Time.
There's never enough time.
Now's not the time. When is it ever?
What happens when time runs out?
I never do these things at the right time. It's like I don't know what's happening. Or maybe I do, and my subconscious is so frightened of change that I unconsciously put stumbling blocks in my way.
However, there is still time left...just enough to make a difference. I will make time to come back.
One more time. The Last Hurrah. Two day's time. This is it.
Time.
Lying devalues the truth. Or does it?
White lies...well, maybe not. That's how it goes though.
Bare and shamed faced lying on the other hand, and indeed, looking at the shadows on my cave wall, getting other people to lie for you, absolutely fucking stinks. In a way, I retch, but in another way I don't in the slightest. I no longer feel enslaved, under the thumb, on a leash, or any other similar image you'd like to present. Entries on the back of a postage stamp as usual.
Over the last few months, I really have had my eyes opened as far as character is concerned. There really are very few actual real people round here. I think the final nail in the coffin came earlier today.
The manipulation, the back-stabbing, the guilt-tripping. All of it can come to an end now because I saw what was going off behind the green curtain and realised I'm free. Released. Never again will they cross my path.
You forfeited your right to be my friend when you wouldn't even have the courtesy to look me in the eye. You forfeited the right to speak to me when you started ignoring me. Piss off you stupid hypocritical martyr. Oh, and you forfeited the right to be a person when you got people to lie for you when you couldn't even muster the spine to speak to me yourself. Go, child. Get out. You'll get everything you deserve one day, and not necessarily by my hand either. The funny thing is I'm not upset that I can see you clearly for what you are, but that I couldn't see that earlier.
One of my best and most trusted friends turned out to be nothing short of a disgusting and pathetic whelp. If I never hear your name again it's all the same to me.
"What are you doing here, Peb?" Looks like the real answer was 'wasting my time'.
"What are you doing here, Peb?"
Actually it's a good question. Taken out of context it looks strange, but to be fair in the context it was more than relevant. The unfortunate nature of my badman cyclist tactics (and that means at high speed (speed limits don't apply to cyclists, right?)) means I need a short breather after such distance is traversed, and thus I was still around to be questioned, but to be honest we're straying into less-than-abstract commentary on reality and more into analysing the shadows on the cave walls, so enough enough.
Not only was I asked that question earlier with good reason (my reaction was a little overblown and hardnosed though. In my valiant attempt to not be bitter I have acquired a certain...insensitivity), but recalling the experience reminds me of an episode even earlier in the evening (look at that cave wall go), with the inimitable J of N. During a usual conversation about the poor end of the stall, and I was pretty wound up, I recounted my continual pride of having left the house, and indeed leaving the house every single day. "Pardon?" Utter confusion reigned over my compatriot's reply. Indeed, why should I be proud of such a mundane act? Perhaps you should ask why shouldn't I be proud of it.
Ladies and Gentlemen, you are reading the handiwork an adult living with a disability. SHOCK HORROR NERD HAS CRIPPLING FEELINGS OF SOCIAL INADEQUACY AND WRITES ABOUT IT ON THE INTERNET. Get over it.
I'm not a cripple (not just yet anyway, but I'm heading that way for sure), but rather I "suffer", if you are closed-minded enough to think of it in that way with Asperger's Syndrome, or Autistic Spectrum Disorder. Or if you're really ignorant, I'm some freakish nutjob who can't tie his shoelaces properly. (True fact though) Not only that but I have a list of symptoms as long as your arm (even you, Mr. Fantastic) and also put up with Attention Defecit Hyperactivity Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Dyspraxia, Dysgraphia, and Synesthesia. Also due to my Autism I have an inbuilt disregard for authority short of total disrespect, which can often reflect in my language. No, not my fremdsprache but more the fact that my usual patter is peppered with more expletives than your body has room for, spun off the tongue with the same casual attitude as a simple "how do you do". Well, that and I genuinely believe there is respectable mileage in Anarchism. ANYWAY, ON WITH THE SHOW.
Last I heard, and indeed, as I tell anyone who will listen, when I started at University, in a the clement September of 2008, the drop out rate for students with Asperger's was 80% within the first month. Ok, you can prove anything with statistics, but still, 80%? An almost overwhelming majority feel that the strain is too much, and make a tactical retreat. Now, I don't have a hold on these statistics by any means, so say maybe 20% 0f that 80% choose to reapply...and say within 3 years as well. Maybe I'm right? Seems like a nice figure anyway. Now, stick with me here. This pristine figure that I clasp to my bosom only refers to students in the first year. What about the years after that? How many Autistic students make it through their degrees? How many of them never move off campus? I can confirm that out of a definite 16 students with Asperger's Syndrome (at the beginning of this year), I was the only one who demanded (and I bloody demanded alright) to live off campus. I am proud to push myself beyond all safe limits and try to live as ordinary a life as I possibly can. The repercussions can take their toll though; every so often I need to switch off and get out of the game, but only as a temporary tactical withdrawal. I'm often back in the game before I know it. Yes, I have a crippling phobia of clowns, Yes I need my shopping to be on the conveyor belt in a certain way (I get stared at regularly) and YES I have a black and white view on ethics, morality &c &c. What I'm doing here, is bucking the trend and proving to myself as much as everyone else that I will not be beaten by my labels and symptoms. I will be out there making a difference until the very last second.
"What are you doing here, Peb?" Just trying to do a favour for a friend. There's always another way.
And as you close your eyes for the Big Sleep, I hope you think of me.
