You Know... (Part 1)

You know you're getting older when the Thanksgiving dinner conversation centers on incontinence and colonoscopies, yet the only thing on your mind is, "Mmm... cranberries."

You know you're getting older when you return from a four-day holiday, and the first thing on your mind is how much you need to catch up on your leafy greens and fiber.

You know you're getting older when you finally gather the courage to talk to your eye-popping, knee-quaking crush of several months, only to find that he has several children old enough to run around.

You know you've got issues when you can barely contain your excitement for a thorough airport pat-down.

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."

So Long, Book of Faces

Whenever I feel the pull toward religion, it's normally for a reason. I guess that's the point of it, right? In any case, this morning I felt the urge to attend a church service with a very good friend of mine. By the end, I was convinced that the divine is still desperately trying to speak with me despite my angry, closed ears.

The subject was Ephesians 4:26-29, on the topic of communication and how not to offend the Holy Spirit. In it, the pastor recounted four ways to keep communication godly, each one affirming the next, most critical step I need to take on my path out of Asperger's. They are:

1. Communicate Verbally
   (Nonverbal communication is so easily misinterpreted.)
2. Communicate Honestly
   (If you can't encourage each other with the truth, your relationship isn't very deep.)
3. Communicate Regularly
   (When you can help it, never go to bed with an unresolved issue.)
4. Communicate Purposefully
   (If you can't say somethin' nice, don't say nothin' at all.)

The truth is, at the root of my mania is the fact that I have flouted each and every one of these guidelines. I've hidden for years behind text messages and E-mails, afraid to be without a Backspace Button. I've molded the truth to prevent revealing my true feelings, for fear of a damaged reputation. I often adhere to an intense message quid-pro-quo: when I've sent someone a message, I do not speak to them again until they've responded, for hours, days, weeks, years, ever. Finally, when I communicate, it is largely for the sake of communication itself; I'll start a conversation without necessarily thinking about how I would like to direct it, then get upset when it dissolves into long pauses and sidelong glances.

So I'm taking the first step tonight. I'm deleting my Facebook account. I'm taking an enormous bite out of my dependence on text-based communication and forcing myself to work on actual change and actual relationships. The past has been repeating itself far too much lately, and in order to stop it, I must make a much larger change than I'm accustomed to making. Though I will no longer have access to daily updates and photo albums, I hope that the exchange will be to have an active role in more daily updates and photo albums.

Nietzsche claims many people wait for the call, "that accident which gives the 'permission' to act." I claim no great catalyst. I'm neither having a breakdown, nor moving away, nor suicidal, nor just going away and coming back in order to get attention. This is about rediscovering what is real. This is about rediscovering humanity over machinery. For the first time, I can actually thank the Bible and an unfamiliar church for their support. Sorry, Nietzsche, but that's just the way it is.

Familiar

There is a familiar deer in a familiar forest eating familiar grass under a familiar blue sky. It dines with familiar squirrels and listens to familiar birds. It hears a familiar twig snap and recognizes the familiar smell of danger. And so it bolts, in a way familiar to us.

In the past few years, dating has become a cervine lifestyle: The moment I hear that familiar twig snap, I don't care if it's a mountain lion or a careless rabbit, I'm ready to get the hell out of there. It wasn't always this way. In fact, there was a time when I used to lie down and present my vulnerable underbelly to the mountain lions and say, "Here, this portion would be rather tasty, don't you think?" Unfortunately, when the mountain lions decided I didn't taste very good after all, I learned that self subjugation hurts worse than being disemboweled. Now, I'm not so much fleeing for fear of pain as for fear of shame.

I've broken things off with the Gentleman about five times now, but we're still dating. I attribute this to the fact that I haven't actually mentioned it to him. The past two weeks, the twigs have been snapping left and right, but I just can't tell if it's a mountain lion or a rabbit trying to mess with me. I madly want to know: Is he watching me? Is he interested? Why isn't he responding to me? Why doesn't he ask me about such and such? What is he doing messing around online at four in the morning when I sent him a text message question at two this afternoon? Shit, I'm out of here. Oh... There was a family feud... and he figured I was asleep by the time it was done... and he didn't get up until late. Okay, that's kind of considerate. Rabbit in lion's clothing.

Next time: Waiting late for a call to hang out. No call. Send passive-aggressive text about call. No answer. Find answer next morning: babysitting nephews. Respond. Nothing until later.

