Reports from a Resident Alien

Routines are wonderful, but they don't apply to everything. Sometimes you have to do something you haven't done before and will never do again, or something that deviates from the usual, or something that's so complex it's overwhelming. So I made myself a task list to deal with these new or unusual situations... Apologies to my English teacher, as I am well aware this is not proper outline form:

How to Do a Difficult Task:

1. Make coffee, if you want it. Remind yourself that you are almost certainly capable of completing the task.
2. Check your stress level.
   
   1. If it's too high, reduce it with self-limiting* relaxation or recreational activity.
3. Get yourself a cup of coffee and make a list of steps.
   
   1. Does the task require breaks? 
      
      1. If so, schedule self-limiting activity for breaks.
   2. Is each step simple enough not to be overwhelming? 
      
      1. If not, simplify the step in question by breaking it down further.
4. Check over the task list.
   
   1. As written, will the task list take too long?
      
      1. If so, triage it. Place the most important subtasks first.
      2. If there are too many absolutely required subtasks to drop some of them, change them so that speed increases and quality decreases.
5. Follow the task list, step by step.
   
   1. While following the list, keep a watch on:
      
      1. Time: Is the list taking too long? If so, go back to step 4.
      2. Stress level: Are you becoming inefficient or zoning out because of stress level? Do step 2, then return to 5.
      3. Perseveration: Are you stuck on one activity, unable to stop and go to the next step? As soon as you become aware of the problem, attempt to go to the easiest possible other activity in order to break the freeze.
         
         1. Once successful, recheck stress level and list complexity to see what caused the freeze and how to re-structure so it doesn't happen again. Then return to step 5.
   2. When the list ends, consciously decide on what to do next, to avoid falling into default** (inefficient) activity.

*Self-limiting: An activity with a natural end, rather than one that is easy to continue for sixteen hours. Drinking a cup of tea is a self-limiting activity; playing Solitaire is not.

**Default activity: What I call it when I do not have a plan and return to the things that are easiest for me to do, usually something involving Internet message boards. :)

"So, what's it like being autistic?"

Autism is so different from person to person that I could only tell you what it's like for me, and even then I can't compare it with being NT because I've never been NT.

Autism, for me, means details. I see little things. Something changes, I notice it. I see the small elements that make up the big picture--pixels first, then the image. I'm hypersensitive to everything--sight, sound, smell, touch... I can tell what kind of fabric something is made of just by touching it. You might see me in the Goodwill store shopping for clothes by passing my fingers across the racks, looking for something that feels right. It's not that my senses are any better, but that my brain doesn't have a very strong 'filter'. Most people stop noticing their clothes about five minutes after they put them on. Not me--I notice them all day. Same with the other senses.

Autism also means intense focus on one thing. When I get interested in something, it's to the exclusion of all else. When I want to know something, I become an expert. I understood relativity before I could do algebra, because I became so interested in it in the sixth grade. Now, with an interest in psychology and pediatric medicine, I can follow the medical journals despite having no official education on the subject. When I play a game, I learn everything about its mechanics. I can still tell you about the uses of every item in ADOM--including artifacts. These obsessions bring me joy... they are almost like falling in love.

Autism also means a lot of little annoyances. I'm not too good at planning and executing things while I'm doing them, so that without a plan in mind beforehand, things can take double or even ten times as long as they should. When I'm not interested in something, I lose focus. My senses intrude on my thinking way too often. I seem to have the ability to either focus intensely, or not at all. I'm not good at communication that doesn't involve words, so I use a huge vocabulary to make up for it and consequently sound smarter than I am. I'm unemployed because I can't do a lot of the simple little things that "everyone" can; and that annoys me because I have a lot of intelligence that I could really use if only I could get around the little obstacles.

Social isolation is my own choice. I admit I wouldn't know how to de-isolate myself easily; but I'm pretty happy with no friends and frankly thankful that my family lives several states away. I think in terms of facts, not people; and my empathy is a logical sort of altruism that would have me doing anything for anyone without really feeling much of what they feel. People in general are interesting; but people in particular rather bore me--I'm much more interested in the ideas that their heads hold, and if I hang out with someone, it's because they have interesting things to say.

All in all, autism is a different way of thinking and living. It does cause problems, but I would have problems if I were typical, too. And if I were typical, I wouldn't be able to see the beautiful little patterns in all the details of life; I wouldn't be able to fall in love with a subject; I wouldn't be the person I am. Me-without-autism is not me at all.

