I can haz them thar, or, a reminder where we come from

In the middle of processing fresh food into cooked food for yummy supper later, a memory sprung up at me with surprising emotional intensity. I don’t remember in which grade, somewhere between second and sixth, a boy with amazing acuity for reason (at that age) stood up to answer the teacher’s question with another sort of question that made a lot of sense and instantly gripped the awareness of every student in the room. He was not being at all flippant or argumentative. I could see the puzzlement on his face as he worked through finishing his thought, and as I was about to click along with him in my own mind, the teacher interrupted with “Yebbut.”

Teacher makes a statement.

Intelligent student begins a sentence with “Yeah, but…”

Teacher cuts student off with public mockery over something extremely trivial, and a thought provoking social growth empowering IDEA was slain, and the boy sat down.

For some reason that memory sent a very pissy surge of grrrr right through me today.

I see people fuss about grammar and spelling and punctuation on twitter. Proper tenses. Rips on misspelled possessive pronouns.

Meanwhile, on facebook, I see people pass around astounding mind games, showing us that we can still understand complex communication even if everything in it is spelled wrong and written backwards or mixed up.

I’m one of those people who enjoy language rules. Written communication rules come easily for me, like certain kinds of math might come easily for others. I’m also a big fan of human social history and brain development. The ‘there, their, they’re” conundrum is probably the fastest sociopsychological Freudian trap you can toss out onto the webs. Watching idiots mocking idiots in retweet frenzies is like a cat and mouse game. This in a world where everything is politically incorrect except mocking the ‘lesser brained’, who might actually have better ideas and much better manners, but might also have dyslexia. Or stupid tech. Does it ever occur to anyone that jumping on someone’s spelling with mockery makes an astounding show of one’s own assery? And that maybe sometimes assery is baited?

I pride myself on being able to read just about anything phonetically, even when the letter ordering is dyslexic and even upside down and backwards. I married a dyslexic, and although it’s still fun to mock, I’ve been noticing for several years that when he does finally write something, it has ever so much more personal meaning than all the more correct writing I do. This is especially true when writing condolences. I can’t help nervously sporting perfectly spelled but egregiously inept limericks while he cobbles out sweet kindness in one or two awkward sentences.

I like spelling errors. They make us unique. I like that people say ambliance and spell depoist and trip all over themselves, but then, if you take the time to pay a little attention, you find out there are some deep and wonderful thoughts lurking around behind those mishaps.

“Yebbut.” It took me a few decades, but it just hit me how much I hated my teacher that day, thanks again to another reminder on twitter how assery works. I wonder how the boy is doing now, all grown up, and whether that teacher impacted him developing his potential. So many intelligent people walking this earth- too many are quick to kick heads with “there, their, they’re” mocking. Who cares? Y’all be a buncha monkeys flinging virtual crap.

Meanwhile, lolspeak takes over the world, against all probability.

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being #aspie

One of my favorite things to hate about the human race is the way people automatically tend to anthropomorphize, ascribe, and project their own feelings and points of view on others around them. I suppose it’s an adaptive trait of some kind that might even be functional somehow, but I find it extremely annoying when it points my direction.

I generally blog in a more positive fashion nowadays, so that lead-in probably sounded bitter. Believe it or not, I’ve worked very hard for many years to sound positive because flatly making global statements like that one does a couple of things I don’t intend, like put the listener on the defensive, and put personal feelings I’m not even having into the listener’s mind. I’ve been seeing a psychologist regularly since 2007 for exactly these kinds of mixups because of my Asperger’s, and it has taken this long for me to reach the point of finally being able to verbalize them.

When I first started blogging, I was terrified. I learned very quickly to mask who I really was because of the repercussion of being discovered by my coworkers. I was not savvy enough at first to know how to avoid creating very complicated awkward situations simply by writing down something as innocuous (I felt) as I couldn’t believe the little dog who lived in the hotel was allowed to poop all over the lobby carpet when there was a $7000 one-off sculpture in the front window. I wrote it because it was my job to clean up the stupid poop and then apologize to guests as they checked in and out of the hotel. Well, the dog won, I had to leave that job because the relationships with my coworkers became unbearable, and by my next job I had learned to at least fake my name online while I entertained my readers with crazy stories about being a late night hotel desk clerk.

