Today, I'm going to document an interesting experience. You see, this afternoon, I'm going to have my wisdom teeth removed.
I've never had any kind of surgery before, so I don't really know what to expect (although I did have one of my baby teeth pulled, and I don't think they gave me enough laughing gas, because I didn't feel any different, maybe a little tingly, but certainly not euphoric. I felt the needle, and when they pulled out my tooth.). I am considering blogging about my experience right after, so I won't forget, and you'll get to see me all loopy on pain meds (but we'll see about that). Right after typing this sentence, my mom said to me "and make sure you don't write anything, or at least send anything out to the world when you're on that medication!" How does she know me so well?
I will tell you about my day so far, though. You see, before anything big or knew, I've have various (very strong) reactions. I get anxiety pretty easily, so even after one day off, I get tense and anxious about going back to school. But surgery? That's a lot worse than school. And I've never had it before (and the dentist didn't tell me what to expect), so I should be absolutely paralyzed with fear.
But I'm not. I actually don't feel anything (except a little hungry. I can't eat for 6-8 hours before the operation, so I had to get up 3-4 hours earlier than I'm used to). After I had breakfast, I've spent the past 3 1/2 hours cleaning, because I don't want to feel guilty about not helping with chores or anything after my surgery, and because I seriously have nothing to do. I could read my book, or watch TV, or play my new game (I found my favorite game on gog.com, which I haven't been able to play in a decade because our disc got scratched up and then we upgraded our computers. I've been geeking out since Thursday, when I bought it), or draw some stuff (my mother, who is my FAVORITE PERSON ON THE PLANET, bought me a really nice drawing tablet for my computer. Quote: I've been GEEKING OUT since Thursday, when it showed up in the mail). But all of these things involve me sitting still, which I will be required to do for the rest of the day (and tomorrow, too). I'll have all the time I could possibly want to do chill, relaxed things. So I need to be moving around.
So, I did laundry. A lot of laundry. And the dishes. And the dining room. And on and on and on. I really should be feeling nervous or anxious or SOMETHING right about now, but I don't. Although...
I've noticed in my reading that Autist's feelings are often... "off". We get strong emotional reactions to what NeuroTypical people don't, and, we often get the wrong emotion, or no emotion at all, to things that they normally do. When we do have emotions, we have a harder time understanding them, as well, so we usually end up confused and upset because we're feeling something, but we don't know what it is, and we don't even know if it's the right feeling (which is kind of ridiculous, because really, there's not really a "right" or "wrong" when it comes to feelings. But we don't really think that way.) John Robison talks about this in his book Be Different. He says there was a time when he was in a horrible car crash, when most people would be freaking out and unable to do things, he felt nothing. He just got out of the car, made sure he and his buddy were in one piece, then went and helped the people in the other vehicle. He wasn't scared or angry or disturbed by the gore. He just did what he had to. I haven't had any dramatic experiences like that, where I was in danger and I didn't "feel" like it, so I can't say how I would be in a situation like that. But it's food for thought. Our feelings are confusing, and they sometimes get in our way (like when we get overstimulated and either meltdown, or shut down, like I usually do). But other times, they are conveniently absent, letting us do whatever we need to in a tough situation, where other people would have problems.
Like getting your laundry done, apparently. Well, I'm going to go check out a few things from the library, and then continue to kill time until my surgery. I'll probably start freaking out right before it, like I normally do. Sometimes when I have a speech or performance, I'm not nervous at all for the days or weeks leading up to it. Only when I'm about to get on stage, to I start shaking and forgetting my lines, and all that fun stuff.
It's kind of funny, actually. All day today and yesterday, my recurring thoughts have been like this: "I've never had anesthesia before. Some people are allergic: I might be. Theoretically, I could die. This could be my last day on the planet. I'm thirsty. I wonder what's for dinner." I'm not afraid of death. I haven't been for years. I am afraid of dying. But dying under anesthesia has to be the most painless way to go (I'm not going to google it and psych myself out)--I won't even be awake for it. So, in case I never blog again, you'll know what happened to me.
I'm so weird. I'm still not scared. I guess that's a good thing? Hmm.
This is a fascinating experience. I'll keep good notes.
Penny
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Humor (the sequel)
I came across this article today, which resonates with what I was saying earlier:
No Corrupt Communication
My favorite part was when they said: "The Greek root for sarcasm is sarkazein and means 'to tear flesh like dogs.'" Well, doesn't that paint a pretty picture? (an example of sarcasm)
Food for thought.