When Asperger's as a disability is discussed, people seem to be thinking along the lines of, "Disability must be severe to be called disability." That's true only in the legal sense, when it has to prevent you from working.

Many Aspies feel they aren't disabled. Sometimes it's true; sometimes it's just a way of saying they don't mind having Asperger's, that it doesn't stop them from doing what they want in life. But there's a difference between that and not being disabled.

Disability is in large parts a social construct; it compares someone to the requirements that society places on him, and asks whether he needs anything more than most people to fit into that society--whether it's extra energy, extra education, technology, or outside help. Move someone to a different society, and he may no longer be disabled.

Realistically, though, there are an awful lot of conditions that are disabilities and yet don't hamper you too much once you have adjusted. For example: Let's say you're self-sufficient but you use a wheelchair. You have access to ramps and elevators. Nothing's really closed to you--even mountain-climbing has become accessible. So are you still disabled? Most everybody would say yes, you are, because you can't walk... Okay, so let's take a Deaf guy with a talent for lipreading. He learns to speak with what sounds like a bit of an accent. All he has to do is look at someone to understand them. Is he still disabled? Most people would say yes, he is, because he still can't hear...

But how is that different from an Aspie who has learned to cope in social situations? You still have the basic difference that cause you to put forth a lot more effort when you're in a social situation--like the deaf guy who's using a lot more brain power to lip-read than he would watching people sign.

Disability can be mild. It can be almost or completely compensated for. And in those cases, the only reason it's still called a disability is because you do have to use extra effort, or extra technology, or accommodations of some sort, to compensate. Disability isn't always something you can NEVER do.. it's often something you do differently. Like an Aspie's socialization.

Some Aspies aren't disabled, but I would not call it that until they got to the point that they take no more effort than an NT when they socialized, got no more stressed than an NT from sensory input, and could, if desired, spend no more time on special interests than an NT spends on hobbies... Only the milder cases get to that point, and usually not until middle adulthood. Whether that's necessarily better than staying "disabled"... I doubt it, really. It's life, either way; doesn't have much to do with happiness.

And to complicate matters, some things aren't thought of as disabilities when they really ought to be; for example, ADHD can cause more problems than Asperger's, but it is not commonly categorized as a disability until it reaches an extreme level. Without the technology afforded by eyeglasses, someone with 20/200 vision can't drive and can't navigate well--but because so many people wear eyeglasses, it isn't considered a disability. Chronic illness is on the borderline, too; diabetes requires extra effort and extra technology, but it too isn't quite considered a disability.

A whole society is determining what "disabled" means. Depending on how unusual a condition is, it might be put on either side of the line without real thought. Some things that cause less trouble than Asperger's are considered disabilities just because they aren't the norm--for example, having a prosthetic leg. (Granted, that causes more trouble than Asperger's at the beginning; but let's say you were born without the leg and grew up using a prosthesis)...

Let's face it: Society determines what "disability" is. And our society thinks socializing is awfully important--possibly the most important skill, if you don't count basic self-care, or even if you do count it. Many Aspies are considered disabled; and because disability is determined by society, that means that at the base of it they ARE disabled, just because of the mismatch between what society demands and what they can give; because they have to fill in the gap with extra effort, extra education, extra technology...

The Aspies in question--disabled because society says they are--usually do not think this is a tragedy or an impediment to doing what they want with their lives. But that is true of so many people who are disabled by any measure of the term--everything from Down syndrome to quadriplegia to blindness. People exist with those conditions and just about any other who consider themselves to be quite functional, not deprived or "worse off" than anybody else, not impaired in doing what they want to do.

Just because you do not think that having a certain condition is a problem, doesn't mean it isn't a disability--because what you think isn't in the definition, really. That's why the disability community is so important; our status is defined by those around us just as a racial minority's status; and what those around us think of us affects us quite a bit more, psychologically and socially, than the actual impairments we deal with.

Reply to "Aspie Superpowers and Teenagers".
I'm seeing the same phenomenon as the guy who wrote the blog post above: Aspie kids (and probably some adults) are pretty eager to declare themselves superior. Most of their lives, the world has been telling them they're inferior; and they're sick of it. So, when they discover it's OK to be an Aspie, they begin to swing the other way, showing off their talents, telling the world that they are not just equal, but better. Consider the parallel to the women's rights movements here, and the civil rights movement. Both included quite a lot of people who, sick of being called inferior, declared themselves superior instead. There's quite a lot of precedent for this kind of thing. Aspie teens who brag about their talents (and I've done my share of bragging) are doing a mild version of that same thing.