I guess I’m getting really good at pretending. That’s the goal, isn’t it, to pretend I’m normal like everyone else? I’ve been practicing for years how to pass off as less annoying (that’s not the normal part, sadly, but I have a special way of being annoying that apparently shines like neon). Sometimes it helps to pretend I’m a Vulcan in Star Fleet, just stuffing down what I really feel in order to get along, using rules and regs as a sort of shield. That actually backfires a lot, mostly because people don’t know I’m using a pretend world to help monitor my behavior, which overly complicates things suddenly veering off course until I find myself in yet another unfixable social mess. Attempts to logically lay out the order of events that preceded the cataclysm have always epic failed, so I have given up trying to communicate after ‘splosions go off. Something about that making it worse, although I don’t understand how or why studying the causes of a problem in order to avoid it the next time can make things worse.

In my experience, the more emotion-driven a person is that I’m interacting with, the more catastrophic the explosion at the end, and then I’m left torn and ragged with sadness and bewilderment. Honestly, these unbalanced relationships are doomed to fail from the beginning, I have the track record to prove it. As far as I can understand what goes wrong, it starts with people expecting me to ‘behave’ (in my mind I’m expected to perform on demand), and then they ascribe or project what they think I’m feeling into the relationship based on my performance of the expected behavior, and then when I try to interject a little to correct the misconceptions, all kinds of feelings get hurt and all that is left to do (if I want to continue in the relationship) is put my pretend face back on. I hate, I loathe being a fake. But when I am openly myself, I get super popular very quickly and attract people from several different points of view that don’t mesh well, and then to my horror and shock they start obliterating each other, effectively turning me into an undesired focal point of hostile territory. I might genuinely like all the people I stay in touch with on social media, but when I cross the streams, bad stuff starts happening that I can’t control. It wouldn’t be so bad if all I had to do was sit back and watch, but when people expect me to take sides, I tend to bail on the friendships. I hate taking sides.

Even more than that, I hate having to explain to people what is going on (especially since I’ve been baited a few times and stabbed later). Why did I say this, why is someone doing that, all I have to do is talk to a bunch of different people and next thing I know, arguments are dragging out with my name tagged all over them, feelings are being dumped all over public media with my name tagged all over them… More and more people project what must be in MY head based on how my friends are behaving. It’s probably noteworthy that I have a history of abruptly deleting accounts over things like this, never to be seen again. I especially dislike the feeling of being owned. What’s really nerve wracking is having a close friend who excels in starting trubbas, throwing me into a facepalm spotlight without much warning- that was a cute one to extricate myself from a few years ago.

I’m maxed out again. I’ve been able to keep most of this stuff off public media for several months now. I could list the people who will contact me privately apologizing, and it’s not them. I’m not trying to prompt a discussion, in fact, maybe I should close comments on this post. (Or maybe not.) I’m very close to being a professional blogger now. I’ve been blogging for ten years solid. I’ve seen it all, been wildly popular among particular groups and completely anonymous among others. One thing I’ve seen happen consistently- people project feelings onto other people and stuff goes boom.

I understand that people get mood swings and go through depressions and menopause and losses and scary illnesses and whatever. I have loads of experience interacting with terminals, spoonies, people with mental illness, religious and political zealots, and buttholes who make everyone else more miserable with whatever problem they have with other people being open and honest. There’s a lot of discipline behind not allowing people to drag me into negative stuff, and that’s actually the coolest thing I’ve ever learned. But I’m not cool enough yet, certainly not professional enough yet to not write this out.

I love social media. I hate communication problems. The defining hurtle for me as an aspie is emotion-fraught misconceptions. Some people I have met who are geniuses of social media have learned how to master the train wreck, as it were. Their social skills at creating problems and using negativity to draw crowds borders on the power of the Dark Side. I admire that. But I will never do that, because I don’t like stepping on other people to get attention for myself. A couple of people who have quietly watched me tick on blogs and facebook and twitter have nailed me as the person behind the curtain, promoting others before myself, pumping their traffic and followers before my own, and I’m very very good at it. I play this game of blogs where it looks like I really don’t get a lot of attention, but what I see behind the curtains is who still checks on everything I’m doing in the last eight years, who watched for me to come back out public, who for God knows why still seem curious where I’m really going with my stuff. This would be happening even if I didn’t link blog posts on twitter. It used to spook me. Now I feel like those are the real friends who truly respect my boundaries and just stay back, whether they understand me being aspie or not. And they may not even be my friends, they might be crazy obsessed fans or people waiting to make money off me or maybe even people terrified I’ll disappear again or spill the truth about something. I don’t even care. As long as people don’t show up at my house, fine. That has really happened, it got weird.

