In Another Life, Hood to Coast in One Day

Beach or mountains? Which do you prefer? Why?

I seem to have fixed my keyboard issues except for the “a” key. Sometimes it works, sometimes the repeat rate makes me insane because it slows my typing speed to a crawl. Even though I type very fast, I will not sit there and actively look at a typo. So, I did what you do in a tech situation for peripherals. If something breaks, buy a new one. The old one will fix itself immediately. Definitely worked on my Apple Pencil, and it was only $100 for that pro tipโ€ฆ. and you just got it for free.

I accept tips.

If you’re a consistent reader, you just laughed as hard as I did. I hope that when she bought her next Big Gulp with it, she got something good. I love sugar free now, buat as a kid, it was always a suicideโ€ฆ. which is basically a Long Island Iced Tea for a nine-year-old. It’s what we in the US call it when you fill your cup with a little bit of every soda on tap. It’s one of those drinks you remember fondly, and then you go have one out of nostalgia and realize why you stopped.

All of this is background information on why I prefer the mountains to the beach. In the mountains, I can both ski and write. I love to swim, I do not like the beach. I am not afraid of being stung or bitten as I have already been stung by Portuguese men of war. MEN. Apologies to Dana for not getting her out of the way fast enough when she said, “hey. What’s that floating breast implant?”

The funniest part of that incident was a scuba diver telling us to go to a convenience store and buy some chewing tobacco to soak up the stingers. Just mix it with water and make a paste. We needed more soda anyway. Sold. Dana insisted on calling my doctor stepmother. I said, “Dana, if I call her, she’s just going to say that we’re idiots for not believing the subject matter expert in front of us.” So Dana says she’ll call her. I could hear the whole thing and she wasn’t on muteโ€ฆ.. The shit eating grin on my face at “ARE YOU CRAZY?” was legendary.

I see into people. I know I doโ€ฆ..

I walked away tremendously satisfied, but it was just another instance of how Dana stepped all over me. I didn’t see it until one of my closest friends pointed it out. That I’d taken on a tremendous amount of responsibility and he was the one that suggested that Dana bring me flowers the night I got home from my first day at work. That she was really thoughtless toward me so much more than I realized. This is not someone who pined for me. This was someone who drove with his girlfriend to help me move- he drove my truck from Portland to Houston with all our stuff, and then I gave it to him as payment.

It was so cool. When I first got it, he gave me a bumper number like the military. He asked me what I wanted, and without blinking I said, “11” (Matt Smith, my favorite Doctor). Then, he spray painted a Dalek on the door- and not even a minimalist symbol, either. It was a whole mood.

In short, this was not a play for me. It was “stop being blind.”

Seven years and I just thought she was loud and boisterous. It didn’t occur to me that especially after she got her DUI, I don’t know if she was drinking more or if she was just angry and felt guilty all the time, but the constant superiority over her memory being infallible and mine being crap didn’t earn her any favors.

I write about memories all the time, and I’m very good at it. I know this because my family says I remember those memories accurately, and you cannot feel good writing about your family until they tell you that. My mother had a very, very good memory and I got it from her. I hate it. I really, really hate it. This is because when I get into an argument with someone close to me- Dana, Supergrover, Meagan, whomever- I am very good about saying “this is a pattern and we need to change itโ€ฆ. and here are the six times it has happened before.” It’s not noticing. It’s not caring. It’s “throwing things back in my face.” Meanwhile, they’re moving the goalpost further away from accomplishing anything. Everything becomes all about my behavior and not attacking the problem together.

Sometimes I just want to be bad at remembering things. It’s not always pleasant. I don’t just remember the good things. It makes my writing better and my feelings disparate. Just like being nonbinary, it’s a spectrum. I have laughed and felt weird the whole time I’m writingโ€ฆ. yet this is not for me later today. This is for me in five years.

You get it today, but I won’t understand it fully until I’ve read it without context. What was happening in the room while I was writing. I don’t remember every entry, but I do remember the hard ones. “Go Tell the Bees” has been the hardest on me in years. Even though it wasn’t all the closure I needed, I did cry all the way through it, which meant several hours of gut-wrenching pain. I dragged it out of me, and I love it so much now that time has passed. In the moment, I published it and walked away. I later recorded it, and had to pause when it became too much.

Even last night when I read the prompt about beach vs. mountains, I thought about what our trip to Coos Bay would have looked like.

I realized after I’d fallen down on the job of trying to be the most perfect friend who ever friended that there was a big difference in my personality and my illness. That I didn’t give two shits about Michael. I’m in a solo-poly relationship, so obviously jealousy is such a problem for me. It was never anything about that. All my social masks failed at once and I was stumbling around, grasping at straws. But we’ve come a long way in 10 years. The last picture she sent me was so incredibly sweet.

I said, “I haven’t had a recent pic of you in a long time. Send me one? Nothing fancy, just want to match a name to a face. Don’t make it weird.” It is a goddamn portrait, the most beautiful picture I’ve ever seen of anyone because in that moment, she just turned the camera around on her front porch, and the way she’s smiling, I know she knows she’s looking at me and no one else. I’ve always loved pictures of her, but I’ve never had one where I just flat out asked and therefore I knew she was thinking of me. She said she must be getting soft in her old age if she was willing to send a pic to anyone, and my heart “grew three sizes that day.” It was a moment I’ll never forget, because she recognized it was a moment, too.

My allergies may or may not be acting up right nowโ€ฆ.. mostly because even though I love the mountains, I’d never go there ever again for one moonlit walk in our jeans and sweatpants, the uniform of Coos Bayโ€ฆโ€ฆ.. which is in the state where we started and created our own.

This is For the Bird

We are hosting 26 people for Thanksgiving. They are on the ground floor and I am in my room. There’s not any padding between me and them, which means I would have on BT headphones and white noise if I didn’t constantly deny myself ways to comfort myself. It sounds weird. I’ll get over it. But that’s called “demand avoidance.” When you need something from yourself or another person, it can strike at any time. It also doesn’t matter if it’s something small or large. Is taking a shower important? I would say it is. Still can’t always make myself without extreme unction. I am not lazy. I am debilitated by thinking about changing environments. Sensory issues matter.

The other day I said that my routine is not based on time, but becoming familiar with my environment. That waking up is just disorienting enough. It doesn’t matter whether I’m at my house or at Zac’s, the process is the same. Although after we wake up, my sensory issues haven’t been on high alert because it’s only Zac, his housemate, me, and Oliver (who is a dog). On the whole, I’d rather be at his house right now. ๐Ÿ˜›

Here’s the best part of our conversations this week without context:

Zac: Are you suggesting that object permanence is a problem?!?!
Leslie: Peek-a-boo, bitch

We were typing back and forth, but I hear Aaron Paul. Anybody?

I’m proud of us. We took a minor situation and resolved it while it was still a minor situation. Funny how I’ve been though of as a judgmental dickheaad for eight years, and as it turns out, I’m not when getting an actual answer out of someone and they don’t just “I AM BECOME DEATH” all over the place. Finding out that I’m not always the one that’s hard to please, despite popular opinion. But that was so long ago that I haven’t made many friends to counteract feeling so awful all the time.

I am sure that my beautiful girl felt awful, because I was being deeply emotionally intimate and if you don’t do that in your family, you’re going to hate it. Not that my words were perfect. I just don’t get from her that her family really does conflict. That sweeping everything under the rug is the family motto, not exclusive to her. She didn’t learn it in a vacuum, I didn’t learn my own family patterns that way, either. When they’re opposite, that means every single time I get angry at her she’s fucking terrified. I cannot have that. Both because I don’t want to be thought of as terrifying and I need someone to run counterpoint. She’s very good at that when she doesn’t assume malice…. a huge reason why she likes helping me with other relationships, not ours. She’d have a field day with Zac, but I hadn’t started dating him until maybe two weeks before we stopped talking.

There is no comparison between them because they’re so different in their roles in who they are to me. They’re not even similar personality-wise, although they both speak “acronym” and I don’t. ๐Ÿ™„

Here is a truism for working anywhere in the federal government: if you are not familiar with acronyms used by the military, intelligence, State, DoD, White House, and press you are going to be lost at most parties. I had no idea what MENA meant, learned it was State designation for “Middle East North Africa,” and of course heard it again six more times. But that’s how living in Washington works. You don’t learn everything at once. You take a bite, and then another bite, until you get enough experience to finish a plate. When you have sampled every entree, the dessert is the ability to drink out of a fire hose. In other words, the cake is a lie.

But there’s no use crying over every mistake. We just keep on trying till we run out of cake.

At the end, we can look at the bald eagle with the same pride we look at the turkeys on our tables.

“This is for the bird.”

If You Know, You Know

You guys will not believe what just happened. I just got four pictures.

Zac said:

This is Oliver, who is a dog.

I think my heart might explode..

Impossible to Choose

If you could meet a historical figure, who would it be and why?

I am not posting so late because it’s Thanksgiving. I am posting so late because my keyboard decided not to work on Android anymore and I’ve been fighting with it most of the morning. I finally just charged my iPad because I want to watch “For All Mankind” when I’m done. Catching you up because that’s how my day has played out so far- autistic meltdown in which I proceeded to slap the shit out of my tablet and remembered breaking it was a thing I could do and stopped. Just red mist rage with absolutely no emotion behind it except hatred of an inanimate object.

I’m going to have to get a new computer soon, because my desktop is toast. I think it’s the motherboard, because the PCI lanes are hosed (professional opinion, not fact) and my external graphics card has joined the choir invisible. So, I switched over to the onboard AMD and that’s when I realized it wasn’t PCI that was fucked. It was the whole thing. I’m trapped because I really want a Raspberry Pi, but there are so many damn things that won’t run on it bare metal, because the software is written for Intel/AMD chips and not ARM. It’s like putting Windows software on a Mac with Parallels. Software emulation only works if the chip is STUPID fast to cover the gaps in coding.

For instance, I can’t realistically play Skyrim, the absolute only game I play (I used to play Fallout 3 because it’s set in DC, but I’m over it.). I imagine that it *might* run on the ARM version of Windows, but I can’t imagine it working out well. There’s plenty of emulation like Steam decks and all that, but it’ll make the game run like a three legged dog on a Pi.

The historical figure I would like to meet most is Linus Torvalds, because he’s the genius behind all of this. Raspberry Pi would not be a thing without Linux, and he lives in Portland……..

which is handy, because he might be the only other person in the city that celebrates Finnish Independence day with Bryn and me.

Linus and I have our differences. He prefers KDE (linux desktop- menuing system and all that). I prefer MATE (pronounced like the tea) and Cinnamon, which look like Windows 95 and 7, respectively. It’s a Windows-type interface and workflow that doesn’t constantly try to sell me something. Let me tell you, that is the beauty of linux in a nutshell….. which in retrospect is a good joke because Tim O’Reilly & associates actually wrote “Linux in a Nutshell.”

And here’s the thing. If you’re not married to Windows software, you won’t really notice a difference. There are certain things you’ll want to install, like Microsoft Office, with emulation and not that LibreOffice isn’t perfect when you create and maintain documents in it. Microsoft Office plays well with others most of the time, not 100%. I wouldn’t install Microsoft Office unless I was working for someone that required it, because the file format will open in Office and if something is wrong, I can just print a PDF instead. For every piece of Windows software that you have, there is an alternative. It’s just a learning curve that believe me is worth it. Every time I think about popups asking how likely I am to recommend Windows to my friends, or a reminder to buy Microsoft-branded server space, or subscription-model software, my eyes twitch.

The only thing I pay for in terms of software and security updates is my VPN. I flip it to Canada so I can be an American trying to be a Canadian while watching a movie about Americans trying to be Canadians.

This reminds me of a quick aside. The very first time I went to the International Spy Museum (and I know just how big a laugh I’m going to get here) it was at the old digs on F St. You walk in and there’s a collection of covers on the wall. They tell you to pick one, because you’ll be required to maintain it. What they do not tell you is that it is going to be a series of computer-based questions. So, I pick this kid named Colin from the UK, and I proceed to come up with mannerisms, accent…… like a jackass in front of all these people……. but I take most things literally. AuDHD for the win. That day, I did not consider myself as going to the museum. I was a whole ass exhibit.

Back to you, Bob. Let’s go to the phones.

Linux gaming is getting better and better in terms of graphics card support being equal to Windows, but there are really no Triple A open source titles. Xonotic is a ridiculously fun first person shooter, but it doesn’t look like Rocket League or anything. The one open source game that I think is really well done is 0ad. You build civilizations (you can literally think about the Roman empire), and the game mechanics are much like StarCraft. You gather resources and fight other nations.

OUTSTANDING.

Again, we would not have any of this without Linus, and I get to be astounded by its progress every single day because I started with an idealistic Red Hat phase in college. I flirted with The Fedora, but I married Debian. I call Red Hat “The Fedora” because it reminds me of the time someone snapped at Carmen Sandiego on the new Netflix series, calling her “Fedora the Explorer” and I died for a second.

Speaking of Carmen, I like how her backstory is ridiculously muddled from spy to thief. She has worked for all of the intelligence agencies (they phrase it as “so many she’s forgotten”), and in the new series is basically counterintelligence, stealing from thieves and collaborating with government spies. It looks like MI-6, but it could be anything generic. The English woman and the French man are partners.

On Carmen Sandiego, you will find my alias. He’s called “Player,” and his entire job is to sit there at the computer, also obsessed with news and intelligence. He takes in information as fast as I do, bright as fuck.

Coded autistic, especially because his graphical user interface looks a lot like The Fedora.

Thank you for everything, Linus. I hope you have a nice Finnish Independence Day. Next year…. in Jerusalem, eh?