But the Aspie superpower phenomenon really does have a basis in fact--though it doesn't make us superior.

You really can't ignore the fact that the brainpower we'd use for socializing is definitely being used for something else, though... and that easily results in abnormally high skill levels. Superpowers? Not really; there are neurotypicals with similarly high levels of talent. But look at the Asperger's population, and I'm pretty sure you'll find more talented individuals than in the general population--if, of course, you ignore the general population's social talents. The Aspie brain is skewed off the norm in various areas, trading big-picture thinking for attention to detail--which, if you looked only at how well one notices details, could certainly be considered a special talent. And of course there are skills that compensate for Aspie weaknesses; many of us have very large vocabularies, which I believe compensate for the lack of nonverbal communication (you can say things more precisely with "big words", so you don't have to use tone of voice, speed, and gesture to communicate those nuances).

"Aspie superpowers" are very real. Talent like that exists all along the spectrum, and more often on than off it. To assume that you are better than others because you possess them isn't right, though; just because your brain's good at one thing doesn't mean you're good at everything--by definition, if you're autistic, you're not. And to assume that you're better than non-talented autistics is even worse. If you say it's talent that makes autistic life worthwhile, you're saying a lot of awfully mean things about people who don't have talent. Autistic life is worthwhile whether or not you have those talents.

Aspies are way too used to having to justify their existence. "Yeah, I have Apserger's; but look at my 1337 math skillz!" The thing is, you shouldn't have to do that. You should be able to say, "Here I am; I'm human; that makes me worthwhile; and anybody who doesn't agree with that can go take a hike." 'Cause that's the point of autism rights, isn't it?--that we're human, and have got the right to be who we are, talents or no talents.

(Before you read this post, make sure you've read my earlier one on Disability as Difference, Not Defect.)

I don't think the "AS is not a disability" viewpoint is very good for our community.

1. It completely ignores the very real disabilities many Aspies have, which are exclusively due to AS and not to comorbids or treatment in society. These include naturally low social skills (especially the tendency to hurt people we don't mean to hurt), inability to understand others' emotions, "lecturing" conversation style that doesn't convey information both ways, problems in school due to executive dysfunction or all-consuming interests, problems working in groups, sensory sensitivity and overload, poor emotional control, and problems with daily activities such as driving, shopping, or paying bills.

2. It places an artificial dividing line across the Spectrum, separating those with disabilities from those without.  Some do not have any disability at all, but some do; and to ignore this fact would mean that, if we established the widespread idea that "Asperger's is not a disability", those with disabilities would have less access to the things they need to have decent lives.

3. Separating Asperger's and HFA is just plain silly. The only difference between them is an early language delay--in adulthood, they're functionally identical.

4. It separates AS rights from the larger problem of disability rights, and specifically from the problem of the rights of LFA individuals, many of whom do not use language. If we were to gain "non-disability" status (which, again, is true only for some, not all, of us), then most HFA and all LFA individuals would gain absolutely no benefits. In fact, chances are that they'd be worse off: Without the clout of the huge Aspie community behind it, the rest of the Spectrum would lose influence--"a house divided", etc. The efforts for a "cure" for these folks would redouble--after all, "If you can cure them, then they'll turn into Aspies, so there isn't any personality change and they have no right to complain!" That idea completely ignores the fact that even the most low-functioning Autie has rights, including the right to be listened to, and the right to refuse a cure... and it's even worse if many Aspies are saying, "We're not like them... we're not disabled."

I agree that, for many Aspies, AS isn't a disability. But for many others, and for much of the rest of the Spectrum, the issues of disability rights and autism rights coincide.

I wrote this for the parents of a son who had just been diagnosed with Asperger's. It does, of course, also apply to daughters.


(Regarding the term "Aspie": this is a nickname for someone with Asperger Syndrome, used especially among those who believe AS to be a gift, a blessing in disguise. I and many other Aspies call ourselves "Aspie". It is meant to be endearing, not insulting; but feel free to mentally replace it with the more politically correct "person with AS" if you so desire.)