If I really wanted to rock an aspie blog like other aspies are doing, it would probably get pretty popular, because I am the bluntest evil villain I know when I don’t bite my tongue in half and swallow it. But that’s not who I want to be ‘famous’ as. I don’t want the kind of popularity where followers turn and group hate on anyone who defies me. I’ve watched this happen in every venue from big time celebrities down to basic anonymous nobodies. What gets really scary is when a celebrity or author or somebody with a lot of followers has to come out with a statement about depression, because they get wind of someone committing suicide in response to online bullying. What a catch-22, inciting to riot like it’s a game and then flipping over asking people to be compassionate and forgiving. It’s so easy to walk away and not respond to that crap, and yet so hard, and the crux is when people who did the inciting admit they have the depression or the suicidal family member. They know better.

I’m struggling. I’ve been mentioning for several weeks now I’m having challenges staying public. I’m not going to say why or who or what is going on. I’m not going to discuss it in private. I will talk to who I feel like talking to on public media. I’m a public aspie being pulled in multiple directions by several different interests, and if I wanna cross streams on my own turf, that is my business. Side taking and favoritism is not a service I have to render, jealousy or freaking out about who I talk to will no longer be tolerated, and before anyone thinks this post is going to a single person, don’t give yourself so much credit, because I’ve been doing this balancing act with a number of people. If you haven’t noticed, then I’ve been doing a good job handling it. I would never have wasted this much time blogging about a single person, which would actually be a passive-aggressive way to deal with a personal problem. Speaking as an aspie, this has become an overwhelming challenge from several directions. I suppose one answer would be to block or unfollow, but past experience says that only means I wind up shutting everything down again. Simply not responding and keeping it off my timeline is preferable.

I am aspie. Mask off. I want to stand up for what I like and believe in, and not cave to pressure to behave certain ways just because someone thinks I’m stepping out of line if I don’t. If I don’t feel like condoning something, I’m not going to just because a friend tags me. (Many people tag me, few get retweeted.) If some of you out there are still too scared to tweet with me because it might upset a few other people, I’m sorry stuff happens, but time passes and we’re all still human. I interact on multiple lists, I can’t be catering to each one exclusively, especially if I’m being ascribed or projected feelings based on expected behaviors. I could be just another aspie doing a public balancing act but I’d rather not be typecast and lumped into *just* aspie, because there is so much more I’m trying to do. People talk about glass ceilings- I’m working very hard toward my biggest explosion yet. I want it to be fun this time, not sad like the last time was.

I’m sorry, but that means I have to kill you all now.

I am very disappointed in you

People griping me out for not being published yet- my publisher, my psychologist, my DAD… O_O

That’s right, my DAD, the old Mennonite who wants me to pull his gold teeth out of his head with a pliers after he dies. ermahgerd The convo I had with him last Friday was insane and eye opening, two long hours of poking out my eyeballs and banging my head on various walls. But he completely supports me, an astonishing surprise that’s had me reeling the entire weekend.

That just gave me an idea for a Christmas present. Scott keeps bugging me about what I want. Click this to go get some yourself.

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Before I do anything else, I’ve got to get this Bluejacky thing *done*. It’s my Mt. Everest, and the air is so thin up here (I’m nearly at the top now after a lifetime of anguish) that I can barely breathe. The world looks so tiny down there, and once I leap off I’ll be way up in the sky all by myself, tacking through jet streams and running the breezes. (I’m learning sailing/nautical terminology for a cool story I’ve had going on the side for a few years). I don’t mean to sound so dramatic, but just the thought of a hard core interview is terrifying.

