Donne was wrong

During one of my blogging breaks, I wrote down some thoughts.

The big man.  I've always wanted to be the big man.  I had it at college.  In classes, at least.
But not in the dorms, the clubs.  Not at work.  At home.  In town.  On Xanga.  Or at church.  The one recognized.  The one admired.  The one loved.  The person people wanted to hang out with. 

I used to say that "If I went off-grid, I'd be forgotten in 90 days."  But I was wrong.

I've already been forgotten.

It's Password...It's Super Password!

At any given moment, I'm running on no fewer than twelve different passwords.

There's the work assigned passwords for the various applications (HR / paystub / job-related app / survey review / work social network / training /  another job-related app / another job-related app)

Then there's the various ones for my twitter, my e-mail, my blogs, the city's twitter and website...

Has to be *this* long, has to have *special characters* / *no special characters*. 

Honestly, it's not helping my computer-related headaches (and I thought that was only because I was nearsighted in my right eye.)

Unique? Maybe not.

Reposted from a pair of posts on Autisable, June/July 2009

When people look at my life, there are a few pieces that seemed almost irrelevant growing up...but hint at something.

Although most of my good friends know I was homeschooled, I actually went to public school for two years.  During those two years, in addition to music, recess, and gym, I had a few other things on my first-and-second-grade schedule.  Speech therapy.  Occupational therapy.  A fourth-grade math book.  Being in the 'gifted' group.  Being moved from one classroom to another in my first week of first grade.  (For the longest time, I was told that the two teachers both wanted to have my twin and I in the same class.  Found out much later that they wanted neither one of us.)

During my college days (or slightly thereafter), my mom commented that she thought I was borderline Aspergers.

I've looked it up since then.  The jury (of one) is still undecided.

Social interaction issues?  Not that I recall.
Restricted interests?  No.
Speech issues?  Some.
Some of the minor ones (motor skills - took months to learn how to ride a bike; childhood sleep issues - it always took me a long time to go to sleep)

Was this the tradeoff for my smarts?  (high school grad at 15, bachelor's at 19, above-average ACT/SAT scores.)

A friend of ours is an occupational therapist...I think she wants to see both me and...well, that's another story.

Do I want to know?  Yes.
Does it really matter?  I don't know.






POST 2.


I'm not normal.  I know that.  My intellectual abilities.  My schooling history.  My religious journey.  What happened less than four minutes after I was born.  My family. 

But there were a few things (see prior post) in my past (needing speech therapy, occupational therapy, above-average brains, etc.) that make me wonder if I'm somewhere in the spectrum.  I want to say, "no, no, no."  But...I know I'm different.  When I originally posted (late May), I wasn't fully convinced that I was somewhere on the spectrum.

I'm still not.  But, a few things...maybe I'm going crazy.
Maybe I'm just an autism-spectrum-hypochondriac.
Maybe I'm trying to figure out why the gears in my head spin the other way?
(When the only tool is a hammer, every problem is a nail.  When the only all-encompassing theory is 'autism spectrum', every quirk gets held up to that light.)

I mean, I'm looking over (what in my mind is) the stupidest little things. 

I get a to-do list.  For heavens' sake, write it down, I can't remember all that...
I talk to myself.  A lot.  (Maybe it's just the hour-each-way commute.)
I go to the ball game at a minor-league park.  And I really really want one of those foul balls.  And frankly, with the open grassy hill area on the side of the 3rd base line, I've got a shot (not a great shot, but a shot) at grabbing one.  Is it just a baseball fan's obsession or a AS-quirk?
Then, there's the whole adventure of watching Rain Man.  *I'm nothing like that*  *am I?*

Finally - To my one friend...you're so quick to remind me about whats-his-name - that I need to understand him.  (You say he's autistic.  Is he?  Is it ADD?  What's your proof?).  But in the same breath, you ask me "are you a retard?"  
(Do you know how mad that makes me?)

If life ever calms down...
...maybe I need to find out.

Near Death Experiences - Does it mean anything?

Reposted from a post I had posted on Revelife (a Xanga "ish" site), November 4, 2009.

I've heard several people say, "They should have died when they went through some event," whether it be a car wreck, a tricky childbirth, or a near-fatal illness. "I'm convinced that their survival is proof that God has great plans for them." I heard it this weekend and I started thinking about it.

Logically, the statement is...

Surviving a close brush with death is proof of a strong call of God on one's life.

Does that mean...

    If I've never been 'this close' to the reaper's scythe God has no great plan for my life?
    God had no great plan for my friend who died relatively young, leaving behind three children?
    Anyone, saint or sinner, who beats the odds - has the hand of God on their life?

I remember reading a book, Confessions of a Caffeinated Christian, and in one chapter the author tells his story of a near-death experience (at his birth) to somebody else. The other person said..."you know what that means?  It (just) means that God wanted you to live."

It's just one of those cliches that Christians say that I really can't agree with.

What is your stance on near death experiences? Proof of God's plan for you or was God just feeling merciful?

Where's the nearest abandoned barn?

I freak out.  I run.  I hide.  And I can't say that it's something that I did as a child, or even a teenager. 
But certain events come to mind.  A frustrating day with a dead van.  Election Day '11.  The day before Ivy got her job at the nursing home.  Mother's Day a couple years ago.  (Yikes, that was a bad month.)
The famous captain of the Enterprise didn't believe in the no-win scenario.  I don't take failure well.  (Not so much the result as the weight of how it affects everyone). 
I'm just tired of disappointing everyone.  Tired of not being able to bring home the straight A's and the relatively huge paycheck.

tweet from 7/10/10
Ever worry that people pushing 'anger mgt' / anti-depressants are just trying to make you forget that you're getting screwed?

The Bridge on the River Kwai

In an episode of Monk, the titular detective, playing Charades, nails a six-word movie title before the gesturer can even start describing the first word. 

I'm not that good, but I've blurted out enough "Wheel" answers that I've been told to...stop blurting them out.

I'm not that good at chess, but since I'm better than the rest of the family...my chess set is gathering dust. 

May 13, 2000.  I get my Bachelor's Degree, and I move from a universe in which knowledge is king, to a universe where common sense is king.  The game just changed from bridge...to gin rummy.
And then...

I said to myself, "I have reached greatness, and am smarter than all before me in Leavenworth.  I have understood great wisdom and knowledge."  And I set to now wisdom, madness, and folly.  What a waste of time.  For in much wisdom is grief, and the know-it-all ends up lonely.
    Ecclesiastes 1:16-18, paraphrased.

3/6/10 tweet: There are times I feel cursed with my intelligence...I don't have all the answers...and I'm more than a walking encyclopedia...right??

Three Volleys

8/3/13.     It's been ten years.      Husband. Father. Grandfather. Great-grandfather. Officer. Soldier.     Survived by five children, fifteen grandchildren, and (at the time), four great-grandchildren.  Preceded in death by his wife, one son, and (IIRC) two brothers.     Fishing trips to Fort Leavenworth.     Two trips to San Diego, one trip to Truman Lake.     The lawn, the tree, the truck.      A place to watch KU on Big Monday, a lawn to mow for a nice price, and always a 24 pack of Diet Pepsi.  (If it's empty, it was mine.)     I miss you, Grandpa.