Today I Learned

When I was in the hospital (psych emergency/med check) nine years ago, some of the people around me started telling others I was borderline personality disorder. Not only was it not true, BPD carries a stigma, like psychiatrists saying they won’t have more than one borderline patient at a time because they’re so difficult. Bluntness and seeming malice are par for the course when none is meant, but one of these things is not like the other. I am not Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde. I social mask until I can’t and the people around me have no idea what the hell to do when I stop. My problem is that social masking has been a part of my life since I learned to walk/talk. How am I supposed to know what’s neurotypical and what’s not? I have been made to believe that I’m a lot crazier than I am.

I was falling apart because my social masks all failed at once and it was a straight up crisis. How anyone could be surprised I ended up in a pych emergency after two therapists saying I was so fucked up it was going to take a very long time to heal is beyond me. You mean none of this is ever going to get any better? This is what my life looks like now? People don’t kill themselves because bipolar makes them sad. They kill themselves because managing bipolar disorder is fucking relentless.

“Borderline” was “over the line, Smokey. Mark it zero.” Here is why I am so fucking furious at the person(s) who said it. I’ve seen my chart. I was never diagnosed with BPD. Ever. I have had meltdowns, burnout, sensory issues, you name it. But I have never had an attachment disorder. I attach too much, if anything. I’ve been in emotionally abusive relationships for forever, because I assumed that people who thought I was a difficult monster were correct. I didn’t have any coping mechanisms for autism, so I just assumed I was the worst person who ever lived. I handle things wrong all the time, but because it’s not the same way a neurotypical person would handle things wrong, it’s a bigger mistake (to them). To them, they are justified in infantilizing me, and it doesn’t matter whether it’s at home or at work.

I got an incorrect label, and I was trapped in other people’s opinions with BPD; autism creates sympathy and treating me like I’m mentally delayed, and BPD means I am so unstable I cannot function. Both choices in how I’m treated blow. There’s no way not to report disabilities because social masking will fail at some point and I have no way to fit into society if I’m dead honest….. or at least, that is my belief right this very moment because I am not done with the process of acceptance. I do not even know how to function anymore because everything I’ve done in the past has been “getting by” and also incorrect for me, because I can’t just white knuckle my way through neurotypical society forever. I will die alone, and I am not kidding. I know myself. I’ll get tired of being misunderstood and just sit in my little autistic nest. It is so much easier not to engage than it is to be sure that you’re a burden on everyone. It’s also never unclear that you are. Social masking leads people to believe that I am an entitled, lazy asshole and that if I just worked harder, I’d be fine.

How long would you last at a job where people treat you like you’re five? Realistically, how long could you put up with being treated that way knowing that your life is a series of performance improvement plans no matter the field and always having meetings about yourย  problematic behavior…… because my tone is always off or I can’t keep up or I need to go to the doctor too much. You name it. Meanwhile, I have never told an employer I was autistic for them to be able to help me because I didn’t know. Considering just how well jobs do with ADHD, I have to assume “not well.” Left to my own devices, I write the length of a novel/novella every month, not year. If I was a fiction writer, Nanowrimo would last two weeks. With a brilliant storyline I can write for six or seven hours at 90wpm. I barely look up. I am the model employee because I can tailor my environment to productivity and there’s no office “HOA.”

I do have a fiction work in progress, but I don’t know how to write fiction yet. I’m going to school for it on YouTube (no lie- plenty of college writing classes available- that kid at Harvard with the cell phone in his lap is my future….. I feel like I should be sending these kids money somehow but it’ll have to be the thought that counts. In order to learn all of this, I had to stop caring about everyone else. Also not for malice. Because they were programmed to all treat me a certain way, with certain perceptions, and none of them were correct.

I basically came to DC so I could meet an impartial set of doctors and friends. The ones in Houston weren’t it. This is because I started researching AuDHD because of several memes in ADHD groups on Facebook that mentioned it and I felt attacked. I don’t put much stock in memes, but I do in MDs/PhDs. I am tired of being thought of as this dark triad motherfucker when I talk all the time about the empathy I feel for my friends, how I bleed out trying to take care of others and come off as rude and demanding, anyway. I can certainly be clearer and better in my conversations, but there will be no conversation after “you’re not autistic.” This is because if you accuse me of not having autism, I won’t say you’re wrong. I will ask you for $3,000, the cheapest estimate I’ve found for an official diagnosis in Maryland. There is also a possibility that I would not be diagnosed as autistic, and yet that doesn’t mean it’s not true, either. For one, I’ve already mentioned that AuDHD is chronically misdiagnosed, and two…. what was two again? AuDHD. ๐Ÿ˜‰ Two is that autism is missed in girls a lot. A lot a lot. I used to be an autistic girl, but I’ve had neurotypical behavior slammed in my face and social masked it for 46 years. Again, we do not have enough data on ASD to know how it presents in adults. What I can tell you is that AuDHD is more common than it’s not, a comorbidity like fibromyalgia and, well, anything.

If I was borderline, I would not notice or care that I was making an attachment worse or better. What does happen is that my brain works differently and some things just fall off my radar, including relationships. I finally decided to fix that by not looking for one overarching relationship, but a boyfriend and several emotional support girlfriends. If I meet another partner down the road, that’s a whole other conversation, but I’m happy as I am and so is Oliver, who is a dog (Zac is happy, too, but let’s remember who’s important here). I can disconnect ad be with other partners when I’m not with him, but I don’t have more than one red string (red strings and yellow strings are romance and emotional support, what a poly relationship “murder board” looks like).

I think of us as mono/poly or solo/poly because I don’t care what Zac does when he’s not with me. If he needs me, he’ll call. If I need him, I’ll call. I don’t want him up in my business with Bryn and Supergrover, he doesn’t want me up in his business with his partners, either. Believe me, it’s not that I wouldn’t respond emotionally if he was hurt. He’d just have to ask me to respond because I’m not constantly anticipating his needs. He does want to meet Lindsay, though, so make a note L Cubed (my grandfather, Alvie, always used to call me L Squared and Lindsay L cubed because her middle name starts with L as well). I asked her if she was going to be in town for Finnish Independence Day and she is, and you cannot even believe what a big fucking deal that is. I use that holiday to replace one I lost long, long ago. I needed to fill my time on that day (6 Dec) so I looked up other holidays I could get behind instead. Finnish Independence Day was absolutely it because it screamed “special interest.” Is it really your special interest if 99% of the world thinks it’s normal? I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that most people will not be lighting blue and white candles with me in the United States, but that doesn’t make any difference. I am using my strenths. I am replacing the dumpster fire of my teenage years with salmiakki, pulli, kahvi, and perhaps a bit of vodka for good measure.

Although I just remembered that the next time I see Zac will be Dec. 10, so I may celebrate it twice just to be sure to hate the Russians a little more. It’s the one war where I know I could have helped, because I’m a good skier. Do you guys know about this? Apparently, the Russians invaded Finland, so they put on their white camo and fuckin’ disappeared. The Russians never knew what hit them…… I know this because I watched several hour-long videos of the war because that’s AuDHD in a nutshell.ย 

So, I went down the auDHD YouTube rabbit hole as well, and have listened to probably 40 hours of lectures by now. It’s all making sense….. like knowing that learning extensively about Finland is weird for an American, but if their independence had been won in June we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all. Luck of the draw. Next horrific date to block out might be independence for the Dutch….. and “if there’s anything I hate, it’s people who are intolerant of other people’s cultures, and the Dutch” (From one of my favorite spy movies, “Goldmember”).

Speaking of “Goldmember,” learning about ADHD and/or autism gave me enough confidence to say, like Foxy Cleopatra, “I’m a whole lotta woman.” That’s because by doing the work, I learned there was nothing wrong with me. I am strong and beautiful because of my struggles, not in spite of them. So many people have told me that my writing is so good that I’m going to be a very big deal. One reason, not the whole story, is that I didn’t believe it myself. I do now, because I resonate with people in other countries, not just my own. I have appealed to an international audience for almost 24 years now….. I just haven’t been driving the bus. I hadn’t really looked at ways to monetize, or ways to attract readers.

Ok, I haave to say up front thaat this keyboard is driving me nuts becaause you caan’t slow down the repeat raate aaand the aa key is out of control. Hold pleaase.

I think I’ve corrected most of it, but this is what it looks like before, so just prepare for this entry to look Dutch by the end if it doesn’t work. I’ll try switching to aanother keyboaard, but no promises. They’re aall problematic. Th other keyboard randomly makes keys stop working, and at 90 wpm, I get overwhelmed with trying to edit very fast. I could just buy another BT keyboard, but I’ve never had one that didn’t develop problems with connection if they didn’t have it already.

But let’s get back to autism and society. One of my biggest problems is that ADHD does not get the validity it deserves. I know this because there’s some argument that ADHD should be part of ASD, and yet just like autism, there are people who believe it’s not real and people who believe they can fix you.

If you ever want to see an autistic meltdown from me, mention ABA. I will not be elaborating further, but if you have plans to wipe “Autism Speaks” off the planet, please let me know where to show up with chocolate and lowers. If you even dip a toe in to videos by autistic people, you will realize that Autism Speaks is for parents, and parents are frustrated and burned out with a kid they feel is impossible. I use high functioning and low functioning for clarity’s sake, but lots and lots and lots of autistic people won’t. I think I’m not offended because I have a use case for that library of images. Trying to prove that I’m autistic in a world where disability porn shows people what I’m “supposed” to look like is cruel. You think autism means mental retardation. Incorrect. In some ways, my brain is 10x faster than yours. In some ways, your brain is 10x faster than mine. In my experience, neurotypicals want to make me solely responsible for minding the gap. It is true that freedom of speech does not mean freedom from consequences or anything else that would derail being a functioning adult. It does mean that in relationships, neurotypical people see themselves as superior to me because they’ve been socialized to call my actions childish and this will not change in my lifetime- die mad about it.

Should it be okay that autism is naturally occurring, yet you are okay and I am fucked up? This is how every conflict comes across to us when you are irritated with our symptoms, as if we’re THRILLED to have them. Who I projected and who I really was were always at odds until now. When my mother died, I found out my actual diagnosis and that I am indeed physically disabled when she’d gaslit me into believing my father lied to me my whole fucking life while the papers were in her effects and Lindsay found them. I went nuclear for both me and my dad, because that was fucking abhorrent. My parents have always been at odds about me, since I was a kid. I’ve always been difficult, frighteningly intense, high needs (vs. low function) and trying to be invisible, social masking normalcy as not to cause even more problems. I can tell when people don’t like me, and I’ve struggled with it my whole life because I didn’t know what it was about me that was offputting.

Now I know that my emotions are just turned up to hell and other people’s aren’t. They’ve never had to learn to manage emotions this big because they don’t manage their emotions at all. Social masking teaches you to analyze human behavior so you’ll fit in. However, you cannot replicate it because your points of view are wildly different. We dream of worlds where we’ll be understood- obsessed with sci-fi to an enormous degree.

I am not Supergrover’s partner, I just call her that because that’s what yellow strings are called. In reality, she is my Doctor, and a part of me will always be Martha Jones. She does not watch the show, so will you hear my emotions when I say something that means everything to me and nothing to her? I hope she never forgets the time that The Doctor was her.

It led me here, to this place, where I know myself well enough to be able to communicate what is right for me and what’s not. I am not constantly afraid of everything, common among neurodivergents because how they’ll be perceived sits in their stomachs like a rock. I know I’m auDHD, and if I see a benefit to an official diagnosis, I’ll get one. I do not see a benefit in trying to prove that I’m autistic. In my experience, trying to convince someone that you are less crazy than they think but still diagnosed is futile. Just like trying to convince someone that you’re disabled when you “don’t look like it.”

I do not know what to do now, but I do know two things. The first is that I am not lazy. The second is that I am not malicious.

To conclude, here is a meme to express my feelings, one of my love languages.

Presently, Yes

Do you trust your instincts?

Janie told me this morning that every lid had a pot, and that I’d move on from having an ill-fitting one. I loved that, because it was an easy way to say you and your beautiful girl are not compatible without saying either of us are bad people. The conclusion she came to at the end was the correct one- I choose to love her whether Supergrover returns my feelings or not- and in my mind, she’s just a memory. I have no reason to believe that I am worth anything in her eyes anymore, because she cannot admit that she is fallible in any real way, cannot take responsibility for fucking anything ever, and blames fuck all on meโ€ฆโ€ฆ because she can. I acknowledge that I hurt her. Deeply. What she will not acknowledge is that she hurt me, too, and has made it clear that only she deserves things to go back to normal.

I have been jumping up and down for attention by being understanding of all her time issues and endearing quirks, but she thinks I’m jumping up and down for attention when I’m angry because she doesn’t see why I should be angry when her emotions are always locked down. If they weren’t, she’d be passionate about something, too. If she can’t have emotions for the length of a paragraph, and frankly, it would take a lot for me to believe that she can, she doesn’t deserve my friendship. It’s not because being cut off from her emotions is a bad thing. It’s because it leads her to treat me “like a girl.”

She’s butch as FUCK on the inside, possibly more two-spirited than I am due to all her social masking. I also know a thousand women just like her, because that’s what we do to women in Washington. We take college kids like Hillary Rodham and turn them into fucking robots. Washington women have to prove they can run with the boys, and if you want to be powerful, you’re going to be subjected to a litany of dick-measuring contests. Over the last 10 years, I’ve been to Home Depot three different times to get a longer tape measure.

The paragraph above is probably a paragraph she will hate because she does not see how she’s been vetted and how it benefits her to social mask menโ€ฆ. or, she would definitely see that, she would just take exception to the words I used to describe the process because she’s not queer. She doesn’t see the gender spectrum like I do. And that’s okay. This is not trying to force her into thinking my way, because clearly I’m going to think them with or without her consent.

