"All this"--as in "Is all this worth it?"--has gotten to be a pretty long list lately. So I find myself fantasizing ever more frequently.

As a young child, I was an optimist. I'm still an idealist. I want to change the world. I want to look back on my life and say, "There are things here that are better than if I hadn't been there." But now I'm losing hope--will that ever happen?

I was told I was intelligent; I believed it. But life happened, and I grew up, and reality hit me: I'm not that intelligent after all. What's more, intelligence doesn't mean success--not unless your IQ is 200 plus. Mine is hardly even enough to get into gifted-and-talented. I have trouble with basic calculus. Raw IQ isn't even all there is to intelligence; there's much more that IQ doesn't even touch. I counted on intelligence; but now I know it won't get me anywhere.

"It's not what you know; it's who you know." That's an encouragement to most people; but it's as hard to me as quantum physics is to the average fifth-grader. I make connections about as easily as Teflon.

I'm irresponsible. I'm supposed to be sleeping right now; I know how important it is to keep to some semblance of a normal circadian rhythm; yet here I am at 2:51 a.m., typing out an angsty essay, trying to collect my thoughts (it's not working).

I go to class online. I was supposed to hand in an assignment several weeks ago; it's still sitting on my desk, half-done, and the quarter ended yesterday. Another class was over a week ago and I haven't handed in the work at all yet. I plan to hand in the work and pretend I didn't know the class ended. I spent the time today trying to concentrate on doing schoolwork, trying to tie my mind to useful, productive work; instead, I ruined my Freecell solitaire record by losing seven games in a row. You know it's bad when you can't even win at Freecell.

I tried to keep my job; I really did. It was the best job I've ever had--I worked at Goodwill, sorting clothes; and I was the best sorter there because I cared about sizes and order and making sure the customers could find things. Some of the other people who worked there are disabled too; but my job got terminated. I thought I was supposed to be on time by the time clock; but the boss wanted me to be there when the doors were open, and nobody ever told me. They just assumed I would know. It's got to be one of those social codes nobody ever knows to clue me in on. Maybe they resented the way I insisted on accuracy.

Maybe they didn't like the way I don't think before I criticized upper management--those people who wouldn't let us have air conditioning even though they were at our store for a total of two hours during the three months I worked there. The boss told me, No more being late, or I'll send you back. So I tried. I really did. But it took me three days more to figure out the time clock problem; and by then, I'd been late three times, at least according to the boss. I might have survived that; but then I had my period. I should be able to work through it, I really should; but it makes me so dizzy, and makes me want to throw up; and sometimes the pain is so severe I have to cry... I don't understand why that's so, when I routinely ignore bumps and find myself bleeding from cuts I didn't know I'd sustained; but there you have it--my monthly period turns me into a crying wimp for six hours minimum, sometimes more. So I called in sick; and that was the last straw for the boss. He fired me.

Fine. Let them degenerate into chaos again. I was the best worker they had. I cared about the work more than anybody there. It's the first time I've ever looked forward to going to work. It's their loss.

But now I've lost my paycheck; and nobody else seems to want to hire me. I suck at job interviews. I told the guy from the mail service that I might have trouble standing up for more than four hours at a time. It's true, but you're not supposed to say that to anybody, even if you do have trouble because you can't ignore your aching feet like all those lucky NTs seem to be able to do. You're supposed to pretend to be the perfect worker. So sue me if I'm honest. I'm not good at kissing up.

Rent's due soon. Where's the money going to come from? How will I take care of my cats? My landlord doesn't know I've lost my job. I can't tell him; he'll be afraid I can't pay. He'll be right. I have my heat off, trying to save money. It's November... I wish I had fur, like the cats.

For the first time in my life, my autism is really holding me back. I'm no longer the quirky kid who's cute because she can lecture about black holes. Now I'm an adult who's expected to be responsible. Instead of perseverating on crochet or psychology, I'm supposed to be writing essays about Nietzsche (who, incidentally, is not helping my mood any--I want to slap him). I'm supposed to be able to organize my life well enough to do things on time. I'm supposed to be able to sell myself to job interviewers. I'm supposed to be able to do all these things; and it doesn't help that I can theoretically do them; only somehow I'm not doing them, and I can't figure out why.

I thought I was intelligent. My GPA is down below 2 now--for you Europeans, that means I'm failing more than I'm passing. It means that what I thought was my best attribute--my intelligence--is failing me. That's scary. I can't seem to memorize calculus equations to save my life, even though I've learned so much psychology that my average in my Abnormal Psychology class is over 100%, not counting the project I was supposed to turn in. That's perseveration for you: Only one thing seems interesting. Where's the willpower I need? Dragging my mind away from the things I like and to the things I ought to do feels like trying to move an elephant who doesn't want to budge; and if I'm not careful, he may decide to step on me.

So what now? How do I live? I've tried to get work; but most types of work--noisy, smelly, messy work--are torture to me. Two hours in, I'm uncomfortable; four in, I'm in overload; six, and I'm incoherent in the midst of meltdown. I finally found a job I could do; but they didn't want me. I'm trying to get a job that focuses on my strengths; but that requires a college degree--engineering, if you're wondering--and I'm so irresponsible I can't seem to pass the simplest of classes.

Why this defect of character? Why, if I hate it so much, do I not have the will power to overcome it? Why do I still do what I want to do rather than what I ought; and even when I do what I ought to do, my mind refuses to concentrate?

I fantasize sometimes that I'll somehow manage to make my life count, and get out of the whole mess at the same time. Maybe I'll die pulling somebody out of a burning building; or I'll get smashed up by one of the cars that doesn't acknowledge the existence of bikes (there are all too many) and my organs will save five people. But there's a distinct shortage of burning buildings; and having been in Germany during the wrong years, I'd probably be disqualified as an organ donor because they'd be worried about mad cow disease. So there's not even that way out.

I can't even blame my failure on anybody else. Essentially, I've failed myself. But it's not like when you lose at a computer game--ADOM, say; one of my favorites--because when you lose ADOM, the game ends. When you lose at life, the game goes on. You just wander around, unable to do anything, unable to make headway, waiting for a power outage to cut off the electricity to the computer because you refuse to just push the "off" button.

All I want to do is make a difference. I don't want to be famous; don't want to be extraordinary. I just want my life to be worth it. But how am I supposed to do that when I can't work, can't study, can't pay my rent? I'm not going to do anything permanent--my cats have nobody else to take care of them.

Still, I feel like I'm in a dilemma; and I can't see a way out. I'm too stubborn not to keep looking for one; but once you've looked for long enough, the feeling that there isn't any way out starts to sneak up on you, no matter how long you try to block it out.