It's this crazy pinball track from fight to flight to collapse, and it's reawakening a side of me that I really hoped had been dragged away by the mountain lions. Now, every time there is no immediate response, I instantly develop a new scenario in which he is a combination of all of my exes: their journeys that I hinder, their secrets, their affairs, their lies, their patronizations. The psychosis takes less than five minutes to start and an hour to explode into this absurd, self-loathing, woe-is-me, screw-dating mentality, which, once the rabbit pulls off the lion's mask, leaves me ashamed again, yet insufficiently so to prevent another lapse the next time.

So basically, I am a familiar deer in a familiar meadow, waiting for the familiar snap of a familiar twig, but where it is snapping and where to run, remain unfamiliar. The more I run, the more exhausted I become. But what is the alternative? How does one face the lion's mask and still be happy after it's revealed to be a rabbit? Furthermore, how does one enjoy the meadow when there may be a lion nearby? This isn't one of nature's unavoidables; there are methods of defense, but what are they... in the world outside of simile?

Update
Now that he got back to me and very casually brushed me off on our evening plans without a "Sorry" or a "Wish you could be here," but a promise that he would send pictures from his imminent week-long trip, the decision is made. I'm not running; I'm kicking his ass out of the meadow. Positive attitudes aside, I think I have a right to be angry, and in response to the stereotype that people with Asperger's can't take social cues, I'm a hell of a lot more observant than he is. And here I am shaming myself for being pessimistic. You know what? It's better to be single and alone than involved and alone on a Saturday night. Central finger... salute!

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...

Baby, I'd Invert My Esophagus for You.

Camels have it easy. I'm serious. Under the whole "gotta keep a hump of fat on my back in order to stay alive when I can't drink for weeks in the blazing hot desert" facade, when it comes down to mating season, all the male camel has to do to attract a mate is to invert his esophagus and flail it around like a disgusting water balloon.


Hot.
The human male, unfortunately, cannot just unfurl his esophagus and win the love of his life. There are rules to obey, conventions to follow, standards to uphold. For instance, to attract a proper mate, the civilized male must be

strong but not controlling,
sensitive but not submissive,
attractive but not too,
trusting but not too,
interested but not intrusive,
interesting but not overwhelming,
free but disciplined,
clean but dirty,
romantic but realistic,
selfless but self-respecting,
sane but crazy,
wild as a wolf but tame as a dog.

One cannot help but wonder how human civilization has persisted so long when one beholds the grand paradox of one's own courtship display. It is amazing how much time and effort go into complicating it, and how quickly the words "screw it" undo it.

From the Rabbit's Mouth

The end of the week holds much to reflect upon. This particular Friday calls me to recollect the wise words of Thumper, the rabbit. You may remember him from his cinematic debut in the movie Bambi, especially his great big feet and penchant for clover blossoms (who can blame him?). But for me, it's his worldly wisdom that comes to mind, expressed in one line more profound than my five-year old brain was able to comprehend the last time I heard it:

If you can't say somethin' nice, don't say nothin' at all.

In the past few days, I've received a slew of critiques, both public and private, regarding the content of this blog. A fight even broke out on my Facebook profile because of it. The majority of the criticism comes from the vulgarity of the title, though "ass" is a multi-layered word, meaning many things, including donkey, buffoon, jerk, or derriere. I suppose it's true that he who maketh an ass of himself must prepare to be ridden, but by modern tastes, this statement has a wholly different connotation.

The point is this: I am an ass of the third kind, and I am so because I don't know how to limit my words, as Thumper noted, to what is "nice." A lack of understanding of social propriety is one of the most troubling symptoms of Asperger's Syndrome, but rather than keep my mouth perpetually shut as I have for years, I'm going to explore it.

Society has its own sense of disgust, and mine happens to be the opposite (e.g. daring to be so gauche as to publicly confess flatulence). Nonetheless, the intent of this blog is not to go on forever about what an ass I am, nor is it a blatant attack on the self-proclaimed "normal," but rather a way to highlight the areas in which I am most asinine and work on making them less so. While I enjoy my own brand of strangeness to the point of self-indulgence, it is simply not fun to be an alien among people.

That being said, I'm still making my burger, and I'm still working toward Thumper's philosophy. While the best I can do for those Hypothetical Post Viewers who want me to give up the journey or put the "blah" in "blog" is to present my puckered fourth kind, should someone have reasonable suggestions for how to improve the content of this blog or adhere it more tightly to my mission, I will gladly incorporate your advice into each subsequent post. 謝謝. 慢慢吃.