Supergrover is just the last woman in a long line where I made everything all about them. Everything. When they were upset, I’d cower. This was different because this time I actually did something wrong and regretted it, which should have made me run from her and didn’t because I was so afraid, caught in a Catch-22 I didn’t see coming. We don’t have a secure attachment anymore, and every time I’ve tried to say “we have horrible communication,” she’s changed the subject. It was the closure that I missed.

I am only now learning how to trust my instincts. And my instinct is telling me that she will never become less of a problem in my life because I’m never going to be less of a writer. I gave her a choice- work with me or get out of my fucking way.

I’ll miss her.

Virgo Christmas -or- Getting Somewhere… Out There

What’s your favorite month of the year? Why?

Like every baby born in September, we do not celebrate Advent as such. We suffer through the summer waiting for the sweet relief of “Back to School.” It is not necessarily a penitent season, but a chance to turn inward and see what no longer serves us. At no time have I ever turned down a Trapper Keeper, but there have been a few lesser items that simply did not please me. I changed pens a *lot* in high school. My favorite were the ones that have the rubber grip on the outside, medium point. Fine point is too great a chance to rip the page.

You know how when we were kids SEARS used to send out a catalogue that had all their presents for the year and you’d circle the things you wanted? Well, for Virgo Christmas it’s from Levenger. If you have a Levenger catalog, I’m betting you also have glasses, shirts from Brooks Brothers, a Mont Blanc fountain pen, and possibly a tweed jacket with patches on the sleeves. You may not have ever smoked a pipe, but you love them for aesthetics. You have penny loafers, which you probably bought at Bass in 1992.

We. Are. Virgo.


I’m going to switch gears because I couldn’t really make anything more out of this. “My stomach is empty and my heart is full.”


I will get to the daily prompt later. Right now I want to talk about my current feelings, which are all over the place- and yet I’m in the space where my words are worth so much. That putting things out there is valuable for me, because then it becomes valuable to other people. There’s so much that’s surface level in this world, and I like that you read me because you also dive deep.

The first thing I’ve realized is that I’ve been lying to myself since 2013. No one is my favorite author except Supergrover, because it was so much fun thinking about her enjoyment of my work because her insight was my diamond ring, truly. She never had to get down on one knee. Loving an author makes them react. She will never, ever in her five dollar life understand what happened inside me if she doesn’t get started on that book she needs to write, but won’t. I’d help drag it out of her if she’d let me. I didn’t move to DC to tell her story. I moved to DC to convince her that she needs to be immortal on her ownโ€ฆ. essentially, that her description of her would be so much better than mine. If she’s not a 3D character here, my new reaction is “you’re a fabulous writer. Put up or shut up. Show me what a 3D character is and FUCKING MAKE ME ONE.” Stop treating me like I’m a dickhead all the time when I go out of my way so hardcore to bring positivity into our relationship that you choose not to see.

In the words of Kristina Mahr, “I took the tags off this love before I knew I wanted it. No, that’s not right. I took the tags off this love before I knew you wanted it.” One of the things that she does not understand is that I don’t need to meet her in person. That she can think it’s weird all she wants. Doesn’t mean it’s not true. Autistic people have very few relationships in person because the Internet is just as much of a godsend for them as it is for meโ€ฆโ€ฆ which I did not know until I considered the possibility late in life. Being peer reviewed may have to be enough, because I don’t remember a whole lot of my day to day life as a kid, and that’s a lot of what goes into an autism diagnosis because research on what autism looks like in adults is more rare.

There’s not enough data on how autism changes after 46 years of social masking, and people are diagnosed older than I am. It doesn’t make me weird, it takes away my barriers to communication because I am not worried about my appearance and essentially stimming while I talk because of the typing. I can feel emotions more deeply when I’m reading because that’s my preferred communication style. Yes, my beautiful girl and I are both writers, but we’re yin and yang. She’s an architect, I’m a gardener. She wants bullet points, I want prose. I want to understand something she doesn’t- her. I only know this through speculation, but I know it was true at one point because she told me.

I also think she berates me for “expecting her to remember all our conversations,” and moves the target when I go back to zero and write as if she doesn’t remember anything. It makes my letters longer because AuDHDโ€ฆ. “allow me to explain more and betterโ€ฆ more and betterโ€ฆ more and betterโ€ฆ.” Meanwhile, my emotions are growing as I do it, because I am giving her more and more of me. She’s seen me naked a lot more than anyone I’ve ever slept with, and a lot more often. I think I saw a clip of her on Insta once, so I have very little idea of what she looks like. To me, we are not making love in the traditional sense. It’s so much more important than that.

We are making art.

She is struggling to respond because she does not tap into her emotions the way I do. Cannot because it’s bigger than me. It’s bigger than everyone. She’s buttoned up because she’s always been that way. It shouldn’t be our problem to deal with it, but it is. What I mean by “our problem” is that there’s never going to be a thing in our lives that are more important and we just all have to roll with it. All the time. It’s not the whole story, though. She keeps herself busy and actively runs from her emotions, and doesn’t believe me that laying everything on the table makes her stronger. I can see why. We were making progress and I self-sabotaged. I deserved there to be consequences, I did not deserve them for the next eight yearsโ€ฆ. and not because I’m demanding. It’s twisting around the definition of forgiveness, and absolutely all of this is because online can only do so much.

I can deal with virtual boundaries, but if we aren’t checking our stories on the ground, we need to keep things from spiraling. She is johnny on the spot when we’re in escalation mode, and has finally given me the closure I needed to move on by being an absolute dick. Her last words to me were “obviously you’re the only person who could change.” I responded, “that’s not true at all. You just haven’t told me anything since then. That’s my entire issue. When I lay out my feelings, you don’t.” It’s the healthiest thing I could have said, and that was the end of that, because fuck you only responding if I go apeshit about something.

She absolutely is neurodivergent, but not in the same way as me. She’s allistic and doesn’t have ADHD, but has a horrible case of CPTSD. For along time, I was the only person that knew this, and I didn’t tell anyone until I was sure she had. But, I can’t be more specific than trauma, and her story broke me in half. It’s not that it was so unusual, I was just already in deep grief. I was not thinking about leaving Dana, but the fissure had begun. However, I am not saying that I actively thought about cheating on Dana at all. Supergrover basically connected us umbilically because she didn’t think “Leslie’s a blogger” and just has to be frightened all the time that I’m going to say something I shouldn’t because I am. I don’t write in retaliation. I write in comprehension. Yes, I have felt red mist rage in my writing, but that’s for me to go back and look at it once time has passed. In every case, I’ve thought, “wow. I had to live through that.” More importantly, and thanks, Elizabeth Gilbert, I got to live through that. Every road led me here to Zac and Oliver, who is a dog. I’m mentioning him specifically because today is his birthday- please make a note. ๐Ÿ˜‰ He’s a queer man. He lives on shoes and compliments. ๐Ÿ˜›

Zac and Supergrover are my muses, and both of them in my writing. For Zac, it’s being able to ask questions about intelligence fiction. Supergrover is my definition of non-fiction. It got real, real fast. But those two people come together in me on the page. It’s just that one is LibreOffice, and one is Gmail.

I finally started writing to Zac. I am not giving up the last book, I am just putting it on the back burner.

I know Supergrover. She won’t end on those words, and this may or may not be the end of our movie. If she doesn’t have a connection to me, her palm might itch or it might not. It depends on how much my writing affects her, both emotionally and in other arenas. The problem with being a blogger is not when you get blowback. It’s when they do. That’s because people don’t talk to me, the person who wrote the piece. They talk to the people involved, so the conversation is all hearsay. No one ever calls me up and says “what did you really mean?”

I have to be happy in my isolation most of the time because people don’t reach out and I forget to respond, anyway. I always respond in my head. I’m not saying it’s not an issue. I never want anyone else to feel unloved. The reason I say “have to be happy” is that it’s not like I never look up. When I do, it’s generally at times when people aren’t available. For instance, even if Supergrover and I were Superclose, I wouldn’t see her more than a couple times a year, if that. I don’t even know where she lives anymore, because you couldn’t pay me to care. I mean, I know she’s probably within a hundred miles of me so that it wouldn’t be a huge ask for that amount of time, but writing is just faster and easier because either she’s in bed or on a large assortment of airplanes. I know enough to know it’s not impressive, it’s exhausting.

To me, it’s funny that she’s a big deal and I treat her like my little sister. They are not dissimilar. This is because she’s a first child as well. When it comes to me, the line about Hillary Clinton being gay on SNL goes through my head. I treat her like she’s an asshole when she deserves it, and her responses are basically “I Googled it, and I do not like it.”

Here is what I know to be true. She’s bluffing. She remembers every goddamn detail better than I do. She could quote me in her sleep. Because that’s how she takes in information, too. She has never forgotten anything she’s read, everโ€ฆ.. and acts like she’s a dumbass for forgetting. It’s a con job. Believe it. (I am laughing uproariously right now.)

She’ll drop something I’ve said in front of me and I’m like, “holy shit. How did you remember that?” She doesn’t realize how much I delight in her, because she focuses on my ire. I offered her my whole heart, and I meant it. Love does not depend on the recipient, and I choose to love her deeply whether she returns my feelings or not. I am not trying to be creepy or stalkerish. Her trauma goes back a long way. I see her as a child I care for, not just an adult. Hard to break that strong a bond. It’s like losing custody after you’ve just gotten it, and that joke goes back a long way.

Custody of her is the easiest thing ever, a shared connection and not one borne of anything but wanting love. We have so much of it, and we’re not using it. That does not mean it gets destroyed. Her name is a waltz in my head, a quick three conducted in one because she’s never said her name in a voice noteโ€ฆ. which means that even after 10 whole ass years, I pronounce her name differently than she does.

I pronounce her name like her mother would, she does not care for it. ๐Ÿ˜‰ She says she prefers “the American sound?” I said “who the fuck prefers the Americanized sound of ANYTHING?!?!” She’s a doll baby and a grown ass woman, like we all are. I just notice the things she doesn’t, or doesn’t want to acknowledge, more likely. I see into people. I know I do. I am not wrong a hundred percent of the time and history backs me up with my readers and friends. If you find a lie here, it is 100% because you didn’t give me a piece of information you had before I published.

Also, I feel like I get into illustration mode and say “you” a lot, so reassurance that you is plural, not singular. It makes people think I’m yelling at them when I am actually speaking, essentially, ex cathedra by looking out over my readers. I am not talking to anyone but the whole world at once. Every one of you is a personal conversation because your emotions come up when you read. Just because we are not in sync when it happens doesn’t mean it’s not personalized.

I appreciate people like Sheila, Janie, and Supergrover because they’ve taken the time to interact with me a propos of nothing. Getting feedback is great because it lifts me out of my own echo chamber. My friends all think it’s TMI and don’t want to talk about it, and I’m just talking about laying out my own shit. I’m sure they think it’s rude and I think it’s rude when people trauma dump and emotionally vampire their friends. My blog allows me that- I am not speaking to anyone I know personally, so in real life it’s all social masking. I don’t have to dig deep because I’ve already done it. I start writing at dawn so that I am filling my own cup before trying to meet others’ demands.

It allows me to remember that I didn’t offhandedly or mistakenly give Supergrover her all access pass. She earned it. If there is a key to unlocking me, it’s a goddamn miracle I found it. The odds are so incredibly small that they’re infinitessimal. You cannot believe how many permutations of my life had to happen before she couldโ€ฆโ€ฆ and the beauty of it is that when she dropped into my lap, I was ready. Before, I would have rejected her friendship because I thought I didn’t deserve it. Just full stop I’m not worthy. I managed to get to know her and be so ridiculously charmed that I rejected her friendship a few more times just to be sure I devastated her a little better. I wish I could forgive myself, but I go back and forth between cringing and vomiting. She was murdering me with words, and I’m just as good at it.

What broke us is wanting to stop all of it, and her walking off. She vowed “not to respond to my attacks.” I continue to wonder what planet she’s actually on, but because e-mail, I can love her from here.

Let’s All Say it Together- The International Spy Museum

What is your favorite place to go in your city?

If you’ve read me even twice, you probably know I love intelligence. I believe wholeheartedly that I could have been a spy based on my preacher’s kid upbringing (really, really not much different growing/maintaining a congregation and recruiting/handling assets), genetics (great uncle was C/DIA), and the fact that I’ve “done” news like cocaine since I was eight.

There is a direct correlation.

When I was eight years old, I came to Washington for the first time. It was love at first sight. A miracle dropped in my lap that the first offer Kathleen got out of school was from ExxonMobil, because we got to choose whether we lived in Houston or DC. Moving became a monotropic thought process in which I envisioned my life playing out much differentlyโ€ฆ.. and it did. Absolutely none of the plans I made for myself materialized, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have a hell of a good time making them.

If you’re that kid, the one that grows up in a small town and travels so that they see how much bigger the world really is than 40 square miles, you become a “type.” By 10 I had been to Mexico, the UK, and The Bahamas. I noticed the highs and the lows, the looming cathedrals and the neighborhoods made with tin. Global issues become important early. News becomes important early. Politics become important early. You begin to see that working for the government might be a positive thing because instead of reading the news, you are helping create it.

Kids like me end up at State or at the Washington Post. Rarely do we want to be the story. We want to shape it, especially for writers who process “verbally” in stream-of-consciousness spaghetti code. Writing about my life in DC is learning how to say “Hello, World” in every language.