Penny
No Corrupt Communication
My favorite part was when they said: "The Greek root for sarcasm is sarkazein and means 'to tear flesh like dogs.'" Well, doesn't that paint a pretty picture? (an example of sarcasm)
Food for thought.
Penny
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
And now, a word from our sponsors...
I've noticed that ever since I started using advertisements on my blog, I've been getting a lot less views. Coincidence? Probably not. I know ads annoy the heck out of me, and on the rare occasion that I don't utterly ignore any ads I see, I only briefly note what the ad is for, and then continue on my merry way. For one thing, I'm a little paranoid (that's kind of an understatement) and I don't trust that wherever the ad is sending me won't be virus-infested website, or at the very least some kind of a scam. For another, I hate being sold stuff. Seriously. Spending money, for me, is almost physically painful, even when it's for something that's necessary for my survival (you should see me at restaurants). So, having someone come and try to convince me to believe that I need something when I really, really don't (I promise you, I don't need combo toaster-coffee maker-Ginsu chopping knife. I really don't), and that in order to acquire this frivolous thing or service, that I must give them my money, automatically makes them not my friend.
And here I am, "trying" to sell you stuff. I'm not surprised that that would reduce what little "popularity" I have. It would be super nice to make money off of this: if that happened, I would feel less guilty about spending so much time writing. On a good day, I can sit at my computer, and write for hours and hours. That day at the library, writing seven or eight hours, was pure joy. I would have stayed longer, if I hadn't had a gnawing pain in my stomach for an hour or two--and my parents were asking where I was. Tangent. Anyway.
If I could make money off of writing, that would be the most ideal. Not a bazillion dollars, like Rowling, or something like that. I don't even have to make enough money to live off of (although I would absolutely love that). Just enough to help keep me going, while I work elsewhere. I'm a woman of many talents. My previous special interests, of math, hair, computers, and languages have all been monetarily profitable in the past, and of course my affinity for reading, writing, and learning new things (and long walks on the beach), make me versatile where others aren't. I can do a good job in many fields. But whenever I get a job, I put all of my attention into that, until I can't do anything else (let me refer you to my experience working in a restaurant. I worked 40+ hours a week, for seven months, and asked for time off twice. I was terrified to stop. It was incredibly difficult to quit, and for that reason, I will not go back, even though I was well paid). So, what I want to do, is work part-time at something-or-other, and write for my "real" job.
With all of these ridiculous ads plastered all over my page, I've been thinking. I've seen other bloggers put donation buttons on their pages, and while I figure it's not very likely for somebody donating to some random blogger's page, it's also unlikely that someone click on ads, too. Plus, I won't have to feel guilty about "selling" stuff. Unfortunately, it says on the website that the donate button is "only for fundraisers", like saving dogs and stuff. Although I am a mammal, and you would be saving me from menial labor, I'm not sure how the government will feel about that. It says "Users that are not verified nonprofits must demonstrate how their donations will be used, once they raise more than $10,000." So, if, by some strange happenstance, I earn $10,000 (I know, extremely unlikely, but I'm very good at finding the worst-case scenarios in every situation), then I'll have to tell people exactly how I spent said money. I could just hold onto it, and not spend it, until I've figured out a responsible way to spend it. Actually, that might be a great idea. Except that I have no idea what a responsible way to spend it would be, beyond food and gas. Is that acceptable? I don't know...
This warrants more investigation.
Penny
Saturday, August 17, 2013
My Sister
Before I start, I would like to say that complaining about family, without their consent, on the internet, is a really ugly thing to do, and with that, I apologize for everything I'm about to say, and I hope that my sister, and anyone who knows her, will never, ever read this post, because my sister, "Unit A," is a really smart, creative, and generous person, and one of the few people on the planet who gets my jokes.
But sometimes, Unit A is a jerk.
Today, I've been on the brink of becoming a whiny little brat all day. See, next week, I've got two interviews in relation to my college applications, I'm having surgery on Saturday, and then I'm starting the new semester the Monday after that. So I have a natural reason to be stressed out. On top of that, the night before last, someone invited me to go to a baseball game with her, and because I haven't seen her in a long time, I agreed. But baseball games involve A LOT of people and A LOT of noise and smells and lights, all of which would be stressful for any autist, and I'm not a huge sports fan, anyway, so I'll only vaguely know what's going on in the game. Add to that the fact that I had less that 24 hours to mentally prepare for this, and my family decided that they wanted to go to the game, too, and you've got a recipe for Stress A La Mode.