--He is an individual. AS doesn't define who he is, though it is admittedly a big part of his personality. Every Aspie kid is different, just like every non-Aspie kid is different. When you deal with him, remember first of all that he's your son, the child you've loved all his life, and that a diagnosis hasn't changed that.

--He probably has many strengths; these can often overshadow his weaknesses. Focus on the good parts, and help him find his niche based on them. AS can actually impart strengths to a person that wouldn't be there without it.

--He is still the same son they knew and loved before the diagnosis; only now they know why he is different and can help him more. Having a name for it doesn't change who he is.

--Kids can be cruel. Be your son's advocate when bullying or social rejection pops up; and it probably will, because anyone who is different, no matter how incredibly intelligent and wonderful they are, will become a target.

--Aspies can be very successful in life; both Einstein and Bill Gates are/were Aspies. For a non-computer-oriented example, check out Temple Grandin, an animal behaviorist with autism, who is also quite successful.

--Don't try to stamp out stims. They're a way of comforting yourself, a way of knowing where your body is. If something is very distracting in class or looks very bad in public, replacing it with something else works better: For example, have him replace hand-flapping with finger-tapping; or replace rocking with foot-tapping. A lump of silly putty or a Koosh ball or a rubber stress-relief toy in the pocket can be a way to stim in a socially acceptable way. By the time an Aspie grows to adulthood, he has generally learned to stim "secretly" when he needs to.

--Your son will likely have special interests--hobbies he is very fascinated with. Encourage these, because they are a source of joy now, and possibly the source of a job later. They can even be used to help your son in school. However, make sure that they do not upset his time-management (which may be a weak skill to begin with) and take over time needed for necessities like homework, showering, eating, etc. Scheduling his hobbies into his day should help; it's best if he himself works out the schedule.

--Schedules and lists are helpful; an Aspie can be easily overwhelmed by having a lot of things to do and not knowing where to start. You might have to break down a task into smaller chunks before he can handle them.

--Some Aspies are easily distracted. Provide a quiet, non-distracting environment for homework.

--Sensory stuff: Sometimes things will feel too loud, too rough, too smelly, too bright... Things you don't even notice will upset/annoy your son. He doesn't mean to behave badly when he reacts in exaggerated ways to these stimuli; some of them can be physically painful to him, or else affect him the way you are affected when someone runs fingernails across a chalkboard. He'll notice noises, smells, sounds, etc. you don't notice--or he'll be completely oblivious to things that are obvious to you. That's normal for him.

--Don't try to "cure" him; his AS is wired into his brain so that a "cure" would literally turn him into a different person. However, he can learn to compensate for his differences; Aspies are generally quite good at learning. Social skills training can help him learn consciously what most kids just "pick up"; over time, he should begin to tolerate some of the sensory input that used to confuse him. He may never be popular, but popularity does not make one happy. Many Aspies have skills and interests that, after the socially charged school days are over, make them very successful in their areas of interest.

--For an Aspie, consistency is the biggest factor in helping behavior problems. If he knows what to expect, if you are consistent and predictable, then he will be more secure and likely to behave. Actually having a list of rules and punishments written down might help, so that he's never surprised when he breaks a rule. He will probably ask "why" to a lot of rules; having an explanation helps him.

--Aspies are detail-oriented for the most part; so, many are perfectionists. Doing something perfectly is awfullly slow and frustrating, though--help him learn to balance between perfection and speed when he does a task.

--Computer typing can be a great help for bad handwriting. Check with his teacher about letting him type homework, and/or teaching him to type.

--Your son may not be emotionally demonstrative. Rest assured that he does love you; it's just not being communicated efficiently.

There are cat people, and there are dog people; and they seem to fight just like the cats and dogs they love. And then there are people like me, who over-analyze the whole situation for their blogs.

People anthropomorphize their pets--that is, they see in their pets their own human nature. It's all part of having a "Theory of Mind"--assuming that other people are basically like us, basically have the same motivations for their actions, basically look at the world just like we do. That "theory of mind" works out just fine when applied to people who are more or less like you--but it doesn't work so well when you apply it to people who are very different from you (like a different culture, or a different neurological arrangement). And it hardly works at all when you apply it to animals.

I can put myself in someone else's shoes, think about what they must be thinking; but for me, Asperger Syndrome made the process of obtaining such a "theory of mind" more difficult, less intuitive. My theory of mind is more abstract, more intellectual, more learned. It is, in fact, something which I revise for every person I meet.