(Sometimes when I write, I imagine people’s faces as they’re reading and now I’m smiling to myself knowing my programmer friends. Just for them, that line should be “every languageโ€ฆโ€ฆโ€ฆ.. except JavaScript. Fuck JavaScript.)

My autism and ADHD are why my plans haven’t come to fruition, and my bipolar disorder threw my first choice out the window. So, right now, I am trying to concentrate my energy where I feel it can manifest. I am a better writer than I am anything else, and I know that I’m not the best. What I do know is that by writing every single day, there’s no way to get worse. I am sure that this brings hope to many, many people. Living in DC is where I feel the most alive, because I’m tapped into The Source. The United States is a living, breathing entity, and I am deep within the carotid artery (or the vena cava, depending on administration).

When I go to The Spy Museum, it’s not about seeing the exhibits. I’ve done it 10 times, they don’t change it that much. I hardly ever go during the day anymore, because it’s more fun at night. After the museum closes, all the Bond mannequinsโ€ฆ. kiddingโ€ฆ. after the museum closes, that’s when they do book talks and record SpyCast, how I met Jonna Mendez and Tracy Walder.

Jonna is one of my writing heroes, because she writes about the stuff I like in the way I like to hear it. She’s got a very concise, no bullshit tone and the wit of someone like David Halberstam or Rachel Maddow, who have also written a wealth of political non-fiction thrillers. I should tell Jonna that if she sees an uptick in sales the next few days, merry Christmas. The post I talked about yesterday for reddit re: Spy Dust and Moscow Rules has had 471 upvotes in 23 hours. I hope I sold her a thousand copies, and I’m not even going to tell her about it because “Secret Santa” is a thing. Book sales are the best gift I could have picked.

A woman said her dad wouldn’t read a book about intelligence if it was written by a woman, and I think that if Jonna can’t convince him, he’s a misogynistic lost causeโ€ฆโ€ฆ. being Chief of Disguise at CIA isn’t impressive or anything (my eyes are rolling out of my head). I like Spy Dust better in terms of being able to pick out Tony’s voice from hers, but The Moscow Rules is my favorite of them allโ€ฆ.. and I thought Argo was hard to beat. The book was made in reaction to the film, and it was still better.

I have a different relationship with/to Tracy than I do with/to Jonna because Tracy is so much younger, and in fact, is a bit younger than me (I think). Do you ever have a moment where someone says something and your heart just walks out of your body in empathy? I know it happens to people with their families, but Tracy was a complete stranger to me when she told the audience that she was born with hypotonia. I had never met another person who’d been born with it, she’d never met anyone outside her family. It was not just that kind of moment for me. The emotions we felt at seeing each other mattered. It is one of, if not the most intimate moment of my life. I wasn’t proposing or having a baby, and yet it was still that big because the chance of us connecting was so small, our affliction so rare. It’s one of the few times in a relatively unfamiliar situation in which I’ve been able to breathe that deeply.

However, there is a reason I chose Jonna over Tracy with the reddit comment. That dude is already predisposed to disliking female intelligence writers, so handing him a book with a sorority sister protagonist didn’t seem like the wisest choice. You get Jonna until you can handle pink coffee mugs without being an asshole about it. But make no mistake, he definitely needs to read it. There’s more dirt on scumbags like him inside FBI who don’t trust women in intelligence. To be clear, Tracy did not have problems at CIA. She had problems with FBI. Tracy has a problem with FBI, so they have a problem with me. It’s just that simple.

I am sure that Tracy appreciates the support in which I do legit nothing but talk shit about the FBI on my web siteโ€ฆโ€ฆโ€ฆ but hey, she has a great autobiography called The Unexpected Spy. It’s a thrill ride through her life having worked at both agencies, and thrilling to find out that CIA is actually as forward-thinking as I thought it was. Tracy also made an interesting style choice. When you write a book involving CIA (and I’m not sure if it applies to me, but it definitely applies to employees), it has to go through a publications review board. When Tracy got her manuscript back from the PRB, there were parts that were blacked outโ€ฆ.. and she just left them in and published as is. Tracy’s is the one book I don’t have on my Kindle, and the one hardback I’m grateful to own, because the words come across the same on e-paper with Jonna and Tony, but the feel of the paper with its saturating amount of black ink looks official.

And in fact, I liked it so much that she signed my book after the lecture and as she was writing the inscription, I asked her if she would black out a word. Tracy understood the assignment. ๐Ÿ˜‰ She blacks out one word, and you can still see what it is, so she asks around and finds a black Sharpie. She hands it back and it says:

To Leslie-

Go [redacted] the world.

Then she says, “there. Now no one knows what I told you to do to the world.”

We’ve (sort of) kept in touch- I should reach out and see what she’s up to these days. Last I heard she was in Dallas (went to SMU just like my dad, went back to teach at Hockaday). If she ever comes to DC, first coffee’s on me.

Here’s to hoping we can [redacted] the world togetherโ€ฆโ€ฆ..

because the Spy Museum is my favorite place in my city.


I am including the link to both book talks, and I’m in them at the Q&A. In the Walder video, I’m wearing my CIA baseball cap. In the Mendez video, I am “Sir Not Appearing in This Film,” because the video cuts off right when Jonna stops speaking.


The Lanagan Rules

Sometimes, you can do for other writers what you don’t do for yourself- promote them. I am currently over the moon because one of my comments on reddit is getting more and more upvotes by the minute. In r/suggestmeabook, a woman was telling the sub that her dad wouldn’t read intelligence writers if they were female. At last count, it was at 100, so safe to say my work is done. Here is what I said, and huge props to both women:

Alma Katsu is a former CIA case officer and she’s brilliant. She’s so quick she could run circles around him, so she’s probably your best bet. I’m a member of the International Spy Museum and a huge fan of fiction and non-fiction. For non-fiction, your go-to is going to be Spy Dust or The Moscow Rules by Jonna and Tony Mendez. They’re a husband and wife team who each served as Chief of Disguise for CIA 10 years apart. She will also wipe the floor with him because their stories are true. Women don’t just write these stories. They make them.

Women are better at being little gray men than little gray men. Anonymity has its privileges, and so does reading these marvelous books. For Katsu, start with Red Widow. One of the things that it touches on that made me cry was the reality of losing an asset/colleague while female. Some of them become emotional. It works out as well for female spies to be emotional as it does for the rest of us……………..

I Am Not Normal -or- “Hi, My Nickname is ‘Way Too Much.'”

What’s the first impression you want to give people?

I have bigger problems when people think I am normal than when they don’t. This is because neurodivergent and neurotypical people have two different perspectives, and the neurotypical person (also referred to as “allistic”) is always going to assume I am just like them because majority is implied– neurotypical. I do not have to start every conversation with “hi, my name is Leslie, and I’m an autistic (‘hi, Leslie’),” but I do not think it would hurt if I did. When I do not, people can see that I am irregular, but they can’t put their finger on why.

I have cerebral palsy so I move and look different, but not by so much that you’d think “neurodivergent and physically disabled.” My biggest issue in life is not looking disabled or autistic enough, because I can say it all I want and there’s still going to be a look of disbelief when I actually show people I’m not Bruce Almighty. I would rather people love me backstage, because my social masks are worth nothing. It’s valuable to go through the process of an official diagnosis just for confirmation that you’re not crazy. You’ve done the research and you believe you. It is only when you believe that you know more about your own brain than other people do that they push back. Why do you think you’re the authority on telling other people who you are? “You don’t look autistic” is my favorite. I struggle with imposter syndrome because of it, or I did……….

I actually do think I look autistic now that I know. Like, I just looked around one day and realized my closet was serving Young Sheldon realness (also “Old Sheldon” realness due to all the long–sleeved t-shirts)……. which is also serving Jim Parsons realness because we are both Houston gays of a certain age (he’s older), and our accents are nearly identical when we fall back on them. If you met Jim and me together, it would seem like you met two people who have always known each other, and I mean it. That boy knows what HATCH is, maybe thought about going. For all I know, Michael has a picture of him somewhere.

Michael and I met at a Houston gay club, then found out we were both HATCHlings and he starts going through a photo album on his phone. Complete strangers, except not…….. I was in his pictures. I was in my 30s and the pictures were taken when I was 18 or 19 and he was still in diapers (15). In short, Jim Parsons has the same accent as the gays who raised me. I love him like he personally vouched for me at The Ripcord…… because that’s what you do at the end of the night in Houston if you’re with the boys.

When I’m with “the boys,” I feel more comfortable in a club, gay or straight. That’s because the club is an unfamiliar environment with lights and sounds that are way too fuckin’ loud, but the boys feel like home when the club doesn’t. My favorite memory of clubbing in Houston is the night I went to JR’s in a white t-shirt, jeans, and red leather CFM pumps. It was a great outfit, but within two hours I thought I’d never be able to walk again. My friend Brian knew that I could hardly stand up, so he carried me to my car. I looked like the butchest fairy princess on record.

Looking like a butch fairy princess is also a neurodivergent trait, interestingly enough. Neurodivergent people have loose definitions of gender and sexuality. The spectrums between gay and straight, male and female, mono and poly are all enormous, why I call it “Avatar state,” and you probably will, too, if you’ve seen Avatar: The Last Airbender (not the movie- skip it).

“How dare you make me, a bisexual, choose between two or more things?” #bumperstickerwisdom

I identify with Toph because she’s physically disabled (blind) and coded as autistic in her bluntness. This was even more apparent in Legend of Korra. But, of course, that is not acknowledged because There is No War in Ba Sing Se. Problems do not go away if you sweep them under the rug, and get worse the longer you ignore them. Local is national.

We were engulfed in flames, the embodiment of our own ignorance because the former president going after John McCain for being a POW never even raised an eyebrow. FUCK those people. How could you not see that and the former president’s treatment of the mentally handicapped thinking, “this is surely a leader?” People who think the former president is Jesus have never recognized he’s actually Brian…….. but they know he’s the Messiah. They’ve followed quite a few (I’m not convinced God wanted George W. Bush, either…… but they were).

I am not nearly as furious at the former president’s supporters as I am at the people who stood by and did nothing, and there are a ton of them. Voting participation is usually less or right at half in a presidential election, and you have to pay people to show up for the mayor/city council/state leg, dog catcher, etc. I believe that is actually an elected position in West University because my math teacher in 10th grade was mayor and I think I remember her mentioning it.

OMG, now *that* woman was a monotropic thought process…………. Where were we again? ๐Ÿ˜‰

I do not know how people see me the way they do, I just know that it is the same way that people have looked at others who have raised me. I am not dissimilar from a pastor or an opera singer, because that’s what was modeled for me. I have a stage presence every bit as big as theirs, and I never want to use it ever again, because it’s everything about me that’s not really there. It’s the end of the movie, and I’m stepping out from behind the curtain……. while everything is still in color. I am trying to stop the desaturation, or at the very least, turn up the shadows to make stunning, stark grayscale photography. I have said “pay no attention long enough.”

Perhaps Jack Ryan’s archetype can’t be autistic easily, which is why it was easy to let go of that dream. I don’t think I could have taken the pressure cooker, even as an analyst. Some analysts are even forward-deployed, and though I think it would be exciting, I know through talking to Zac and Daniel that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. They both got to explore, they both went through trauma. Both are figuring it out with me.

I have an alternating lateral isotropia which makes one eye focus while the other eye drifts. I have no 3D vision. I don’t always have the correct social masks and say things that people just don’t say in a conversation. They don’t know how to address the elephant in the room….. how to tell me that I’m weird because I obviously don’t already know.

People gloss over my limitations all the time and I am brutally honest about them. Others think I’m shitting on myself and placate me, later realizing I was right and they resent me “because I didn’t tell them.” They still feel snowed because they were seeing me through their filters and not the ones I told them existed. In essence, what is happening is that my social masking is so good, so practiced, that when I say I’m autistic or ADHD it is dismissed. I am not special. Most women with autism/ADHD face this to some extent. It’s more often for me having been raised in a fish bowl because I am skilled at making things look fine (while everything is actually on fire).

Other people seem inversely weird to me, and I could not put my finger on it, either. Until now, I’ve thought I was an alien, taking refuge in science fiction (dear God how did I not know this was coming…… I’m basically Mac and PC [John Hodgman and Justin Long]). Come to find out, it’s because people have been asking me to do things way beyond my capability and I’ve let them down because “I didn’t know any better.” It is never that I told them I was ADHD (haven’t had to tell an employer I’m autistic), explained that it meant I had limitations, and you didn’t look it up. I am only responsible for half of a conversation, and I have never been good at holding people accountable for their part. I hate and am also too weak to stand up to authority most days.

The thing is, though, I run a tight ship with an order all its own, which generally looks like there has been some sort of struggle. I desperately need structure and hate authority simultaneously, because my system is in collaboration with no one and I am lost in my own little world– no one is capable of helping me maintain it; I couldn’t explain it if anyone offered. It’s comfortable in my mind, but it also feels like waiting for God to make Eve when I don’t have a sounding board. According to Zac, this might take a while (he’s an atheist). It’s an apt description because the most beloved trees in my mental garden touch upon knowledge of humanity and the divine.

I think deep thoughts and ask the real questions of myself every day. “Why am I like this?” is a constant refrain, but not a pejorative. Fuel to keep the fire going. Writing is working and I’m getting further along in my healing journey, like just now realizing that I was programmed to look for people like my 10th grade teacher because I was already chasing a cougar (she was young, but I was 11 years younger). Oh my FUCK have I just played a huge hand in making myself feel better and someone else worse, just not her. All the archetypes that came afterward, Supergrover the last and most precious in a line because I’d never met anyone like her, and I never will again. It is all just so sad- one f the reasons I’m isolating because I don’t want to take out grief or anger on others. She calmed me and won’t let me calm her. Somehow, we’ve become a part of each other’s heartbeat despite actively disliking each other and stuck in a loophole-less Massey Pre-Nup.