I’m a hermit, tucked away in my cave. Since I first came out public on the internet in 2008 about who I really am, I’ve heard privately from a number of people literally around the world about heavy things they live with and can’t bear to say out loud. I have been surprised at how many people around this globe have silently followed me through everything I do because I brave the dreaded conflict and dare to deal with some things head on in public. I’ve gotten emails and private messages for years from people struggling with mental health diagnoses, autoimmune disorders, sexual angst, abusive relationships, suicide questions…

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I intimately know what it’s like to lurk in the greasy back alleys of black despair. I KNOW what it’s like to live without hope, longing for even a taste of joy an a hollow emptiness that renders philosophical debates about life into oblivion. I know what it’s like to live believing nothing good will ever happen again.

I’m no expert, but I’m here to say it’s possible to make it through ALL that and spring forth with joy. I’m not selling salvation, I haven’t been brainwashed or drugged, I’m not hanging on to a psychotic belief in anything like I’ve seen so many people do when they reach the end of their ropes and think they have nowhere else to turn.

What I have is what I was born with- a lack of empathy, a blunt list of questions, and a gift for words. What I need *right now* is a realistic time pressure. Can I get this done before The Walking Dead returns in February? Because I’m gonna roll with TWD next year, after holding out all this time. In the meantime, another crazy roller coaster ride through the holidays around here and maybe the reason I’m not on the keyboard is because I’m plugging my fingers into my ears and singing LALALALALALALA. If you wanna see real evidence of my change of heart on video, here you go. I look like a dork, but who doesn’t, right? Best way to deal with severe social anxiety is head on. Surprisingly, I don’t have a problem with the camera part, or the talking part, so people don’t understand me at all when I say I have anxiety, which, yes, is medically documented as being pretty severe. See my last post for an explanation of sorts.

I’m done with this. Back to real life. Go see my Winter Storm Klingon pictures and video on my facebook while I get back to laundry and working on Christmas cards and presents.

wonky, worms, and the Borg

I’ve got this weird thing in my head where I ‘wake up’ to realizations months and sometimes even years after things happen. I’m not sure if this is what makes time passing wonky for me or if it’s the other way around. On one level I’m with it, I know what’s going on, on another level I’m not aware of myself at all being in the now and then later when I have memories I have to sort them out like a puzzle figuring out the time order they came in, and on another level still (and this is where it comes months and years later) I suddenly ‘get’ the big picture from a third person viewpoint. So basically I can coexist with a factoid that everyone takes for granted (and really doesn’t care about), realize it’s a thing way later even though I was involved all along, and then suddenly even wayer laterer get this thunderclap how I must have looked knowing something and not knowing it at the same time.

I’m obsessed with the Schrodinger’s cat dilemma and the photo slit experiment. I don’t think existence has to be perceived even if it purportedly must be observed. I’m not sure perceiving is enough in the “I think therefore I am” equation. Everything around us is pretty solid ‘am’ without too much thought leaking around. It’s like saying “I’m aware of my existence, therefore I exist.” Worms accomplish that every day, they just don’t have words for it, unless maybe they do but they’re not sharing a vast wealth of planet knowledge with us. The problem with the cat is no one assumes it will fight to get out of the box and knock the geiger counter around in the process, possibly setting off a false reading or even disabling it, and when we finally open the box we get a tangle of cat in our faces and stagger about clutching our bloody eyeballs.

It’s bothering me that even though I can download my entire twitter history, address links are not yet available for individual mobile tweets, at least on my phone, so even though I can find the very first time I tweeted with a particular person out of 46,600 tweets, I can’t open that tweet and I can’t pull it up on a twitter search even with precise word combinations because it’s too old and I can’t scroll back that far through the actual history on my laptop without bogging down to the point where it can’t load any more because the script stops running. Why do I want that, you ask. Because if I could open that tweet I could see the rest of the conversation around it, I say. Why is that so important, you ask. Because I have a weird wonky time tangled memory and it’s nice to be able to see what actually happened and the order it happened in, I say. Why do you even care, you say. Because after a lifetime of aspie disconnection it’s nice to finally be able to plug emotional bonds into the correct holes in my head, I say. Seeing something in print is more solid to me than just remembering something, like reinforcement. I feel lost when something seems vague and blurry in my head because I wasn’t paying the right kind of attention in the first place to make notes the same way other people do in face to face and phone conversations.