What other people learn to do easily while they're children--that is, group people into a mental "set" and know what to expect of them because they expect them to be like themselves--I never learned to do. So, when I relate to someone else, I assume they are themselves, different from me, and that there are many factors that must be taken into account before I can understand them. It is an arduous process; but, while slower and resulting in some socially unpalatable actions, it is less likely to make incorrect assumptions than the typical approach taken by an NT. It is also why social relationships are hard for me: To do what an NT does easily, I would have to know a person so intimately that the contact is almost threatening. I have to process consciously what is intuitive for everyone else.

So, back to cats and dogs.

When an NT--most of the people in the world--meets an animal, his "theory of mind" immediately kicks in. He sees that animal in the same way that he sees just about any other creature; he interprets its actions the same way he interprets human actions. The only difference between the way he sees animal and human is that he sees the animal through the lens of a stereotype--the assumptions he has made about its species, which he then applies to the animal and uses in interpreting its actions.

(Not all NTs see animals like this, of course, especially those who work closely with animals and their behavior, or who study animal behavior. I'm describing the usual, average reaction.)

But when a person like me--an Aspie or autistic--meets an animal, we don't have a set "theory of mind" to apply to that animal. For the most part (Aspies are, of course, individuals, and some differ) we do not assume that the animal's motivations are the same as our human ones; we do not have a schema into which to put that animal's actions. We simply take the actions as facts, without expectations.

This lack of expectations, rather than hindering us as it does when we interact with people, now actually helps us relate to animals. Humans are not hard-wired to relate to animals; but we are hard-wired to relate to each other. When you get a human who's not hard-wired to relate to anyone--i.e., an Aspie--you get a human who has learned to interact with individuals he's not hard-wired to interact with; and those individuals include animals. Aspies aren't any more wired to interact with animals than NTs are; but we've had to learn to interact despite the lack of such wiring--something most NTs haven't needed to learn.

Here's how cat and dog lovers see cats and dogs. Notice the connotations and anthropomorphic language.

A cat lover says cats are...	But a dog lover says they're...	A dog lover says dogs are...	But a cat lover says they're...
Independent	Aloof	Loyal	Dependent
Playful	Destructive	Playful	Rowdy
Serene	Lazy	Active	Hyper
Intelligent, because they learn to do things independently	Diabolical--they figure out how to do things to annoy you	Intelligent, because they learn to do tricks	Stupidly following every order they get
Instinctive hunters	Cruel to small animals	Fascinated by how things smell	Just sticking their noses into disgusting things
Fastidiously clean	Vain	Enthusiastic	Destructive
Never smell bad	Litter boxes smell up the house	Don't mind playing in the dirt	Will roll in anything smelly they can find

What you see in that table is that so very many of those things are character judgments people usually make about each other: Vain, enthusiastic, stupid, dependent, loyal, lazy. When people look at their favored animals, they project human characteristics onto them--and give those characteristics positive connotations. And when people look at animals they don't like, they project negative human characteristics onto them.

Dogs and cats are very different. They're both companion animals; they're both mammals; but that's just about all they have in common. It's very easy, if you do not look at them as the animals they are and instead project human motives onto them, to see one of them in a very positive way, and the other in a very negative way.

It seems hard for most people to see that things may be just different--not better, not worse; just different. But that's what cats and dogs are: Just different.

When you look at cats as cats, and dogs as dogs, you see that you cannot judge a cat by dog standards, nor a dog by cat standards, nor either by human standards. They are what they are.

A cat is a solitary hunter. It does not have many social relationships beyond kitten-raising (which only the mother participates in); when social relationships between cats do emerge, they are usually between mother and grown kittens, or in a household where all needs are met and the cats have leisure time to engage in those relationships. A cat does not need social relationships to survive and be relatively happy; so, when a cat chooses to be with a human, it is because he likes that human and sees benefit in the relationship--food, physical comfort, mutual grooming. A cat is also very territory-based: Instead of being attached primarily to the other cats in his area, he is attached to his own territory. Constancy and predictability in his environment are important to him.