Relationships like ours don’t happen often,, where both people are just too much for the other because of our different outlooks on life. We actually have little in common if you look outside our thoughts. We track together, but “for all our mutual experiences, our separate conclusions are the same.” We are in different social, professional, and relationship situations, with the difference being an absolute power balance and not one we made. Alternatively, there is no such situation in which I wouldn’t just roll with it. You need snacks? Ok. You need me to steal something? Ok. I’ll be at the National Archives by eight. LET’S DO THIS. My inner Nicholas Cage is struggling to get out. ๐Ÿ˜‰

Just text me first.

I grew through wanting bugs to be features and realizing I couldn’t just release the beta as official and publish a patch later…. I am not Microsoft, and she is not Windows…… but her e-mail address does mark her as having had a 56K modem that came with a proprietary CD (Compuserve, Wow, take your pick- not even AOL? Really?), because that’s the only way you would have gotten an e-mail address that ancient, and yes, I am making fun of her. That’s because she’s basically “Windows 98 and the Plus Pack!” years old.

It would have been fun teaching her terms like “mommy save,” the idea that women only have one personal folder and it is the desktop. You know it immediately because you sit down at the computer and the icons are layered (we also have what we called “12:00 flashers,” ’cause every appliance in their house is always blinking 12.). And that line isn’t making fun of her because A) I don’t know what her desktop is like. II) I was making fun of my users and my own mother from “back in the day.”

My mother assumed that if it plugged into the wall, I could fix it. This is not untrue if we’re talking about a desktop/laptop/tablet/phone. I, like Daniel Stern, have no concept of how to program a VCR. “The cows can tape something by now.” My mother once flew me from Portland to Houston because it was cheaper to house and feed me for a few days than it was to call the Geek Squad and I provide better service. I am sure that she did want to see me as well, but she got a bargain, ijs.

All of these things combine to make me dig down on every topic. I’m creative. I like writing. I like computers because they enable me to write. I like tablets because they allow me to write anywhere with a minimum amount of effort. It genuinely seems like the longer I say silent, the more the words flow.

In Scotland, I can find no record of it, but my parents tell me that they chose my name because it meant “quiet spirit.” Today I realized for the first time just how much they actually nailed it.

There are lots of bugs, but the feature is me. The best impression I can give is that I allow myself to take up room in the world because I am not frightened of yours. Be as big as you are.

I’m trying.

Charlie McCarthy

The reason I write stream of consciousness all the time is that I need a sounding board, and it can’t be me until I have had some distance from a problem. I can pick out my own problematic behaviors if I’m not in the heat of the moment. It’s the main reason I know I’m autistic and not a narcissist. I have pure motives, my social masks did not until my emotional abuse stopped. I only knew how to react from a PTSD perspective because since I didn’t think I was abused, I never bothered to look up trauma responses.

Therefore, the trauma bond transferred from the emotional abuser to Supergrover. It’s not because she’s a narcissist and I needed that pattern to repeat. It’s that we both laid our guts on the table emotionally and that had consequences beyond our control. In terms of my writing, nothing is under Supergrover’s control, either. That’s because in her absence, I spend time with her character because the lovable things about her are my new social masks, matching my values to my vision.

When I first lost my rose-colored glasses, my behavior regressed to that of the age I was emotionally abused, 14. Now, 10 years later, I am finally 11, the person I was when I met her. I am not yet 46 because I do not know enough about myself to be comfortable in my own skin right now. I am 21 at best, because emotionally I can be a fully-functioning adult. Logically, not so much. I have to tailor-make every job to me, so far unsuccessful, not due to effort. Due to every pattern I’ve had while working. It’s trite, but “I wasn’t born to fit in, I was born to stand out.” It’s what people always say when they’re fucked six ways to Sunday.

Burnout wears on you.

What restarts the fire is adding new kindling. The example I just thought of as a “spark” is finding out there are hackers who originally thought about sending me a SQL injection and changed their minds because “she knows the command line. She’s good.” This has never happened. I just think it’s funny considering how many hits I get from Eastern Europe (speaking of Eastern Europe, the new season of “For All Mankind” has droppedโ€ฆโ€ฆโ€ฆ.. #intelligence #iykyk). It’s an image of GRU, Mossad, NSA, etc. that doesn’t scare me. Considering how much hacking I’ve studied, I love espionage enough to know that I’ll never be off the grid. Cameras all over London are nothing compared to developing for the webโ€ฆโ€ฆ. and yes, I have seen people dumb enough to put a web cam on an HTML/DB server. It’s a special kind of stupid.

I don’t cover my web cam with a Post-It because I’m not interesting. I don’t even care if pastors use my sermon illustrations in their own without credit, because when you hit a home run, nobody cares about the brand of the ball. That is only my personal opinion; with other writers YMMV.

In some ways, being trained as a web designer taught me that it was like being trained as a sharpshooter. That respecting Internet privacy was every bit as crucial as respecting the business end of a scoped shotgun. There are consequences for content far beyond your reach, as Karens have found out recently and minorities have known for centuries.

Burnout wears on you.

It’s easy to rail on neurotypical, straight, white, cis people because they need it, frankly. Having the majority claim oppression is too fucking rich. Because whites own so much wealth, they are literally rich from ruining legit everything. Reaganomics wasn’t the best idea they ever had. When things were supposed to trickle down, the rich asked for and were granted bigger cups. It didn’t work, and we’re stuck. It was the equivalent of “let’s tell the poor to fuck all the way off.” Meanwhile, the rest of the world is looking at us like we’re crazy because we absolutely are.

It’s easy to say things like this when I’m not in front of a crowd- that my words have more impact because they flow easier and aren’t compromising with others’ stories because it renders me a weak narrator. People get onto me for creating my own narrative. Of course I do. What else am I supposed to do? Should I be beholden to anticipating your every need?

That has been paralyzing, because it’s always meant “I love your writing and you are entitled to your stories as long as you never mention we know each other.” Everyone likes reading my observations about everyone else. They are not going back and looking at their actions in third person omniscient like I amโ€ฆ. and not positing why I would do what I do in reaction to them, either. It is never their behavior, only the paragraph that triggered it.

When I acknowledge my inner angel and asshole, it doesn’t seem that others are brave enough to do the same. No one in the history of my blog has ever apologized for their behavior when they stepped all over my ass and got pissed when I stopped apologizing for my words as well. I also would never say anything behind my friends’ backs that I wouldn’t say to their faces, and sincerely dislike friends who do otherwise. If you have a problem with me and talk to everyone else about it, that’s on you. Nothing will get better by telling other people the problem, and clearly you are more in tune with those friends than you are with me, so please go ahead.

Your services are no longer needed because I cannot solve a problem if you do not tell me what it is. I will disconnect immediately from people like that because it doesn’t result in being able to shrug things off easily. The quicker the dump, the better. I waffle between holy terror meltdown and incapacitation; I’m done with those kinds of swings. I’m not going to pass out over anger anymore, because I don’t do much but self-soothe and my echo chamber is a hot mess.

I don’t disconnect quickly from people because I don’t like them. I disconnect because when people are angry, my echo chamber turns everything into “you’re the worst person who ever lived.” I can work on turning down the volume, but I can’t pretend a little bit of it won’t always be there because internalized homophobia and hatred of my processing disorders/mental illness is ever-present. Society reinforces it by people confusing autism with Down’s Syndromeโ€ฆ which I believe is the root cause of the phrase “you don’t look autistic.” Autism doesn’t refer to genetics. It refers to the way your brain processes your environment, logic, and emotions.

Logic is more disparate over the spectrum because of differences in executive function. I could be a therapist better than a programmer because my EQ is so much higher than my IQ. If there’s a MENSA of EQs, I’m certainly in it. I’m the Stephen Hawking of human behavior. I’m not the only one. Most autistic people are like this because they have to study neurotypical people so hard to social mask themโ€ฆโ€ฆ. because acting like themselves leads to “problematic behavior.” It’s not the behavior, it’s the context I got from what you said, which, if you’re neurotypical, will hardly ever match what you meant.

What I mean about logic being a spectrum is the difference between STEM autistic and creative autistic. Creatives don’t process things like scientists. Creative autistics have problems processing a process, essentially. STEM autistics have problems processing their feelings about a process. That’s a spectrum, too, and varies because so many of us also have ADHD. Autism in women is not generally caught when the person has both processing disorders. Their ADHD makes their interest vary so much that doctors tend to downplay their experiences.

If someone does not believe that I am autistic and low functioning in terms of logical processes, I don’t have anything to prove. You can see it in my life everywhere you look if you want to find it. If you don’t, you won’t. Neither of those things are my issue, I just respond to you the way you respond to me. Saying “you don’t look autistic” or “everyone’s a little bit autistic” is just dismissive of a devastating process. Your entire life changes from the moment that light bulb goes off. It’s better knowing than not. It’s debilitating knowing that in a lot of cases, it does not get better because it’s not all up to you.

People often like reading/writing about things they love and cannot do themselves. I was attracted initially to being a spy or a diplomat (or “both”) because I studied international relations and political science at University of Houston. I left UH (early, but not by much- if I went back, I could graduate pretty quickly); I wanted to travel the world, and working for the government was the easiest path since I couldn’t get into the military. I didn’t follow up on civil service because by the time I was rejected, I’d moved on from traveling because my autistic side showed up more and more as I aged. When I first moved to DC in 2001, I don’t think I left my house for six weeks due to meltdown and burnout from changing so much, so fast. I was not dissatisfied, I was exhausted.

I actually tried to join the military before I graduated from high school because I wanted to be in a jazz band that came to HSPVA called “The Airmen of Note.” Speaking of them, I once heard the joke that the Air Force is a group of people who stand next to the military, which is basically recycled from the “fact” that drummers are a group of people who stand next to musicians.

I am not an arrogant asshole out of the bandstand and kitchen, but I can damn well “play it on TV.” Being a dick on the line is child’s play next to being the only woman in the absolute cesspool of humanity that is top brass, and we’re not talking about the Air Force anymore.

It remains to be seen whether I’ll ever take the Civil Service exam, because I’m having trouble conceiving of being anything other than a writer, because I can shed light on things without having to work inside them as long as I do the research. I very much learned this from Rachel Maddow. She’s not a spy, a diplomat, a soldier, etc. She’s just an observer to all of it, painting her feelings as fact because she’s taken the time to read them all and digest, imparting what she understands based on what she’s read, not because of a pathological need to be right.

The moment I moved here, I started searching for a job as a cub reporter and found out quickly I was too old for the job because no one would look at me. It’s not the job I wanted, it’s the job I thought I could do. I already just pull the string and 3,000 words will come out. Deadlines are every bit as solid as ticket times, and you’re reacting to what’s happening rightthefucknow rather than having to sit on a story for weeks until you get it perfect.

I am glad I continue to train myself like a journalist, because my other works are going faster now that I “work out” before I get to them. Writing is a muscle, and my emotions feed it. I decide whether I like the feel of my craft or not, and what styles advance me, what doesn’t.

Being a wishy-washy storyteller is boring to other people, I am not a dictator over my friends. That’s because I don’t have a lock on our future. I have a lock on my reactions to our past. I’m never going to be nosier than you’ll let me.

It’s just hard to be curious and have people think it’s nosy. In my relationships, I want to know what makes those people tick. Them not telling me those things makes me feel rejected, because I don’t mean any harm and yet have caused anger. I genuinely care or I would never ask you anything.

I’m not going to stick around if my curiosity is intrusive because I’m autistic and I’m not going to walk on eggshells or change. It’s impossible. It’s not my personality, it’s my disability. You can deal with it or you can’t, and that’s not my bag. I have become better about seeing the people that show up instead of wanting people who don’t.

It’s only when I’m truly alone that I want Supergrover whether she wants me or not. It’s too powerful to grow through the thermonuclear war to not pay attention. I learned who I was, who I didn’t want to be anymore. I learned who I love and how. I made a list of what’s wrong with me and why. I don’t apologize for the things over which I have no control anymore, because I absolutely don’t believe I “should have known better” in front of people who don’t talk. They will never know how my responses would have changed if they knew how I felt and weren’t brave enough to ask.

In some ways, I write everything here to push through rejection sensitivity disorder, meltdown, burnout, demand avoidance, impulse control, etc. I could keep naming symptoms that suck for quite a while, but writing gives me structure I don’t get elsewhere. I don’t have demand avoidance over things I understand intimately. I also use my writing as a jumping off point for conversation, so people already know how I feel before I see them if they’re fans, and don’t if they don’t want to know. Their choice. Being a fan is not a requirement, but you’ll get more of me if you are. Full stop. This is because the autism doesn’t mix well with conversation. It is even easier to have a conversation through chat than verbally. A lot of autistic people process through writing to cut down on social masking, so I am very much not alone in this trait.

I’m admitting that I am not the person I thought I was because it makes me feel better about myself. That I am finding solid answers about working around limitations rather than being ignorant of them. I am also not using autism for anything but a Google or YouTube search term. It’s not an excuse, but it is very much my responsibility to let you know so that you do not hold me to neurotypical standards, which harp on a neurodivergent person’s greatest weaknesses. It’s a trap (Zoidberg gif)!

It feels like my only choice is to do this by myself, because even if people are dismissive, that doesn’t make it untrue or less difficult. You only have to study how much AuDHD and ASD is missed in women for five minutes to understand that what I’m telling you is not bullshit. You only have to spend another five minutes to know why so many people avoid an official diagnosis. It’s expensive and intimidating, leads to more discrimination at work. An official diagnosis can help you stay employed at some companies, get your resume left in the dust at others. It depends on how the culture of the office views neurotypical people as a whole. If you are any combination of the neurodivergent disorders, you have problems keeping track of important things because sensory issues impede your comprehension. Having an open office plan for every employee is like picking on kids for being fussy eaters. They’re both neurodivergent traits that result in neurotypical people saying “get over it.”

