Hello, everyone. It’s Monday morning, and I’m still at the house, sitting on the piano bench—the only piece of furniture I use for sitting, though I almost never play the keyboard anymore—and writing this blog post on my laptop. Last week, every post was written on my phone. Also last week, my posts didn’t get as many views or “likes” as they usually do. At least, that’s my impression, and I wonder if writing on my phone contributed to the outcome. I haven’t actually done an empirical, side-by-side comparison of the numbers, so I could easily be wrong about the posts’ popularity. Perhaps it’s more a sign of my emotional state than the state of the world. As Radiohead so aptly sang in There There, “Just ‘cause you feel it doesn’t mean it’s there.” Or, as I like to say, “Just because you inferred it doesn’t mean it was implied”.
Still, this is my own blog, so I suppose I can allow myself to proceed from my subjective point of view.
I’m not looking forward to this week. My coworker with whom I share some of my duties is out today and tomorrow, and I’m also going to be working this coming Saturday after having worked this last Saturday, since said coworker was/will be out of town. I had already had a week of terrible sleep, even for me, which didn’t help. I did take a bit of rest yesterday, though I had to do my laundry. But a lot of the resting was simply me being wiped out due to the fact that I had some form of (presumably food-borne) enteritis, so I didn’t feel well at all, despite taking some loperamide*. That illness, at least, appears mostly to have run its course, for which I am grateful. It’s not pleasant to try to commute while fighting a lower GI issue, but it’s not as though I can stay out of work today with my coworker out.
Sorry, I know all this trivia about my day to day life is probably both boring and depressing. What can I say? I’m a depressing and boring person.
Yesterday, between trips to the bathroom, I picked up the Les Paul guitar that my former housemate built, because I wanted to practice some more on that David Bowie song I mentioned last week. As with most songs, it sounded even better on the Les Paul. It’s the best sounding instrument—of any kind (which includes cellos, pianos, guitars, violins, and keyboards in general**)—that’s I’ve had the privilege to play. He did an amazing job with it. The red Strat he made is also excellent, and I love it, but the Les Paul is almost miraculous in its tone.
It was remarkably dusty, but that didn’t bother me too much. I’m not one to polish or tweak or maintain things, except when using them, and then only to the extent that it’s necessary in order to use them. My brain just doesn’t work in such a way that, for instance, I would ever notice or care that a car I owned could use a car wash, or that my room was cluttered, or that my desk was cluttered, or whatever.
Cars and the like are merely things one uses for a purpose, as far as I’m concerned. And I’m actually quite happy that I seem to have been spared the whole social hierarchy, showing off, keeping up with the Joneses, owning things as status symbols, and so on, kind of mentality. I’m not intimidated by so-called superiors, and it usually doesn’t occur to me that I ought to be so. I’m also not disdainful of so-called subordinates, and I am provisionally convinced that this is the correct attitude.
Of course, all this sounds a bit like a species of showing off in its own right, I guess. I don’t mean it that way (though I am glad of it, as I said). I just recognize now that perhaps some of the things that have always been true about me, and which I guess are different from the way many other people are, may in fact be related to ASD if I do indeed meet the criteria for that. I have never been a person who cared about owning the latest popular brand of sneakers when I was a kid, or a particular brand of clothes or jacket or whatnot—I honestly couldn’t even understand why people cared about such things.
I did like some things that I thought looked cool, or neat, or interesting sometimes, and I still do. I also had a jacket, on the left breast of which were pinned dozens upon dozens of buttons depicting the band, The Police, because I was fairly obsessed with them and bought every such button I encountered. But I am not and have never been the sort of person who would have put racing stripes or LEDs on a motorcycle, or tried to get bright chrome doo-dads for a car. A car is just a tool.
So is a guitar (or a piano or a cello). These are wonderful tools, and I care more about them than I do about cars, because their purpose is to make music, which is much more aesthetically pleasing than just being able to get places quickly and easily while sitting on my fat bottom. Even so, what matters in a guitar, say, is the sound. I honestly don’t really give a flying f-ck at a tiny little rat’s a-s if it looks shiny or fancy or whatever***.
I don’t know how I got started on that big and pointless digression. I suppose I’ll be able to see the route when I go back to edit this, though I still might be mystified by it. At least it fills the page, so to speak. And it isn’t even late enough that I would normally have left for the bus stop, which is good, because it’s raining a bit, and even with the bus shelter roof, the rain tends to get little splatters on the laptop screen if I write there. I definitely write much faster on the laptop, though at least doing the phone stuff last week doesn’t seem to have hurt my thumbs too much.
I have to work up my courage to go in to work, though. I just need to survive until Saturday, at least, because I don’t want to leave everyone at the office in the lurch. After that, it’ll be two weeks in a row where I won’t be working on Saturday (to make up for two weekends on), and so there won’t be any time when my presence is essential—well, except for payroll, I guess, but I can’t be too tied down by that. Having to prepare the payroll for people is not by itself an adequate reason to continue living, not indefinitely.
I’m not sure I’ve ever found an adequate reason, even during the times when I was reasonably mentally stable. I just didn’t much think about it, not in any serious way. When you’re not feeling depressed and/or stressed, you don’t really need a reason to continue, you just coast along on the surface of biological drives and follow the local path-of-least-action. At least, I do. But it’s been a long time since I’ve had a noteworthy interval of not being depressed and/or stressed, and unfortunately, when depressed, time seems to take much longer to pass than do the times in between.
Probably, reading my blog posts feels like that sometimes. Meaning that the time is much longer, more wearing, than other times. Apologies for that. I hope you have a good week, nonetheless. And to all you mothers**** out there, I hope you had a wonderful Mother’s Day yesterday.
*Look it up if you don’t know what it is. It’s an excellent product.
**I’ve also briefly played a saxophone—a cheap one bought from a flea market. It made a lovely sound, and I enjoyed diddling around on it and making absurdly loud but cool noises, and it was easier to play than I expected it to be, but I lost interest pretty quickly. I like to sing and play, and you can’t do that with the saxophone. I do, in retrospect, regret that I had never even thought to try to work out and play the sax riff from Baker Street. What a missed opportunity!
***Though I do grant that the guitars my former housemate made are lovely.
****And I don’t mean that as “half a word”.