But a dog is different. Dogs are pack animals; the pack gives them all their needs. They are wired to know their places in the pack: Alpha male, alpha female, et cetera. A dog's sense of security comes from his relationships: He knows where he is in the pack, and he can depend on his pack-mates.  When you live with a dog, you are his alpha (or, at least, you should be his alpha--many behavior problems come from dominant dogs). He will attach himself to you, depend on you, whether or not you treat him well--but if you treat him well and keep a consistent set of laws, he will love you, because security, for a dog, comes from knowing his place and being able to predict those around him. Submissive dogs, unlike submissive humans, are happy dogs.

Cats don't need other cats; but once their needs are met, they will reach out. Dogs are made to work in a pack, as a team; but their happiness depends on the consistency and kindness with which that pack operates. A cat obtains food by his own skill; a dog obtains food by cooperation with others. Cats must be silent while they hunt; dogs use noise to communicate and to chase prey to hidden packmates. For cats, territory is everything; for dogs, pack is everything. Cats work for food because food is what directly motivates them; dogs work for praise because approval from the other dogs in the pack is vital to them. Without a pack, a dog cannot easily survive; without other cats, a cat can survive just fine.

All those differences, and hardly a similarity. To understand either species, you must see the animal on its own terms--indeed, you must see each member of each species as a separate individual; dogs and cats have individual personalities at least as distinct as those humans have.

When I was nine years old and had my first cat, a little female named Tiger, I knew very little about cats. But as I observed Tiger, interacted with her, and began to read what she was saying, I began to understand her. Tiger taught me how to speak Cat--how to see in a cat's tail, whiskers, ears, and posture, what a cat was feeling and communicating. Each cat is different--speaks its own dialect--but as I learn more about cats, I am slowly forming a "theory of the feline mind". And, by learning how each cat deviates from that picture, I understand each new cat much more quickly.

So, despite liking both cats and dogs, I consider myself a "cat person" because I understand cats more than I understand dogs; thus I prefer to spend time with cats. I am more like a cat than most human beings, because, like cats and unlike dogs, I do not depend on a social structure for happiness. But cats are indiviuals; and I have loved some individuals of the species, while only tolerating others.

Now I am living with three roommates, and each of those roommates has a dog; so I am learning to speak Dog, just as I learned to speak Cat from little Tiger, so long ago. So I may soon be able to report that I am part of that rare kind of human being: A cat and dog lover.

I was never particularly close to my NT* sister. She's smart, with A's and B's all through school; but unlike me, she cares what people think of her. She's shy and introverted, enjoys reading, and is, like me, asexual but in a platonic/romantic/nonphysical relationship with a guy. Those things mean she isn't uninteresting--however, her social skills are normal; and she can play the game of inference, subtext, and social implications as well as the average NT. She dresses in a socially acceptable manner, and she is a pretty, thin girl--very unlike my own plain, stocky appearance.

I think she was embarrassed to be around me when we were growing up together. My family made me the black sheep; so I was her buffer when it came to abuse--but with my strong-willed, intelligent, emotionally volatile nature, I also overshadowed her growing up. She learned to hide away while I was in trouble--so I got the beatings, but also the attention.

After I left for college, my sister ran away from home to live with cousins. She's now going to college and renting her own apartment; but she still can't figure out her major, and so has declared German because, being immigrants, we are both bilingual. It's her second year of college.

My sister is still embarrassed by my presence. When I wore the Renaissance-era cloak I had just made to go see Lord of the Rings, she was mortified. When I mentioned Elvish in front of her boyfriend, she became angry and started shouting. When we had to spend several nights together in her apartment when I visited for Christmas, we even got into a physical fight. (And she gave as good as she got--she's small, but she's fast!)

Apparently, my sister is quite appearance-conscious; and like many second-born children, she is taking pains to assure the family that she is different from the first-born.

I wish I had not taken up so much of the attention when I was young. Perhaps she would be more secure today if I had not been so strongly labeled the family pariah, the "problem" everyone had to solve.

But then, many NTs--including one of my housemates--are literally frightened of being embarrassed by a person like me who does not know all the proper ways to do things. So perhaps my sister would have been embarrassed by me, even if we had had parents who accepted us both as we were.

*NT--Neurotypical; a person who does not have an autism spectrum disorder, or, more broadly, a person who has the standard neurological wiring (this broader definition does not, for example, include those with ADHD, unusually high or low IQs, Tourette's, seizures, dyslexia, etc.). People who are not neurotypical in this broad sense are often called "neurodiverse".