Autistic people can be astronomically talented and unemployed because they cannot “get with the program.” If you have a policy that I must be able to write, talk on the phone, and listen to everyone else’s conversations just because other people can do it is insane. People want to have hired neurodivergent people. They do not want to work with them. We are HR window dressings like all the other minorities.

There are two sides to every story. I also understand why having neurodivergent employees with needs so highly specialized is problematic. You cannot provide enough space to block out noise for me, and even if I wear headphones my eyes are tracking an enormous amount of activity. All of that matters in terms of performance. How many things am I expected to keep track of at once, knowing that the very same things that limit me at work make me the most frustrated at home. Guaranteed. I don’t dislike those things about myself any less than they do. I’m just tired of feeling like a failure, and see promise in my writing because it’s helping me. I have the attitude that it doesn’t matter if readers show up for not, because I do my bit in asking people to read without being obnoxious. There’s a difference between building my audience slowly and actively trying to be the center of attention. I don’t want to “go viral.” I want people to know my name when shit hits Amazon.

I ask for donations, you don’t get a paywall. To me, that’s enough. A few ads aren’t that obtrusive, and I know that because of my stats. People wouldn’t stay if the design wasn’t easy to read, and ads in paragraph breaks are mostly fine. I honest to God do not want to be famous. I want to be respected. I am, among a very small audience (small being relative for the web), and am growing every day. Life is small ball. You don’t hit a home run every time you’re at bat, or at least, I don’t.

It’s just so much different understanding the rules, and how they’re different in the National and American Leagues.

The Secret Lives of Puppets, by TJ Klune

What book are you reading right now?

I can’t tell you anything about this book, really, because I just started it last night. It’s not as fast a read as “House in the Cerulean Sea” or “Under the Whispering Door.” However, I am encountering my first ace character and we are not dissimilar. When I’m not thinking about it, it’s not important. Obviously. There were seven years between Dana and Zac because I was delusional. I wish I could put it better than that, but it was ridiculous to think I could make a mistake like that because it would be something she’d struggle to forgive. That being said, she also made a mistake I’m struggling to forgive, because it changed the course of my life in a way that I wouldn’t necessarily have chosen for myself knowing so much now that I didn’t then. What is important to me is that I have absolutely no problem with the entire world knowing I was straight up out of my fuckin’ mind, because that’s what made the mistake possible. I was in autistic meltdown and taking it out on her.

Then, I literally got burnout for seven years.

My executive function cratered because I felt so horrible. This is what I mean about her having a husband that can spoil her in a way I would’ve wanted, because I owe her a lot more than he does. She should have gotten all the best parts of me, and she didn’t. People can and do change, but not without a backbreaking amount of emotional work. I loved her so hard, I was willing to sit in the pain of rejection until it didn’t hurt anymore; I wanted us both to forgive each other and move on. I wrote her long letters into the night explaining my feelings to that end.

When they didn’t work, I had to stop the pattern of me needing her so much without her securing our attachment. It felt creepy because at the time I didn’t know I was autistic. I didn’t know I was a monotropic thinker and that every time I fall in love that woman becomes my entire special interest. Additionally, I didn’t love her because she was perfect, I loved us in our imperfections because I felt so powerful virtually “standing next to her.” I was a fool, but it was worth it and it always will be.

I don’t know why she wants me to carry the weight of her indecision, but I don’t have to love it. I just have to live it. It is perfectly ok to stop a toxic cycle and cry myself to sleep until it gets better. 10 years is not nothing, and everyone can tell I’ll never get over it because I won’t shut up about it. One of the friends I consider to be the most precious in my mind gave me that line…. “Leslie, you don’t have to love it. You just have to live it.” After that, I called her “the poet laureate of Skidmore Street.” What I do know is that “It Gets Better.” I don’t ruminate over the women in my past as much as I do Dana and Supergrover because they’re the most recent. The immediate reaction is that she’s my Achilles’ Heel. Over time, this will relax. I just have to let it happen because she seems bound and determined to let it.

This may not be the entire reason, but part of it is that my beautiful girl is so goddamn stubborn. She vows not to respond and does. We have done it to each other so much that it doesn’t mean anything anymore and I’ve stopped trying to make it. What I know for sure is that it could go either way based on past history and I’m prepared for every eventuality. That’s what I meant about being able to see living together (the spinster in the attic) to never speaking again. It’s a wide spectrum because we are as people. We are both so brilliant and so stupid about this. I thought yesterday about writing to her, “I wish you’d take it in that I love you like most people love babies…. that wild, crazy love no matter what their future holds.” I realized that’s how most autistic people I’ve met love others. I hope she sees that I’m trying to social mask the right way, but sometimes things are going to get lost in translation. Neurotypical and neurodivergent are two different languages. She’s speaking Hebrew, and it’s all Greek to me (little Biblical humor for you there). Autistic rage and burnout are tangible, they’re so loud. I don’t mean to be rude or avoidant. I am trying to cope with as much as I can handle, which as it turns out is a smaller amount than I’ve been led to believe.

I have covered my social masking until now. Writing is the only way I knew it existed. Being disconnected from Supergrover’s facial expressions while I talked cost me dearly, but writing letters to each other all the time drew me in, because you can’t social mask if you’re not adjusting at every eye twitch. I have said this before, but virtually it’s easy to go a long way down the wrong road very fast.

I have said that we looked before we leapt, but it wasn’t a bad move. It just needs to be managed, and I’m the only one that wants to manage it. It is unfathomable to me that she doesn’t see my point, so I’m done worrying what she thinks if she’s ignoring all my warning signs. That I am trying to tell her something without telling her something. But I can’t hold it over her head that she’s obstinate. I just have to wait it out and wear the wound on my skin until it becomes healthy, stronger scar tissue.

It’s not hard not knowing how she feels. It’s hard not knowing her reactions to what I write. At the same time, she wasn’t here when she was here, only once telling me I was too close to the hard out and making me afraid I’d ever do it again. I’ve seen her warning rattle enough for a lifetime. She has never seen mine, but mine is not about biting her. It’s about trying not to bite her. I am sure that I have made mistakes that I would absolutely regret in publishing anything, much less about this. But I don’t get to feel regret if you don’t tell me you were hurt and why.

Only strangers respond to my writing because it’s not personal. I respect that and like it very, very much because it means that I can be off in my own little world with my own silly observations and no one cares. The only time my friends respond to my writing, really, is when they’re so angry that they can’t see straight. Every deep, intimate, positive portrayal goes out the window because no one can see their own bullshit or respect that I did and have an opinion about it. This has been true since 2003.

There are only two exceptions to this. Bryn tells me when I’ve written something beautiful, and I love when she loves how I’ve portrayed her. She is the 3D character that sees she’s a 3D character. If we got in a fight, she wouldn’t give two shits what I said here, because talking it out personally is more important. She actually would say “what can I do to ease your mind about that?” The same is true of Supergrover, or was until 2014. After that, I was rightfully “PNG’d back to Langley” (slang at CIA for being demoted to a desk jockey- persona non grata).

I just hate it because we used to be Jack and Greer.

“The Secret Lives of Puppets” touches on this because since the protagonist is ace, the story revolves around deep platonic relationships. Sometimes, the universe sends you the book you need to read at the time you need the words most. Finding this book was a godsend in terms of learning about myself. That I focus on deep relationships whether they’re romantic or not. In fact, in this book, the “puppets” are mostly androids and robots.

Using androids and puppets doesn’t mean that I didn’t already pick up the message that friendship is valuableโ€ฆ and being a writer may not make our friendship continue, but it does make it immortal. She will live in me for a lifetime, and after we pass, our words to each other will still be here.

If people know me at all, they know that I might be a mess sometimes, but I love my friends and want to make all of us live forever.

โ€ฆโ€ฆโ€ฆeven without new dialogue.

Laughing So Hard You Must Send Help

Yesterday, I made pasta with pesto. It was an entire box of spaghetti, so I just ate as much as I wanted and put the rest away. Pasta acts as a sponge and gets dry overnight in the fridge, so rather than eating too-dry pasta, I just made a second sauce. You can do that with pasta, and it tastes better than reheating the same thing. Tomorrow, I might add diced tomatoes.

Today, it was Alfredo. I browned some pumpkin seeds in salted butter, adding garlic powder and black pepper. Then, I added flour. The flour sauteed for a few seconds as I got out my whisk and milk (it’s important to have the heat very low for roux. Gives you more time to catch a mistake). I do not know how much flour. I whisk in milk slowly. I don’t know how much of that, either. If I add too much, it will take longer because I will have to wait for the sauce to reduce before I can add the Parmesan-Romano.

I am a professional cook and do everything by feel and palate. It’s not “being a snob,” it’s 10 years of experience at work, my entire adult life at home. A roux just a 1:1 Tbsp. ratio flour/butter and a half cup of milk being exact, but you can break the rules if you know how to follow them. If I know what the sauce is supposed to look like, I can change gears on the fly, where butter is clutch and flour is accelerator. Some people measure. I guesstimate accurately, and there are very few mistakes in flavor I cannot fix; I really only throw things away if they’re burnt, or, God forbid there’s blood on it now (accidents happen).

I am telling you what to do because I know what I’m doing, not because this is some kind of food magic only I possessโ€ฆ and that’s actually the point of this entry. When I was cooking, I was thinking about one of my last entries in which I talked about running a kitchen at home, and today I was thinking that relationships are so telling by how you work in one. If you are in a relationship, dinner is always a two-man job. I know that this is impossible every single night, I just think that whoever is home should participate. Both “stations” suck, so trade off.

One person is mostly the cook, one person is mostly on dish. There is a chef and a sous, because it’s easier for one person to manage the recipe and assign parts out. The most essential thing that a sous can do is be available. Chop the onions. Grate the cheese. Most importantly, wash every pot and pan as they’re done using it. There are some things where you can cook and clean at the same time, like if I have a rice cooker going and I want sausage to go on top or whatever. Those things are going to be done at such different times that I can handle it.

But having a pot washer is invaluable with pasta because the pasta goes into the collander, then back into the pot. You pour the sauce from the saute pan into the pasta pot so you can mix/reheat. The other person washes the saute pan and the collander, because the person mixing pasta has gone on to plating. Once the food is plated, one person can carry everything out while the other washes the pasta pot.

When the pasta pot is clean, the only thing left is putting plates and silverware into the dishwasher.

It takes teamwork to run a kitchen that smoothly, but it will change your life on days where you eat all three meals at home. Plus, it’s easier for me to social mask around all that stuff. Being in a partnership reminds me to do things like eat.

I look forward to cooking with Zac one day, because he does like it. He buys all kinds of interesting things for me to discover when I’m housesitting, like blocks of haloumi cheese that I seared with za’atar (that was so good I ate most of it right out of the pan). That being said, when we’ve gotten together we’ve either gone out or to Trader Joe’s, where inevitably there will be something new and different we must buy immediately.

My favorite meal we’ve eaten together is Korean fried chicken. I do like the flavor of southern fried chicken, but not like I love this. I could eat soy garlic or spicy chicken every day for the rest of my life (just not exclusively). Most people eat chicken, veggies, and rice in some combination most days. If you have a close, deep, personal relationship with Popeyes, Korean fried chicken will be up there on your list, too. It’s also almost as good to take off the skin if you have to avoid high-fat, because the marinade is just as good as the sauce. Plus, cooking it on the bone will yield better results than taking out the skin and bones beforehand (morbid, yet true). There’s a reason drums and flats are more popular than boneless. Not the same playing field.

Don’t get me wrong, though. I do like chicken nuggets. I just don’t like McNuggets. I think they taste fake. I do like grocery store chicken, like Dino Nuggets. They’re great with a little salt, pepper, and garlic before you put them in the oven. Season them just like you would patties for a chicken sandwich- ditto for vegetarian or vegan Quorn. Quorn nuggets and patties are my go-to at home.

This is because I also like to buy my own wing sauce rather than buying nuggets that are just “Buffalo flavored.” :::stares in Morningstar Farms::: Right now my favorite wing sauce is ghost pepper and tastes more on the Sriracha end of the spectrum than Buffalo. I pair it with Daiya bleu cheese most of the time. If I have time, I’ll make it. Cream dressings are one of the few things that it’s easier for me to make than buy because the ingredients are so cheap. Even if I was a millionaire, it would not make sense to me to pay for mayo I was going to use in a dressing. I would only use the dressing for one night. I would need the preservatives in pre-made mayo.

Thinking about the jobs you have in the kitchen requires both understanding what they want to eat. The thing that my ex-wife and I learned in a restaurant was how to divide up a recipe without thinking, at home or at work (she was my first chefโ€ฆ which is cute to the point of nausea). If she was grilling, I was making sides. If people were coming over and it was a bigger operation, we were both making sides and rotating who went out to flip the bird in front of the neighbors. ๐Ÿ˜‰

The thing that made our relationship work in the kitchen is that I liked making sides and Dana liked grilling, but if she didn’t feel like it, I could grill and she could make sides. Both jobs were important, and we were both outstanding cooks. It was nice to both be competent so we didn’t have to do anything, we chose which jobs we wanted.

In our professional kitchen, I liked making things like eggs, pancakes, and oatmeal. She also liked eggs, but liked being on the meat side of the griddle- I can only assume because she was a butcher (butcher than what?).