To condense what would otherwise be a very long story, yesterday was extremely stressful, involving multiple arguments with multiple people (in AND out of my immediate family, which is unusual), and multiple stressful occasions involving food (I shouldn't be this way, but there it is). I did have fun, and I got to spend time with my friends (I even ran into several people unexpectedly that I haven't gotten to see in a long time), but yesterday came at a cost. I've been melancholy and depressed all day. I keep trying to start something, and I get slowed down. I only did about half the product descriptions I usually can, and when I came home and started practicing a few songs with Unit A, the good mood that usually comes along with that was very short lived.
But I'm on my way to normalization, when I find out that Pizza Movie Night has been squandered again. It had be delayed from Friday night, to today, or so I wrongly assumed. We were going to have hamburgers instead, no warning, no explanation. I am fully aware that this is nothing to get all "up in a tizzy" about. It's just food. I like hamburgers, and they're healthier than a lot of the food I've been eating lately, so physically, I'll feel better than I have been.
But it irked me. They didn't even tell me directly, I heard it from Unit A, who was having a conversation with our parents over the phone. That was it. Now that I know why I like to rely on routines like this, I can keep it from bugging me as much as it normally would. The only problem is, my family knows, too (or at least, I assumed they did), so the fact that it bothers me, and they did it anyway, without even telling me about it, that is what bothers me the most. But one of my big problems is, I often think about things so hard, and so much, that I'm never really sure if I've told other people or not. So, either they forgot that I said anything, or I never did in the first place. Or they're just being cruel, which is highly unlikely, because I know my family, and they are anything but cruel.
So you know what I did? I decided to talk to them about it. It's a smart thing, except for the fact that Unit A was there. My mom was completely understanding, and I think she was actually remorseful, which makes me feel bad (my mom is too sweet, too accommodating of other people. She's the only person I've ever made cry, outside of that one guy at work, and I HATE it when I do that), but I was glad that other people could understand how my brain works, and how, with very little effort, they could bring me ease of mind, and therefore take the tension out of the whole family. All they had to do was tell me. I've been stressed out, and that's my problem. If they had told me, at least an hour in advance (although a day would have been nice), then I could have readjusted my view of the universe, and moved on.
Now we get to the part where my sister gets involved. You see, my mom suspects that Unit A is autistic, just like me. I'm afraid to ask her myself, because, though knowing this has been a huge help in my life, it's not my place to shove amateur diagnosis down other people's throats. And I don't know whether or not it would be helpful for her or not. And then there's the fact that any form of perceived criticism will be met with harsh and brutal retorts, instantly making the utterer of said observation feel like they are under personal attack.
And so, I explained as calmly and as simply as I could to the general room that having pizza once a week is a form of comfort that I have come to rely on, and it's extremely helpful to me, especially in times of stress, like this weekend. Unfortunately, Unit A was a part of the general room, and I can only imagine what my words were being interpreted as in her mind. She instantly snapped into the offensive (it is the best defense, after all, and since I was clearly attacking her, personally, it was the only logical response), saying that she hates pizza, and can't stand that we have it every week, and it's a blessed relief that she finally gets a break from the worst possibly food ever to have been created (and how dare I even bring up such a disgusting subject in her?).
I am aware that she hates pizza, and that every weekend is the bane of her existence because of it (she has told me as much, pretty much every week). I never suggested that she liked our weekly ritual. I also, was not talking about her. I was talking about me, which I admit, I do so rarely that it must have taken her by surprise. But it's what I was doing, and I had a very good reason to do so. I was so taken aback (although I don't know why, this wasn't exactly an unusual occurrence with her) and so I tried to redirect and repair the conversation before any damage was done to her, or me. I'm still not sure how I wheedled my way out of that conversation, but I know it wasn't graceful, neither did it actually resolve anything. But I was too depressed to worry about fixing it.
I spent the rest of the night, setting her off about how to make dinner, about using her computer cable, about getting in her way while she was trying to put away her guitar, about what to TV show to watch, until finally, she just gave up and locked herself in her room.
See, if I accept the assumption that my sister is autistic, everything she does makes more sense. If this is true, then she and I both have difficulties connecting with other people, with understanding them, their motives and intentions, and our way of expressing ourselves is sometimes a little... off. I don't want to make excuses for her, just like I don't want to make excuses for myself, but if this is true, then that means she doesn't hate me, and she hasn't been trying to make my life miserable on purpose. Which would be a wonderful thing to know.