I’m an after the fact person. I’ve been tweeting with several groups of people for a long time and it’s just now hitting me they seem to know me and my idiosyncrasies much better than I do theirs because it took me so many months in the first place to establish which avatar goes with whose name (and both changing every little bit throws me off), where they live and which kids and pets are theirs if they have any, the different jobs they have, the things they like. I’m loving every minute of it, actually, wish my whole life had been twitter so it would have made more sense. I have an awesome memory for something I’ve seen in print and have irritated people for years quoting something they wrote ages ago in blogs or forums and they either have no recollection or aren’t remembering it properly, but I really suck at real time conversations because the words don’t come through my eyes. Sometimes I feel like a photon, like I’ve been in two (or more) different places for one event, and it takes awhile for memories of events to sift down into something I can associate into a timeline.

I wasn’t aware until my 30’s that this is a cognitive deficit I live with, and wasn’t aware until ten years later that it’s considered such a devastating brain problem that people who work with brain trauma victims and psychological assessment can’t believe I was able to hold jobs and make it through college. I work very hard at social mapping, and lately twitter is a huge part of being more successful with it. I can’t even imagine going back to a life without twitter. Social media is a godsend for me. I feel like I understand the attraction the Borg queen offered, being able to finally plug in and be accepted on a level I’ve never experienced before, and hear the world sing its song in my head. Through my eyeballs. But really and truly in my head once those brain implants get here.

brain sex, robot style

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
      If this be error and upon me proved,
     I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116 is my favorite. I’ll never forget the first time I heard my favorite line- “Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.”

I could care less about romantic love. Scott says something is wrong with me and I’m ruined, but I can’t stop giggling when frogs pop into my mind in the middle of it. I think, for me, the real connection is a brain thing. Personally, I believe the roots of true love start between parent and child, and that whole alteration thing is about accepting each other for who we are and not feeling compulsed to fix or change each other to suit our own whims. Still, this sonnet sparks a little deep thought (I’m not using it in context as discussed at Shakespeare’s Sonnets).

Going forward, strong caution on this post. Maybe I should have titled it Sexual Synesthesia and Asperger’s or something, but I think the title I’ve got is catchier. I’m putting this post out there as a ‘forewarned is forearmed’ before I get super serious and put this stuff into one of the books I’m working on. This book in particular will look at the darker side of growing up with Asperger’s, although there is plenty of cute to go around as well, like in aspie lovin’, which I think fits perfectly with Sonnet 116.

I describe the synesthesia I live with at Synesthesia. I’ve written about my sexuality sysnesthesia in the following posts, so I’ll leave that up to readers to play catch up, because I think it’s redundant to say it all again. I’ve read them so I’m going to skip down to the next paragraph.

sex is wrong, or coming out of the pandimensional closet

Lexx and psychological health, perhaps

Twitter friends have been having fun joking with me about whether I am a robot (it’s the world’s greatest pickup line, & the robot name variations on Pinky keep growing- Pinky 5, Pink-E, Pink3PO), little knowing the depths of chaos theory I’ve investigated and what that portends for artificial intelligence. I keep saying I’m not a big fan of robots, but over the last few days it’s become apparent that I’m actually quite familiar with a plethora of scifi robot characters, including androids, cyborgs, and synthetics. My most favoritist robot is the Electric Monk from Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency. I’ve also touched a little on brain studies in a number of classes, and although I’m no expert, I’m probably more familiar with the human brain than most people I meet. From physical and psychological development to the philosophies of self and existence and all the weird fiction I can get in between, I seem to have had a fixation on brain stuff most of my life.

A couple of the neatest things I like about brains is the inherent propensity for symbology and mapping. Even simple brains must associate recognizing something in the outer environment as a memory of ‘good’ or ‘bad’ in relation to what the organism feels compelled get done in its life, and by the time brains reach the size of walnuts there is already extensive social mapping. Humans are so brainy that symbols take on multilayers of meaning and context, allowing us to enjoy things like sarcasm, while mapping grows so complex that humans literally invent more things to map just to keep mapping, resulting in a gaming industry that is currently rocking the planet.