When my father got the job in the Heights, my mother met another piano player and they used to do four handed duets together. I loved how all four parts fit together, and there’s not a better description in my mind now that Dana and I were always a two-handed duet and oh, dear God I just heard it.

I can’t top that. I’m dead.

18th and Potomac

If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?

Sometimes I use old West Wing episode titles rather than making my own because I live in DC. They’re plays on words for something that really happened. 18th and Potomac is where Mrs. Landingham died in a car wreck. The car wreck in this case is that my smallest dream (therefore my most desperate, my heartbeat) is the least affordable- a house in the DMV is going to set you back enormously. You, your children and grandchildren may buy well and it returns your investment fivefold. But in order to do that, it takes about half a million dollars (at least- better if it’s a 500k downpayment to make the mortgage reasonable).

That’s because in order to get an actual deal, you want to buy the worst house in the best locationโ€ฆ. anyone can make money in Georgetown these days no matter what you buy, but the jump in value will be much smaller from the time you move in to move out.

It takes special skill to buy a house in SE Waterfront, which one of my friends did in 2001. If you weren’t there, you have no concept of what it looked like. It was a concrete jungle in a neighborhood with high crime, and this is important, at the time. He completely overhauled the entire thing, building custom everything. That house is worth at least a million just because of the land, more because the house is absolutely one of a kind.

In DC, the sky is the limit on real estate, because as I’ve mentioned before, DC is only 60 sq. miles. It moves fast and furious. I know other cities are more expensive- I’m not sure that the market is as consistently volatile with a third of the House rotating in and out with all their staff, the Senate rotating in and out every six years with all their staff, and the military, intelligence agencies, and State all having jobs that move them around the world (even if the DMV is home base). DC is a permanent address for fewer people than it isn’t.

You don’t get to know our city until you know our poverty. This is because poor people don’t move in the same way as middle class government salaries. Lower economic classes tend to grow where they’re planted because they don’t have the money to do anything else. Therefore, the poorest people are the richest institutional memory. You don’t go to them for history of the nation, you go to them for the history of DC. They are the authority on the riots in the 60s, the night Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated (DC is heavily black, and I think at one point the majority), the best mumbo sauce, go-go music, Duke Ellington, and, apparently, public television. We have three stations within, like 30 miles. It’s fabulous. This Old House is always on somewhere. DC isn’t a city, it’s a whole mood. God willing, I will live here a very long time.

I will never in my lifetime make enough money to buy a house in the neighborhood where I rent, though. The house is just “nice” in comparison to the location, and it’s gorgeous. My mother left me enough money for a down payment on a small house in northeast Texas if I wanted to buy it today (I’d be taxed at 40%, so no thank you), or a better area when I turn 65. Even with leaving the money where it is and not touching it until then (I’m 46 now), it still wouldn’t be a down payment in Silver Spring, Marylandโ€ฆ.. I am open to moving within a certain radius, like Hagersville (home of the Southern MD Blue Crabs, who happen to be in the same league with the Sugar Land Skeeters, my home town minor league). I would also consider buying a small house in Baltimore, because getting between the two cities is stupid easy and Baltimore is much, much cheaper. I could even commute if I had to, more and more possible with remote work.

It’s funny, I never would have said that I wanted a house here until I had been here awhile. I lived in Alexandria, Virginia the first time I moved in 2001. (I’ve lived in both MD and VA, but not DC properโ€ฆ. like I tell people I’m from Houston, when I lived in a suburb for most of it.) I thought of myself as Virginian until I’d been back for more time than I thought it would take. There is a much different vibe in Maryland. MUCH different. You feel it- going over the Potomac introduces you to something you ignore in the Southโ€ฆ.. Yankees.

Maryland is the last state under the Mason-Dixon line. No one is undermining its pedigree as part of the south. However, our culture is led by New England, not Virginia. Annapolis has politics closer to Trenton and Albany than Richmond. The difference between someone raised in the North and in the South becomes clearโ€ฆโ€ฆ and racism isn’t everything, but it’s a lot.

The further you go into the suburbs on the Virginia side, the more people make jokes about this being “St. Bob’s Country,” where “Bob” is Robert E. Leeโ€ฆ. or that if your last name is “Lee” in that area, you are either of THE Lees or you are Chinese. At no time do those people recognize why that’s not funny. If you have any blowback to any of their “jokes,” they will remind you that Robert E. Lee gave the government the land for Arlington Cemetery. To push back on that one is never a good idea, because it’s their only sword in the fight; they get feral when you knock it out of their hands because they’ve lost the high ground so goddamn fast.

Living in Maryland is escaping all of that, because once you cross the river, Virginia isn’t even a thing anymore. The time it takes to adjust to the culture between Maryland and Virginia is longer than it takes to drive here, I’ll just put it like that.

Culture is the entire reason we don’t cross-pollinate, why Zac thinks I live a thousand miles away and Google Maps ETA (0633) tells me that if I leave right now in an Uber it will take 33 minutesโ€ฆ. and it’s only two and a half hours door to door if I took public transportation the whole way (leaving out shortcuts like being picked up at the Metro or Ubering from the station to take care of Oliver, who is a dog. It would cut off my commute to Zac by a large margin if he lived near the Metro, but he hadn’t met me before he decided to move (that was a joke, Zachary- please laugh).

No one I know who lives in Virginia is someone who thinks they’re a racist, and I don’t either unless they’re just white and that’s the only standard we’re going on. I do, because even when people aren’t overtly racist, they still benefit from racism.

Racism is a top-down system of oppression that minorities cannot duplicate. Living in that system, upholding it makes one racist. To be antiracist is to be loud about the fact that you are calling out behaviors you exhibit; you have to realize that you are at least currently steeped in those attitudes if you refuse to grow away from them. I am a huge fan of the writer who, I think, Tweeted that they were tired of catering to old people that lived through the entire ass Civil Rights movement and didn’t learn shit from Shinola.โ„ข I’m paraphrasing.

I have become louder about this as I’ve realized that my white partners have not made the connection and I am too pissed off to be with another white person who cannot admit complicity. I mentioned this was an issue with Daniel, but he’s not the only Southern white person I’ve ever dated, either. Don’t think that shit didn’t happen more than once. I didn’t get the lines about Richmond from nowhere. One of my partners had bigger fuckin’ problems than Daniel about itโ€ฆ. and the worst part is that white people characterize them as jokes because they think minorities are cute.

In “Go Tell a Watchman,” Harper Lee makes the point that white people like taking care of black people and race relations would have been fine if they hadn’t stopped seeing the white savior complex as a good thing. Whites weren’t hiring black people after the Civil War. They could get slave wages at best without colleges being open to them.

Abolutionists/Progressives had left slavery in the dust (introducing egregious hiring practices, redlining, the Tuskeegee experiments and Henrietta Lacks), trading it for their do-gooder feelings. “If we give to charity, we can help minorities by keeping them from falling into the river and not exploring why the current is so strong.

This is where my red mist rage is directed. Fuck the white savior complex. The Green Book was a fucking masterpiece at highlighting bullshit, brilliant because it was so fucking atrocious and satirical- if you were picking up the subtext and feeling more tender toward the black queer musical genius than his fucking driver. That scene in the bar. My God. I have never wanted to give a standing ovation to a musician more. Let’s not ignore the queer part. Mahershala Ali played a big hate double ticket.

I am not “progressive Karen,” the virtue-signaling haircut with an attitude. I won’t unload on someone about it unless it naturally comes up. Cultural norms about race inform those about sexuality. I don’t want to beat white people over the head, I want to say how I feel and have the right people come to me.

If you’re a white person who can’t admit they’re a racist by being enculturated as one, we don’t have much in common. I’d rather spend my time around people who share my values and goals. Which, I might add, means I get along more with queer POC than white, because there’s a special hell for people who have more than one minority at play. I’m not just white and queer. I have two information processing disorders, mentally ill and physically disabledโ€ฆ. although mental illness is not a processing disorder and I am making that distinction. That is the stone cold fact that “mental health goes up and down, but AuDHD will affect you (suck) no matter what”

I am AuDHD (autism and ADHD, I can’t remember if I’ve directly explained the word before- telling you about it in case you want to watch a video on YouTube or something. That’s been the most helpful for me- here’s what to do now that you know. The bitch of it is that autism and ADHD present the same way a lot of the time, but the coding is generally different on the backend. You’re trapped, damned if you do, damned if you don’t.).

I also have a Bipolar II diagnosis. I’m a big hate double ticket in that I am both making people uncomfortable with my queerness in some arenas, and infantilized in others. Discrimination either comes from straight culture not accepting me, or all people with wrongheaded ideas about autism, ADHD, and bipolar rendering me an incapable adultโ€ฆ.. or alternatively, the reaction to saying I’m autistic is generally “you don’t look autistic.” When I figure out how to do that, I’ll let you know. If you know an autistic person, you know one autistic person. No two people are alike, and AuDHD is more complicated than autism alone.

Therefore, I feel incapable enough on my own time. I do not need any reinforcement in this arena.

Editor’s Note:

All of the sudden, I have developed an *immediate* need for coffee. Hold please.

Now that I have coffee next to me, we can get back to why living in DC is so important to me.

I would have not grown in any of these ways regarding antiracism if I hadn’t moved, full stop. Living here in 2001 was only my second exposure to black people that didn’t speak AAVE, and had a completely different culture (the first was meeting black people in The Bahamas- Freeport specifically- with a British [RP] accent). I am no longer a product of my northeast Texas upbringing, and I just thought about this- I was no longer a product of my upbringing the moment we landed in the Bahamas.

I got out of my culture, and I noticed. The repetition of that idea had an impact, that black culture was not monolithic. The first time was in the 80s. The second was 2001. Most people don’t ever learn that when they’re eight or nine in the Deep South; most people in the Deep South don’t go to The Bahamas, and I’m not being an asshole. Look it up. People rarely leave their state and don’t have passports, and this is not limited to the South. They’re oblivious because sometimes they can’t get out, sometimes they don’t wanna. That’s a crapshoot.

And, of course, even then you’re taking a huge bet on cultural awareness. Americans are Americans everywhere we go. If there’s anything that going to The Farm would do for me that I’d value more than anything else is language skills in something besides Englishโ€ฆ..

I’m closer to being fluent in Spanish than anything else- I identify as gringo Texican- the white girl with seven abuelas in three different cities. Incidentally, I also have a Lebanese Omm (Arabic for “mother”). She speaks the Levantine dialect, so I’m sorry if this is not the word for mother in others- I was trying to be sweet. I am at least worth a “habibi” from her most of the timeโ€ฆ (it’s Arabic for “sweetheart,” or something like itโ€ฆ. akin to mulkvisti in Finland- “one I hate less than the others”).

The other invaluable asset to spy training is not looking like so much of an American when I travelโ€ฆ. especially when not starting to count from my thumb in Europe can cause such devastation. ๐Ÿ˜‰

Luckily, I don’t have to go to The Farm to pick up all these things, because between retired spies on YouTube and the plethora of non-fiction books on espionage I have enough information to be able to adapt into a lot of cultures. I can’t always look “not American,” but I can at least be aware of cultural norms even if I can’t social mask them.

In effect, my smallest dream is fulfilling my largest. In order to travel, I need to know the feel of home. The feel of home is being excited about world events, making historyโ€ฆ have always made history.

Because let’s face it. When you’re talking about the United States,

I live in the history.

Now, not only is DC where we keep the history of the nation, I am part of it. I am loud about it in some spaces, quiet in others. I will never be anything but a silent observer in Frederick Douglass’s house, the African American History Museum, or staring at the stunning photographs on the wall at Ben’s Chili Bowl. It’s actually, in some ways, a more moving experience than the entire museum. I reserve the right to change my mind when I go back to see Chadwick Boseman’s original Black Panther costume. He’s a hometown sensation and I absolutely will stand in front of it and cry.

What I have noticed through having a blog is that being a silent observer allows me to take that information away and slam it into the faces of people who most need to hear it. I am not responsible for changing the black community, I am responsible for changing my ownโ€ฆ.. living where I most want to live in the world.

Show Mode -or- Fixed Point in Time

I’ve been disconnected from everyone lately, because having two people validate my experience as AuDHD has made me run. I am not isolating to piss people off, it’s just that there’s three people in my life for which I have enough energy because I’ve made commitments to them. To augment that is to overload my sensory perception while I’m going through a hell of a lot, and I have not taken this tack my whole life, just the last 10 years (on purpose- I’ve isolated, but through mental illness, not working out a processing disorder). Meeting Supergrover was the catalyst for leaving Dana, but falling in love with her was not.

While I had a virtual relationship, it unlocked the disconnect between ADHD and autism. Dana and I began to drift as I holed up in my office to write. It wasn’t just attraction on my end; it was being able to process through writing all the time and becoming dramatically more introverted and quiet. I have a tendency to let another person drag me along because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, so me being steamrolled for eight years in this relationship is what I do. If I am not pleasing someone, I will not give up. I didn’t give up on the woman that emotionally abused me until someone who could read the situation blind (three someones, actually) and tell how she messed me up. They gave me permission, in a sense, to stop. Nothing was ever going to change or get better, because she made a horrible emotional mistake and was running from it. She gave me a college journal that was full of information about sex I never should have had at 14. Whether she meant to or not, she’s opened a door to something that I couldn’t handleโ€ฆโ€ฆ but I was 14, so I wanted toโ€ฆโ€ฆ.. JFC I was so wrecked. I wanted to be married before I could drive or vote. She piqued my interest on so many levels that I know it wasn’t all abuse and there were genuine moments.