I, as an autist, sometimes struggle with the idea that other people can have a different opinion than me. The fact that some people like anchovies on their pizza is confusing, but I've learned to live with the fact that other people are not me. Just because I don't like something, doesn't mean it's bad, or other people shouldn't like it. All it means is that I don't like it. Unit A... hasn't come to this realization. Or at least, not as far as I can tell. In her defense, she didn't grow up with her as a sister. When we're talking about food, she says "Onions are disgusting." Not, "Onions are disgusting to me." Just "Onions are disgusting," as in "Antarctica is cold, I have ten fingers, and anyone who so much as touches onions are insane, unclean, and not to be dealt with unless absolutely necessary."
When we're talking about clothes, and I say "I don't like to wear knitted things, they're itchy and they make me sweat," she says "what's wrong with you? I loved knitted things. I wait all year round to wear them. Winter is the only redeemable season because of it. I would move to Antarctica if I could find work there. How could you possibly not like knitted things? I don't even want to talk to you right now." She doesn't even say it jokingly. She literally makes me want to apologize for my preference in clothing, and my sensitivity to certain textures. A couple times after shopping, I've actually gone home and tried to rethink my life, because she is so certain of herself, that nobody could possibly have a different opinion than her. Not that other people are wrong, it's that other people don't even consider another possibility but the one she's picked, and anyone who brings up anything else, does so out of utter insanity, and nothing else.
I try not to say anything negative about music around her, because of this. Since music is my special interest, and has been for as long as I can remember, I know a lot about music, and love a large variety. Unfortunately, as an autist, when I don't like a song or a band or a genre, I hate it. But if Unit A likes it, she will shove it down my throat anyway. A couple of the songs we've been rehearsing are on that list of songs I hate, but she loves. And if I ever say anything bad about any of them, she will let me have it, no filters, whatsoever.
When I'm honest with myself (which isn't often enough), I think Unit A is the reason I've had a problem being different. If you grow up with another autist, who's opinions and special interests are different than yours, it can have a lasting effect on you. I grew up, knowing that if I said or did or liked something that I wasn't supposed to, I would be told, harshly, and ostracized (briefly, since none of us could really get away from each other) until I mended my ways.
I started learning how to play the piano after my sister. She had been studying it for years before I started, so she was better than me. However, with my laser-like focus and discipline, I mastered things that she didn't. When I finally took lessons, in college, she hadn't been practicing for years, so, naturally, I quickly surpassed her skill level. But when I started playing she would do one of two things.
One, she would find what I was doing that was wrong, and try to correct it. This is a VERY autistic thing to do, and I struggle with trying not to correct other people all the time because of it. Because when an autist tells you you're wrong, they don't sugar coat it. And it hurts. Autists can be very sensitive (I know my sister and I are) and don't handle criticism very well, nor with any decent degree of maturity.
Two, if she couldn't find anything wrong with what I was doing, she would do nothing, or disappear. And for some reason, that's even harder for me to deal with than her cutting remarks. We don't express our emotions very well, and if she was ever happy for my success, she rarely showed it. The only "vibe" I got, was jealousy, and self-hatred. She always complains about how much of a failure she feels like, when she sees celebrities her age, or younger, all successful and talented, while she is "nowhere". She never says this stuff about me, but I wonder. Truth is, the part of my brain that is "Unit A Land," tells me every day that it's wrong for me, the younger sister, to be better than her at anything, for me to have something that she does not. I feel like I can't tell her when I've got a job, or a date, or a performance, because she does not have those things. One of the less stressful times of my life was when she was engaged, and I was finally, finally allowed to have a boyfriend. I wanted to go out and get one right away, but things fell through with the guy I was dating pretty quickly.
I want so badly to share the good things I have with her, but it'll only make her feel bad about her self. I want to tell her about the bad things in my life, because that's what girls do to resolve their problems, and she's the only real friend I have. But when I tell her anything's wrong, that something's bothering me, or that I have a problem, she begins to tell me how she has it worse. I get the impression that I have no right to complain, even when I'm not complaining, I'm just asking for help, even though that's not allowed.