I’m uniquely interested in these kinds of things because, while I am in no way mentally deficit, I am socially deficit and have spent my life putting extra time into figuring other people out and how I fit into their viewpoints. The kinds of thoughts I have are not the kinds of thoughts people around me generally have, and general consensus is that my kinds of thoughts occur because something is inherently wrong with me to begin with. None of us knew for years that I skirt the fringe of autism, although my poor mother suspected long before it was fashionable for definitions to stretch out and allow little things like the word ‘verbal’, because I really don’t shut up, and it’s usually not long before most people find me very annoying.

One of my favorite fiction authors for retrospective thought on thought itself is Douglas Adams. Like the Grebulon ship, there seems to be a hole where my central mission module belongs. If you’re the sort of brainiac who loves brain melt puzzle thinking and you haven’t heard of these things, click those links right now. I’ll wait for you.

I’ve often said I feel like I should be able to plug into other people like R2D2 plugs into a wall socket to get information. I’ve had to go out of my way to learn the social dance etiquettes that most people pick up on automatically while they’re still children. I tend to prefer function over form, which makes me obnoxiously rude sometimes, the way people in Star Trek might think Vulcans are rude, but it’s cool because I tend to think of them back the way Vulcans think about humans, so we’re even. All the same, it’s a relief to me when I find ways to expedite interactive processes because having to route around all the extra words of ‘how was your day’ without lapsing into literal interpretation kind of wears me out. Once I finally realized I don’t have to actually diagnostically report in, life got a little easier.

The internet is a godsend for me. It is exactly what I want when I interact. Words go straight into my head without the social cues, and oddly, I actually get the social stuff just fine like this, although other people still inject emotion into the content I share and that mystifies me. I’m starting to get the hang of subtext, but I find it disturbing that other people don’t find it disturbing how prevalent subtext really is. What is the point of language and symbolic exchange if words are rife with unspoken words and don’t exactly mean what they look like they say? But, again, once I realized that it’s more like playing a game, things got a little easier. All the same, even though information exchange on the internet is blissful for me, if that’s all it is then it’s kind of sad. I do, after all, need human contact, so I am learning to say ‘Hello, how was your day’ on a keyboard. Irony and I are bedfellows.

Brain sex is a phrase I coined a few years ago to describe to myself the thrill I get connecting to other people and their ideas and enthusiasm on the internet. I don’t necessarily need to play the comment-on-each-other’s-blogs game, but it’s fun to run into stimulating ideas coming out of other brains. I kind of feel like this is Borg Basic or something. The internet started out being an extension of our brains, but now our brains have become extensions of the internet. Whatever is going on, I like it. Twitter especially is a mental polyamorist’s dream come true (and therein lies the scandal in using the world’s greatest pickup line, perhaps).

Brain sex is only a metaphor, you say. Ah, but I experience real chemical changes or chemical reinforcements when I play on twitter, I say. I think we all do. Talking to each other is titillating to the point where stronger bonds are made in 140 characters or less than are made in chat rooms and forums, which in their day made stronger bonds than between people living next door to each other. Twitter has become a living thing, a self organizing system efficiently channeling like thinkers together.

The thrill for a brain gamer like me is the quantity one can get into a thought that is restricted to a tiny configuration. Word construction rules fly out the door in favor of packing space, and people who get really good at it can actually receive twitter awards. Knowing a few word tricks can get a person’s twitter content picked up by internet publications, and it’s been all the rage on other media to follow hashtag feeds on twitter as a way of sampling what a general population is thinking about this or that. But again, it’s the connection to actual people in real time that brings the satisfaction. I like feeling like I’m part of the world, maybe special enough to be part of a twitter gang.

But it’s not often I run into someone who can stop me dead in my tracks with four words, certainly no one had ever done it before on the internet until about 5 days ago on twitter. I have no idea what any of it means outside of my own head, but I think I have found someone who can brain game with me without having to fake it. I could be wrong, but it sure felt like brain sex to me.

I’ve been torn the last few days, but if I’m going to play the subtext game, I think I’m going with “Yes, I am a robot.” If you’ve come this far and missed it, I’m talking about the Asperger’s. Kinda took the question literally, but since it was my first time being the recipient of the world’s greatest pickup line, I had to work my way through the logic loops and construct loop counters when I couldn’t find my way out of the maze. I’m a really advanced robot.