I wouldn’t be the singer or the personality I am today without her, for evil or for awesome. I would like to think that as I grew, I shed the things about her that no longer served me and tried to let go of rage. My rage toward her is the biggest trigger that makes basic anger multiply into red mist rage. At the time, in my mind I wasn’t being abused. She was a bird with a broken wing and I was going to help her fly againโ€ฆโ€ฆ.. in my infinite 14-year-old wisdom.

Guilt and anger led her to tell everyone how mentally ill and obsessed with her I was, because she opened herself up to becoming a monotropic thought process for me and fucked me over. The reason that the relationship with Supergrover is not the same, because the woman who abused me was a narcissist who fed on my emotions. Supergrover didn’t trust me after I’d hurt her. I got screwed over by my emotional abuser, so I perpetuated a bad pattern. Full stop. But regaining trust was impossible because for as much as Supergrover hates when I say it, their mutual experiences are the same, therefore so are their trauma reflexes. That doesn’t mean their behavior comes from the same source. I could not take responsibility for being 14, but I can take responsibility for being 36.

My isolation is thinking about The Gospel of Billy Joel:

They say that these are not the best of times, but they’re the only times I’ve ever knownโ€ฆ.. and I believe there is a time for meditation in cathedrals of our own. I have seen that sad surrender in my lover’s eyesโ€ฆ I can only stand apart and sympathize, for we are always what our situations hand usโ€ฆ it’s either sadness or euphoria. So we’ll argue and we’ll compromise, and realize that nothing has ever changed. For all our mutual experience, our separate conclusions are the same. -Psalm Summer, Highland Falls 1:1-2

I wrote that from memory because an interviewer asked Joel what song was his favorite of all the ones he’s written, and this is it. I don’t have anything but the first two verses memorized, but that’s because they’ve changed my life the most. I realized that my entire personality was living life in two different time streams, because my writing digs backward as I move forward. It’s not a thing I do, it is a comprehensive response to life. I skirt the edge with blowback not because I’m asking for it, itching for a fight. It’s that I cannot understand my environments without it. What other people think of me is none of my business.

I did not come to that thick a skin unscathed, I just want you to know that. I had to tank my blog out of embarrassment and stop writing for a few years to get up the confidence to come back. It’s all connected, though. If I hadn’t taken the time out to regroup, I might not have written the article on Facebook Notes that translated into more popularity than I’ve ever hadโ€ฆ. popularity that snagged my beautiful girl out of my peripheral vision and made her the whole show. I didn’t fall in love with simple adoration. Like Driving Miss Daisy, it was “I’m here to take you where you want to go.” You want to know how well Supergrover knows me? She bought me a font.

She’s crazy gorgeous, and remembers all my favorite things. Tell me my feelings are wrong. I’ll wait as long as it takes for all y’all to catch up. ๐Ÿ˜‰

And in fact, I do not not think she had the same effect on Dana, the source of her jealousy and ire. It’s just a whole other thing because our adoration looked different. As my beautiful girl and I opened up to each other, it excluded her in a major way. Her jealousy was not wrong or bad, just, I feel, misplaced. Logic and emotion are not the same. Even if she didn’t understand my feelings, she completely understood why I would feel that way.

That being said, I do not think that Dana and I would have worked it out later because a) I couldn’t shut up and II) she overfocused on Supergrover being a monotropic thought process for me and not that I was actively trying to remove her (not from my life, from my “obsession” that’s actually autism- a trauma bond making it impossible to not make her my first thought every morning.). Thoughts of being with her were fleeting. Thoughts of supporting her were not.

I told her I would be the Merlin to her Arthur, and at no time did I stop meaning it. I figured out the balance years ago, and waited for the butterflies to fade. They did, but she hasn’t left the space she occupies in my head. Due to a series of fortunate events, I might be able to move her from a monotropic thought process to a passing interest, but she’ll never move out. She’s in the tapestry of my writing and my gray matter.

But, sensibly, since I couldn’t shut up about her it made her nervous. I didn’t have to love it, but I did have to live it. Therefore, I just had to be okay with seeming threatening in order to leave Dana; I didn’t want to be within a hundred miles of her. Staying in Houston would have been okay if I’d moved to a different quadrant. Leaving to go back to a familiar city was better, because I felt that the biggest mistake of my adulthood was leaving DC originally and not establishing myself on my ownโ€ฆโ€ฆ.. social masking my closest friend was easier, treacherous when I realized that she wasn’t, in fact, my closest friend.

If I hadn’t left DC, I wouldn’t have been in water that kept getting hotter. I also wouldn’t be where I am now, so out of pain came glory. If I hadn’t moved back to Portland, no one would have been able to see the patterns we established in my childhood because they wouldn’t have been current patterns. An abuser always cold shoulders you when they’re doneโ€ฆโ€ฆ but you’re still pining for them because they trained your body with a Pavlovian response.

In fact, that’s why we “broke up.” It was years before Supergrover and I connected, but the spell had been broken and I’d started to reevaluate. There are three instances that pushed me into a cathedral of my own.

First, coming to Portland was rough on day one. Basically, I’d come to visit about four weeks before and we solidified plans for me to move. Then, when I arrived with my car, she looked more freaked out than I’d ever seen her in my life, like telling me I should move and encouraging me to find a job and a place was just child’s play. Like we hadn’t been discussing this since she got the job offer in 1996 or 7. It wasn’t a dumb move. She’d moved to Dallas so she could live with her partner while she used her for free rent to get through grad school (don’t think I couldn’t suss that out- her partner was every bit as much trouble as Dana- with her DUI, not Dana’s ability as a wife.) With the emotional abuser, as it turns out, “for all our mutual experiences, our separate conclusions were the same.”). Coming to Portland was about being able to have someone to lean on, even if we weren’t a coupleโ€ฆ. just like had been modeled for me. She might have stayed with her partner, but not because she meant it.

Secondly, I know said emotional abuser saw the pattern repeat coming, the abusive one between her and me. I know she did. For every time she pushed me away, her love for me was the purest thing in her life. I know this because I got in under the wire. As I got older, I was not a person. I was an eventโ€ฆ.. an opera with many intermissions, plot twists, and both sopranos die at the end.

I don’t know how she knew, because I don’t know how she knew Dana’s drinking history. But I swear to God that’s what her eyes saidโ€ฆ.. “this is a mistake, but I know you cannot even see it yet because I have walked this path and you haven’t.” I was mad AF and still defend Dana to the ends of the earth.

Thirdly, at the time, it came across like “you’re better than Dana. She works at a grocery store.” It was very muddled because she was not the only one who held such an opinion. Neurodivergents have trouble holding down jobs. Period. She had to find the job she could do, not where she’s the most talented. Consistency over excitement. Hospitality every single day. That doesn’t mean she hasn’t studied Shakespeare. That doesn’t mean she wasn’t a technical theater major in college. That doesn’t mean she’s not an actor. She would have been hilarious on Portlandia- I would have, too, in the writer’s room.

But did my current friends see that? No. No, they didn’t. I didn’t just dump the abuser, I dumped all of them, too. They weren’t my real friends because they couldn’t see Dana the way I could. I saw her the same way as the people who birthed her, grew up with her. I didn’t live in her limitations, I reveled in her strength. Despite her truly bad case of ADHD, she’s higher functioning than I am. Social masking her was like social masking my sister (and that line is specific).

I learned all of this by going down to the river to pray, studying about that good old way.

One day when I was particularly wrecked about all this, two friends took me hiking in the Columbia River Gorge, where I sent my tears down Wahkeena Falls, out into the river, and around Cape Disappointment. They were the friends who bailed me out the first time I got dumped by this woman in a way I knew we’d never come back.

I mentioned before that abusers install a back door in you that activates dopamine/sex drive because it feels exactly like the first rush- if they’ve been turning the sunshine away from you to regain access. This came in the form of a phone call when I was in my 20s, one that when I got it, I didn’t want anything more in my lifeโ€ฆโ€ฆ until it was over.

I would say her tone was seductive because I’d just watched her do it to someone else, but I’m willing to entertain the fact it’s not correct. At the very least, her tone felt inviting in a very heightened way, and I’m dead serious, not spitballing. She said that she felt like I was a woman she’d like to get to know. I don’t remember anything else because it was a trigger. I went into fight or flight immediately and damn near passed out from red mist rage. I’d had a full-on panic attack at work and went home early. It was 10 years before I knew why I’d been triggered, and couldn’t explain why I felt the way I felt, but avoided her from there on out.

Two things about that. The first is that when I reacted, she immediately pushed me away and I knew there was no chance to prepare my environment and “win” another chance. Second of all, I have to believe that she knew what she was doing. She didn’t stop herself, but she realized it was wrong afterward. On some level, she realized it was hurtful because of the back door and because it was a little too little too late.

I watched her marry a partner I didn’t like because she was just like me, the spitting image except older and more degrees. I watched her manipulate her best friend into “friends with some benefits,” keeping her on a leash for years. Someone I’d once wanted so bad I couldn’t breathe proved to me beyond a shadow of a doubt that she didn’t deserve me in her life, much less as a partner.

She has no idea how much damage she’s done, because since I was social masking her, I’ve been the best and worst of her without ever understanding why. It’s not that I’m not the best of my own mother as well, it’s that we didn’t spend time together as intimately for her to know me on that level. She got frustrated, I did, too, we gave up.

Years later, I went back to the Gorge with Dana, crying and singing my eyes out; it was the moment I knew I wanted to marry her, in retrospect. We were years away from it, and I knew. That’s because when I was finished crying and singing, I looked over and Dana was crying, watching me. She saw how much pain I was experiencing and took it on. It is a gift I will never be able to repay. I traded something valuable for something valuable, even though the relationship wasn’t valuable to me at the end. We became a bad thing for each other, we didn’t start that way.

Those three experiences shaped me- the ablutions in the river after a truly rough jump scare. I was so frightened of everything because I lost all my social masks at once; they weren’t social masks. They were triggers, and why I don’t like to speak. Speaking means not having enough time to think or delete things so I can never be sure when I will say something without thinking that she used to say and the pitch perfect imitation becomes the jump scare. When I mentioned having her sense of musicality, that’s the healthy part. The negative part is that I’m not in shape because I don’t like to hear myself sing.

I’m a lot more low-functioning than people think because of her and my dad. They’re both unique presences on stage and social masking them covered up just about all my executive function disarray because I was always “on.” What covers my executive function now is not covering it, because people thought I was coasting on charm because I was lazyโ€ฆ.. not that when I don’t have a social mask for something, I am utterly and completely fucked. “Coasting on charm” is not a want sort of situation. I am only now trying to social mask Leslie Lanagan,โ„ข because for once in my life, I don’t think she’s that bad. I also don’t think that “Diving Into the Wreck” is something I should avoid.

Supergrover and the rest of my friends don’t have all this context (or, they didn’t until I started writing it down). They haven’t known me since I was 12 years old.

Supergrover in particular gets on my ass about said abusive relationship, always has from day one. She does not see why I do not spit white hot rage all over this woman every day of my life. Easy answer is that monotropic thought process damn near killed me for real. Fuck her, but I’m taking my peace on my own by telling my story exactly the way I want to tell it, because she’s the one person in my life that I absolutely want to tank her career. Writing it out over and over gives the story less power and I’m done being worried about what she thinks, have been for 10 years. I’m not a vindictive motherfucker. She’s just worked with too many kids over the years and I’m also done protecting her. We cannot, do not have any more mutual friendsโ€ฆ.. or if we do, I run away when she comes up. I don’t talk shit about her in person because I already have a “shelf” for that.

I would Google tattoo her every day of my life if I hadn’t indirectly told Supergrover I wouldn’t. She didn’t ask me to do it, just disapproved of my approach to things because she knew my attention needed to be redirected before I did- not that my ire toward this person was unearned and/or undeserved. She encouraged me to lose my shit on many occasions. Though I decided loving Supergrover was worth my all-encompassing attention, I didn’t get over that abuse immediately because of the genuine moments it contained. My experience, unlike others, wasn’t all negative and I had to wade through it. With the information I had at the time, I wouldn’t do anything else but move to Portland if I could do it over.

For better or for worse, Supergrover is a wolf with terrible yellow eyes when she’s angry. When she met me, she found an excellent use for her jaws in my emotional abuser. When Supergrover bit her, the abuser’s claws finally, finally let go of meโ€ฆโ€ฆ a mask falling off like the end of a Very Special Episode of Scooby Doo. What was valuable was not concrete. I’d had an experience with my cat recently that felt the same way. Asher was closer to a human than she was a cat, and I could tell the moment her personality left her body, because her face changed and she looked like a wild animal. Revealing the emotional abuse gave that face a different context, looking no less feral.

Supergrover and I are so much better at fighting for each other than we are fighting against, because if someone crosses her, God help them.

The only reason I was okay with the abusive relationship dying at the end is that I got time to make my peace. I was reborn into something I never would have been otherwise. My grumpy old wizard did find a knight, a “Wart” who’s already Arthur and I have to avert my eyes (WELL,STOP IT). I made it to Camelot, which is indeed a silly place.

Because I don’t have to think about abuse anymore, Supergrover has been in my head for 10 years as I process my mutual experience with abuser. Her anger carries me when I don’t feel it enough, and that was important in the months afterward- just not now because none of that is close anymore. I can write about it with the emotional separation I need not to explode emotional landmines.

I’ll let you know if Supergrover moves from her castle “in the cloud.” Just because I gave her an eviction notice means legit nothing in terms of the way I process, and she’s stubborn enough to keep me around in her mind, too. No matter what, we have a past, present, and future

โ€ฆโ€ฆ.because I live in two time streams, forward and backward. Where they meet is a fixed point in time, and you can’t cross your own timelline (I’m so, so sorry). You can only understand it after you’ve passed it by.