I don't want this to turn into a "woe is Penny" episode, and I sure as heck don't want this to be about how "terrible" my big sister is, and how "horrible" my life is because of her, because it's not. Because she's my sister, I learned somethings that are very, very hard for an autist to learn. Things like: other people have feelings, and other people have different opinions than you, and other people don't like to be criticized, and other people don't like to hear about your problems (and they really don't want to hear boast about your talents and possessions). I learned that sometimes people aren't reasonable, that they don't follow your rules, and sometimes, you just have to go with it, you have to humor them, not because they're right and you're wrong, but because that's what you do to stop people from being on the defensive, and get them on your side. It's because of her that I could work at a restaurant, where I dealt with hungry, irritated customers every day. It's because of her that I could tutor people from a young age, getting into their heads and figuring out how to translate what I know in a way they'll understand. It's because of her that I don't stay offended when people say or do things that hurt me, because I know that they have no clue what they just did to me. It makes life so much easier when you know not everyone's out to get you. That people are good inside, they just do weird things sometimes.
I guess the point of this post is a couple things. First of all, I wanted to write out my thoughts, for real. I've never had the guts to say anything about my sister to anyone (except for one comment to my therapist, and a little here and there to my mom). I don't want anyone to think that she's mean, or bad, or anything, because she's not, and I love her. But she's complicated, just like anyone, and growing up with her has has a serious, permanent effect on me. To understand a person, you have to know the good AND bad parts.
The other reason I'm posting this, while it's an afterthought, is still relevant. Be patient with people. Autistic or not, everyone has a struggle. I don't have the answer, the magical formula where you can find all the autistic people in your life, and explain to them why what they did hurt you (and how not to do it again). Some autists are receptive to that kind of thing, while others aren't.
Some autists are better with people than others. As far as I've seen, every person I've interacted with likes me. Not necessarily loves me, or wants me to be their best friend. But I've never made an enemy in my entire life. Not once. It's because I treat everyone like they have feelings. Like they have a right to their opinion, even if it's different from my own. Like they actually might have a valid reason for that opinion, and I'm sometimes even willing to listen to what they have to say, because I very well might be wrong. Who knows. I treat everyone like they have good on the inside, even if they aren't showing it very well right now, because maybe they're having a hard time with something today.
I treat everyone like they're my family. Because, if you think about it, they are.
Penny
INSANITY and what we can learn from it
As an Autist, I thrive on routine and sameness. I come to expect that if I do X, Y will happen. If I do A, B will happen. I expect to have a particular result to come of a specific action. But I don't get that. Oh, no, I do not. Example: On Monday, I was trying to be productive, but I couldn't concentrate at home, so I packed up my laptop and camped out at the library. For eight hours. I completed two college applications in one sitting, as well as writing a decent amount for my job.
So I came back on Tuesday. Same thing: I spent eight or so hours, writing and working, and you know what? It worked. I could focus, I got a lot done. I wrote 2,007 words (not including the largest quantities of product descriptions I have done yet). It was spectacular The only problem was that I was really hungry by the end of the day (you don't bring food in a library!) but that was a lot better than what I have been doing (when I spend all day at home, I'm constantly eating. Not really sure why, but because of that, I haven't been hungry in months.) I love the feeling of being starving, and going home to a nice, hearty meal. So, this was another bonus, in disguise.
Wednesday, I wrote even more, creative wise, and I did two more product descriptions than I had the day before. But I was getting tired of the songs I was playing in the background, and I was so freezing cold by the end of the day, that my nose stung from breathing. It took me hours to warm up again.
Thursday, I wrote just over a thousand words. It was pathetic. I did okay work wise, but I wanted to do more. I ended up just wandering around the internet, looking memes again. I ended up going home early, because I just wasn't getting anything good done.
Friday, I didn't even bother going back.
Why, I ask you, didn't it work? If going to the library for six to eight hours gave me a huge boost in productivity for the first couple days, why did it stop working? Maybe for neurotypicals this is a no-brainer, but for me, if I do X, Y is supposed to follow. This isn't the first time this has happened to me. The same thing went for practicing music, socializing with friends, applying for jobs, you name it. I get one result, sometimes in multiple occasions, so I come to expect that same result every time I apply that action. BUT IT DOESN'T HAPPEN.
This is because people, and the universe in general, doesn't follow logic. I know, I know, it's just more complex than I can see, and ultimately everything follows the rules of physics and logic. I mean, if I say one thing to one person, it'll mean something to them, based on genetics and their past experiences. If I say the same thing to another person, it may mean something entirely different, because they have a different set of nature and nurture to interpret things from. So, therefore, the fact that I expect the same reaction from both people, makes me the impractical one. So how in the world is it insane NOT to expect a different result?
When rehearsing a performance piece on the piano, the first day I try it, it's confusing and challenging, but interesting. But by day 52, while I may have improved my performance, I am bored, I hate the piece, and the amount that I improve on the piece decreases exponentially every single day.
