on their birthday. It may make you out to be an ass.)

Introduction

I've found quite a few blogs written about Asperger's Syndrome, mostly by parents of children with the disorder, but surprisingly few actually written by those with the syndrome. While this may be great for parents, it sure doesn't help one's self esteem to be the subject of scientific scrutiny. Case in point: April is National Autism Awareness Month. Asperger's is an Autism Spectrum disorder. To me, that makes April "National Kyle Jarrett's Brain Is Royally Screwed Up" Month. Then again, that just doesn't have the same ring to it.

I was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome in 2004, during a private meeting with a reputable psychiatrist. It may help to point out that I was not actually a part of this meeting, and that once my mom left the room and I had my own private meeting, the same reputable psychiatrist diagnosed me with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I knew there was something fishy right away: there should be a hyphen between "Obsessive" and "Compulsive," right? In any case, it wasn't until the winter of 2008 that I finally— Obsessive─Compulsive! Ahh... Now where was I?

Asperger's Syndrome is surprisingly easy to describe to the unfamiliar. Imagine yourself at a Christmas party, and clinking around the Christmas tree is a model train. While everyone else laughs, jokes, connects, and enjoys each other's company, your attention is on that train. Observe the awesome mechanisms that move it forward. Listen to the friendly sounds it makes: Whoo whoo! Notice how you never grow tired of watching it circle around and around, because it lets you turn off your brain and avoid the insufferable mundanity of conversing about jobs, weather, and alcohol.

The problem with this scenario is that humans are social animals, and Asperger's is a social disorder. National "Kyle Jarrett's Brain Is Royally Screwed Up" Month, Q.E.D. Apart from the feelings of alienation and despair, the disorder works in both directions and consequently, has pretty much made me into an ass. I get offended by light humor, condescending toward those who don't play by (or understand) my convoluted rules, and reclusive around those who try to disrupt my compulsive routines and regimens with a little social time. How my friends have stuck with me, I'll never know.

What I do know is that I'm tired of Asperger's. In fact, I quit. If Whoopi Goldberg can conquer dyslexia, then why can't I change April to National "Kyle's Brain Is All Right" Month? I've spent so much time putting the "ass" in "Asperger's" that the time has come to work on the other half: the "burger." To do so, I will need to focus on the following seven components: Bun (Spiritual), Meat (Physical), Cheese (Social), Lettuce (Personal), Tomatoes (Professional), Onions (Emotional), Ketchup (Romantical)

This shall be my accountability blog, on which I shall face my failures and mark my successes. I make no claim of professional expertise or any pretense of family-friendly content. My language will be expressive and sometimes crass, which, if you are from Utah, will offend. In that case, I say "grow some."

Now let's flip some burgers.