Quotidian Diary Attempt in The Big, Blue House, year one.

So I’m supposed to write about my daily life? It’s so dull. I mean I prefer dull, as the opposite, (exciting), generally involves some tragedy or extreme stress. But I don’t honestly think my existence is worth writing about.

Still, if that’s what I’m supposed to do, I’ll elaborate on just how absurdly dull my life, at this stage anyway, is. (In years past it was absolutely not dull, and that would make much better reading material. Anybody want to hear how I broke my nose and got on the front page of the local paper? Or about how my ex-brother-in-law lost three of his front teeth, in three separate fights with his now ex-wife? No?).

Yesterday we finished cleaning out the office. Or the ground floor bedroom, but we’re using it as an office. It had accumulated six months of cardboard delivery boxes, predominantly from Amazon and Wal-Mart, where I just stacked them up, so I could do other things. I’m autistic. My time management is abject garbage. It just is. I’m on SSI for reasons, people. I can do at most three things from my To-Do list on any given day, and the boxes were a low priority. But now they’re gone. I broke them down, piled them up, stuffed them in bags, and Don took them away. Then I swept the floor. (It has that cheezy fake wood linoleum that Home Depot and Lowes are trying to market as posh by calling it “laminate”. It’s peel-and-stick tile that looks vaguely like woodgrain. Anyway I swept it.)

Then Don arranged the stuff in there, because it’s all heavy, and like most human males, he’s more suited to heavy manual labor than I am. They evolved to hunt big game to feed the tribe, and now he’s reduced to arranging boxes and printing and pressing equipment. He also cooks, poor thing. I bought him a nice grill years ago, but he usually prefers a stovetop. And he sews on occasion, when something gets torn. He was very close to his Grandma, by way of an explanation.

What do I do? I clean. Every day, I have a routine. Dishes, counters, sinks, trash, floors, dust, litter boxes, toilets, and anything else I notice as I go. I worked most of my life in food service. I find comfort in performing the same tasks as I always did. And Don is a messy person, so it balances out for the most part.

But now the office is devoid of crap, and looks like a proper room again, so that’s nice.

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After that we spent several hours in GW2 figuring out the stupid Festival of The Four Winds and doing its dailies. Some of it was fun, some of it was frustrating. After - is it two years? I’ve been away from WoW, I’ve started to miss it. Warcraft, for all of its dumbing down, and absolutely AWFUL writing, is an exceptionally simple game to play in comparison to GW2, and WoW makes most things a gamble, so that when you actually get a reward it feels like, well, a reward. It feels like you’ve gotten something special, and there’s a bit of an endorphin rush, because it takes so long to get anything, and so many attempts where you get nothing, before you finally get the mount, or the weapon, or the pet, or whatever.

GW2 makes everything fair, but also more work. I get it, they want you buy things from the cash shop, because they have no subscription fee, and I can appreciate that. I’ve spent more on the GW2 cash shop, per month, than the $15 subscription fee to WoW by FAR. I realize that they need to pay their employees. But the rewards to time and effort invested ratio is just not as good as WoW’s. It’s still mostly fun. But if I spend more time swearing at the screen than I do just relaxing and enjoying the game, then naturally I start questioning my choices.

I may go back to WoW for a while, and play Classic. I say may. I still detest Blizzard to the extent that I’d laugh and sing if a gigantic sinkhole opened under their Anaheim building.

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And now I have to do the daily housework, and then it’s whatever stuff from the To-Do list I can get done before Don makes dinner. Today is ‘try to muster the courage to call and make a therapy appointment’. Phone calls are like lifting boulders. It takes serious effort. And people trying to reassure me by saying that it’s not a big deal, only minimize the autistic struggle. Like I said, I’m on SSI for reasons.

If I had a dollar for every time someone said “You don’t look it”, or “I don’t think you’re autistic”. Hell, Don insists on referring to it as Asperger’s, despite the fact that the DSMV made the term defunct. I can understand though. I’m not intellectually impaired, and using ‘Aspergers’ makes a distinction. But if you use that term in autistic groups on the internet, most people will get very upset, for several reasons.

Personally I wish they’d replaced the term ‘Asperger’s Syndrome’ with something equally definitive, but less offensive. But we got what we got. So I’m ASD1.

And I have a very hard time making calls.

I(f I manage to get through the phone call, then I’m going to try to clean in the master bedroom. Carpet Fresh, wash the curtains, wash the walls, etc.

I can clean all day, every day. I like cleaning. The tedious repetition is great. But good gods don't ask me to talk to anybody.

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