I want to have a formula I can use, when I'm writing, working, practicing, socializing, that will work every time. But there is none. Sometimes something I try will only ever work one or two times. Other times, something might work for years, and suddenly break down, with no warning whatsoever. It's not fair, I tell you. Just when you think you've gotten the rules figured out, life just slams it in your face.
It's time to except that people are crazy, the universe is chaos, and just move on. Surprisingly enough, some of my teachers have described me as an easy-going person, with my "que sera, sera" attitude. I'm actually quite the opposite. The times they are describing are often when I've reached my limit, realizing that I cannot handle it if anything else goes wrong, so I choose not to worry about anything anymore. Well, okay, that's a little dramatic. But from performing, and being graded on that performance, I realized that I can either react the way I want to, by trying (and failing) to have every aspect, every particle under my control, and shutting down when that doesn't work, OR, I can take a breath, sing what I know, make up what I don't, pretend like everything I do is on purpose, and laugh when someone points out what I missed.
I need to remember that all the world is a stage, except there are no rehearsals. I want to be a "go with the flow" person, and I'm halfway there. When things go horribly wrong, I'm actually okay. I figure out how to deal with it, and move on. I only very rarely shut down when something bad happens.
Unfortunately, in the anticipation of something going wrong, I forget about that first part. The idea of failing, the idea of something being out of my control or going in a way that I didn't expect, is the worst thing I can describe, and I go through it constantly. I don't know how other people think, but worry is probably the strongest emotion I have (or at least, my most constant companion). I shouldn't be that way. I would rather something bad happen than to worry about something bad happen, because the second one is the worst of the two. But I can't really tell my brain not to worry. I haven't figured that out yet.
I guess, to sum up this somewhat chaotic post, I'll say this: the world is crazy. It's supposed to be that way. Don't worry when things don't make sense (they rarely do). Bad things happen, but they're rarely as bad as we imagine them, so take a breath and deal with it when it comes. No use destroying yourself over something that might never actually exist.
Man, I almost forgot about that movie. That is a really, really powerful quote to me, in my life, right now, and probably forever.
"Fear is not real. The only place that fear can exist is in our thoughts of the future. It is a product of our imagination, causing us to fear things that do not at present and may not ever exist. That is near insanity. Do not misunderstand me: danger is very real. But fear is a choice."
I guess, then, that there are two kinds of insanity.
There is the insanity surrounding you, which you have no way to control, and will drive you mad to try to do so.
And then there is the insanity inside yourself, which is you, making you miserable, for absolutely no good reason.
To conclude:
Don't be crazy.
And...
This song.
Zen, huh?
Penny
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Humor, and how to spoil it for everyone!
I love to laugh. It feels good. There's a reason why people say it's the "best medicine". It turns a bad mood into a good mood, and a good mood even better. Example: Hyperbole and a Half brings me to tears when I read it. It's hilarious. Everybody loves to laugh, it's simply part of the human existence.
Comedy is one of my special interests, and in true Aspergian fashion, I have spent a considerable amount of time studying what humor is, and what makes things funny. As a warning, reading this post will either make jokes better, or worse, depending on how much you like to over-analyze things, but I absolutely delight in it. My first peek under the curtain was when my dad once said that what makes things funny is the element of surprise. That's why "to get to the other side" isn't funny anymore. We know it's coming. When I heard that, I wrote my own version of the joke:
Why did the chicken cross the road?
BOO! (Surprised? Yeah, it probably works better out loud)
In more recent discoveries, I watched this video:
Which basically says that humor is learning something new. I find that fascinating. It helps that I've always loved learning new things anyway, so it would make sense that I like funny things. But this idea is extremely helpful in understanding just what humor is. Surprise is a factor: I was expecting the chicken crossed the road to get to the other side, but turns out, there's a completely different reason that I hadn't thought of before. My brain makes new connections, and I laugh. Which explains why most of my "inside" jokes involve me making a connection I hadn't thought of before, usually involving a strange and irrelevant coincidence. I smile or chuckle, but when I try to put it into words so someone else can get the joke, I realize it's a summation of a long stream of thought, and I can't really explain it.