Today, my housemate's parents came to visit her. I thought the visit went fine... until, afterwards, my housemate (after much circumlocution, apparently trying to make sure my feelings weren't hurt) informed me that I had made some social mistakes.

Apparently, when you meet a friend's father, and he says, "Hello; it's nice to meet you. I'm [housemate]'s father," you're not supposed to say, "I know." You're supposed to say, "It's nice to meet you too,"--even if it wasn't nice to meet them.

And when someone leaves and says, "It was nice to meet you. Bye!" then you are not supposed to reply with, "Yeah." You're supposed to say "Bye" and mention that it was very nice to meet them, too.

I found it rather funny how scrupulously my housemate tried to avoid hurting my feelings. After all, she was doing me a service--how am I supposed to learn social skills if nobody tells me what I'm doing wrong? And, anyway, it's not very easy to hurt my feelings, especially when you are telling the truth and not making pointless insults.

But social skills, as they exist today, still seem so pointless to me--complications that don't need to be there.

Correcting someone, as my housemate did for me, is something that most people are very worried about; because in the "real" world, it seems as though you always have to pretend that everything is just perfect--that you like somebody when you don't; that it was nice to meet somebody when you really wanted to be in your room reading that fascinating new book. (Incidentally, I found my housemate's father to be a decent sort, so it really was nice to meet him. My housemate was right--I should've said so.)

Of course I understand that being overly critical mightn't be useful, even if your criticisms were true. If you criticise someone, it's best to talk only about things you know they can fix; otherwise they may become discouraged and frustrated. If my housemate had insisted I make constant eye contact--which is something I can't do; or at least, can't do and talk coherently at the same time--then her criticisms would have been useless.

It seems strange, though, that people have to be constantly reassuring each other of things that yes, it was nice to meet them, and yes, they do look good today, and no, of course you didn't wake me up or take up too much time or stay too long. It seems as though they can't separate incidentals like that from the other person's general opinion of them, so they have to lie socially to reassure the other person that they still like them.

If you said to a visitor that you wanted them to leave, they would immediately add to the overt meaning the idea that you not only did not want to spend time with them now, but that you never wanted to spend time with them at all and did not like them. But the truth could be that you were simply stressed from spending time with people and needed time alone to recharge; or that you had a lot of chores that needed to be done, and couldn't be done if you were talking with them; or that you were in the middle of a fascinating research project that you wanted to get back to. None of those reasons mean that you dislike your visitor; but any of them would sound like excuses to someone who is not used to communicating with an introverted, blunt Aspie.

People are so very dependent on others' approval of them that this sort of paranoid undercurrent seems to pervade every aspect of socialization, and one can never seem to tell whether that person really is glad to see you, or whether he really doesn't mind talking longer. How very odd that a custom that must have started to assure one another that they are indeed wanted and liked has turned into meaningless ritual that obscures the facts it was intended to convey!

So, how do I make this different from the usual "Umm... this is my first entry"?

I've thought of:
--Introducing myself
--Talking about my day
--Complaining about how hard it is to get a decent user name

But all of those are boring.

So I might as well talk about Asperger Syndrome.

You see, the reason I didn't get into this blogging thing when everyone else seemed to get into it is that this is, inherently, a social activity. You get on the Internet, and you talk about your day, and most of it is just he-said-she-said social craziness. No wonder that an Aspie like me isn't all that interested.

I just don't do social skills--or, anyway, I don't do 'em without being either bored, frustrated, or nauseated. That last one usually follows my viewing of kissing couples in public, which is really not unlike watching some obscure species's mating rituals on Animal Planet. I mean... Kissing? What could possibly be weirder than pressing your lips against someone else's, swapping germs, and calling it "romantic"?

Oh, yeah, I'm asexual, too. In case you haven't already guessed that.

It's interesting watching people from the outside looking in, though. People have these strange, nonfunctional rituals they have to go through before they can actually communicate. They feel each other out: Can this person make proper small talk? Is this person dressed in a way that I like? Does this person incessantly lecture about trap-neuter-return programs for feral cats? (Yeah, that last one is me.)

It's like two dogs sniffing each other's butts when they meet; except that humans can't smell whether the girls are on their periods. That's kind of a pity--quite a lot of men might still be alive if they could somehow divine that piece of pertinent information.

So, here's what passes for my introductory social ritual. If it smells right, read on. If not, have a nice life, and remember--Please, please spay or neuter your cat.