When I try to tell a joke someone else has written, it comes off with... interesting results. See, if I think it's funny, then I often can't stop laughing, even to tell the joke. I have had some training in acting, and you would think that I should be able to "keep a straight face". I can certainly do so when I'm sad or angry. But part of my brain says "They might not even get the joke anyway, and you don't get to laugh often enough as it is. You might as well enjoy yourself!" My favorite part about humor is how good it feels to smile and laugh, your brain making delightful connections as you learn something new. If I learned how not to laugh--if I learned how to keep that part of myself "in check" like I have for nearly every other emotion I have, then I wouldn't get to be a part of the fun. I've already learned how not to laugh when other people can't hear the joke. If I stopped laughing when they do hear it, it would be like lobotomizing one of the few parts of my brain that actually makes me feel good.
So, I'm probably not going to become a comedian. But, I think I'm okay with that.
Now that we've established that I have a sense of humor (even though I tend to study it with the same attention and detail as I would a math problem), let's talk about what I don't find funny. There are some kinds of comedy I find not just humorless, but hurtful, too.
For one thing, there are some kinds of humor I just don't get. I don't know if it's an Aspergian thing, or a girl thing, or just me, but I can't laugh at other people's misfortune (usually). Slapstick, for instance. Watching people in pain, tripping over something, getting slapped or punched or kicked in sensitive areas, breaking valuable artifacts, getting covered in something gooey--none of this is funny to me. I don't get the joke. I mean, I know that it's usually fictional: some trick of the camera, or clever stunts, or at least someone getting paid to be put through the pain and humiliation. But it's not funny. And I can't see why other people find it so. What are they learning? Where is the surprise? Most comedies hint at what kind they are right from the get-go, so you know somebody's going to get a pie in the face, eventually. But I probably can't get into it, because I've spent my entire life struggling to connect with people, and when they are in pain that I can understand, I am instantly brought down by it. It doesn't matter if the person is on a screen or right in front of me: if I know you're hurting, so am I. People say I'm too sensitive. Maybe they're right. But I don't see the advantage to numbing my sense of empathy, just so I can laugh at other people.
I find myself in a confusing situation, one which I think many people have been in. I like it when people laugh with me, but not at me. I think that's a pretty universal feeling. When I tell a joke, and other people think it's funny, it feels amazing. It means that I have a connection, however brief, with the people around me. But if they laugh at me because of some mistake I made, some trait of what makes me, me, I can't stand it. I prefer to deal with pain and humiliation privately, as I re-write my previously incorrect reasoning, or figure out how to cover up the offending feature. But apparently neurotypicals aren't like this. They love pointing out mistakes and faults, to the victim and those around them, as though it's easy to have your flaws on public display. I've been mocked for my weight and skin color, my voice, my clothing, my stuttering and my unsuitable word choice, my unique perspective on the world, my taste in food and men and books, even how I smell. And it hurts, every last bit of it. A lot of them are for things I cannot change, only cover up and make adjustments to appear normal. Surviving and fitting in in this alien world is hard, and I'm constantly struggling to be accepted into the society I'm in. When I screw up, and people notice I'm not "like them," they are startled, and confused. And then they laugh. They don't intend to hurt me. They probably don't think I'm an "alien freak who doesn't deserve to be in their presence," but that's what it feels like they're saying to me. It's a tangible feeling, of them pushing me away every time they laugh at me.
But let me stop here for a moment. If humor is learning something surprising, then when they laugh, it's because they just learned something about me. I hadn't really thought of that before. Maybe laughing at someone else is just a form of acceptance? Although I would argue that bullying is anything but.
There is (in my opinion) a truly barbaric practice which I have seen in multiple occasions, in a variety of social groups. And that is insulting your friends. I first noticed this when I worked at the Mexican restaurant. Those people who were close to each other would exchange nicknames and insults in "good humor," calling each other "old man," "fatty," "ugly," and of course any number of body parts. I could not figure it out. I actually asked a fellow employee why they did that, (a girl with a unique perspective of both cultures, who grew up in the States, but with immigrant parents) and she said "I don't know. We just... Do." I assumed that this was just a Latino cultural occurrence, nothing more. But then I started seeing it everywhere.
When I returned to school, several groups of friends did the exact same thing. They would call each other names that I don't even feel comfortable typing, let alone saying it to someone I care about. They did it again and again, with a smile on their face, and everybody just went along with it. I can't understand. I know that people will just say "it's just a joke," but is it?
I suppose it's absurd of me to say this, but once I heard that jokes were used to hide the truth in plain sight. Ever since then, I believed that it applies to all jokes, told by anyone. That the person telling the joke believes what they're saying, and they want to say it in a way that won't get the physically or psychologically injured. I also concluded that when people laugh--when they "learn" this new bit of information, they are agreeing with it, and allowing it to alter their perception of the world.
If people use humor to hide their beliefs in plain sight, that means they use it to say whatever they were too afraid to say seriously. Somewhere, someone actually believes that all black people are poor, and all blondes are stupid, and all lawyers are heartless. Which is ridiculous, obviously, but those jokes came from somewhere, some stereotypical thought. When I hear women jokingly calling their friends a "female dog," I think that deep down, they really believe it. That they think their friend is a horrible person, and want to slap that girl in the face. The only reason they won't actually do it, is because it's socially unacceptable, and they don't want to "burn that bridge" just yet, so she can still extract some benefit from socializing with the "female dog."
I think that is why it hurts so much to have people tease me and laugh at me. It's the reason why I won't show most people just what goes on in my head. Every time they laugh, they're saying "this person is different from me, and since they are different from me, it is acceptable for me to further remove them from me, and belittle them as I'm doing it." I feel small. Stupid. I'm an outcast. A freak.
A couple of weeks ago, I was telling my family about my habit of twitching my head to release small bits of important information. They looked confused and surprised, which made me start to laugh uncomfortably, because, let's face it, it is a bit weird. So, they laughed too. There wasn't much behind my desire to tell them, except that I've been experimenting with expressing myself in different ways, to see if I can function with little or no filter around people who love me. They laughed about it, and the conversation moved on. But later someone brought it up and teased me about it, and it hurt. It shouldn't have: I was laughing when I told them, which is plain English for "this is funny, so you can laugh at it." But I hated that they said that. And so I stopped doing my "head twitch" thing, because every time I thought of doing it, I could remember them mocking me. It doesn't work for me anymore, or at least, I don't try it anymore, which is a shame, because it really worked for me. And there goes one more chip of my unique personality. I suppose if I continued to tell them about myself, one by one, each of my traits that make me different will be surgically removed, leaving me in the end, a "normal" person. But I don't want to do that. I've finally realized that not only is it okay to be different, it's a good thing. Unfortunately, I haven't reached the point where I can hear it from other people yet. If I say it, I'm giving myself permission to act the way I want to. From anyone else, it's another brutal stab to the chest.
In other words: I need to learn how to take a joke.
Penny
Comedy is one of my special interests, and in true Aspergian fashion, I have spent a considerable amount of time studying what humor is, and what makes things funny. As a warning, reading this post will either make jokes better, or worse, depending on how much you like to over-analyze things, but I absolutely delight in it. My first peek under the curtain was when my dad once said that what makes things funny is the element of surprise. That's why "to get to the other side" isn't funny anymore. We know it's coming. When I heard that, I wrote my own version of the joke:
Why did the chicken cross the road?
BOO! (Surprised? Yeah, it probably works better out loud)
In more recent discoveries, I watched this video:
Which basically says that humor is learning something new. I find that fascinating. It helps that I've always loved learning new things anyway, so it would make sense that I like funny things. But this idea is extremely helpful in understanding just what humor is. Surprise is a factor: I was expecting the chicken crossed the road to get to the other side, but turns out, there's a completely different reason that I hadn't thought of before. My brain makes new connections, and I laugh. Which explains why most of my "inside" jokes involve me making a connection I hadn't thought of before, usually involving a strange and irrelevant coincidence. I smile or chuckle, but when I try to put it into words so someone else can get the joke, I realize it's a summation of a long stream of thought, and I can't really explain it.
When I try to tell a joke someone else has written, it comes off with... interesting results. See, if I think it's funny, then I often can't stop laughing, even to tell the joke. I have had some training in acting, and you would think that I should be able to "keep a straight face". I can certainly do so when I'm sad or angry. But part of my brain says "They might not even get the joke anyway, and you don't get to laugh often enough as it is. You might as well enjoy yourself!" My favorite part about humor is how good it feels to smile and laugh, your brain making delightful connections as you learn something new. If I learned how not to laugh--if I learned how to keep that part of myself "in check" like I have for nearly every other emotion I have, then I wouldn't get to be a part of the fun. I've already learned how not to laugh when other people can't hear the joke. If I stopped laughing when they do hear it, it would be like lobotomizing one of the few parts of my brain that actually makes me feel good.
So, I'm probably not going to become a comedian. But, I think I'm okay with that.
Now that we've established that I have a sense of humor (even though I tend to study it with the same attention and detail as I would a math problem), let's talk about what I don't find funny. There are some kinds of comedy I find not just humorless, but hurtful, too.
For one thing, there are some kinds of humor I just don't get. I don't know if it's an Aspergian thing, or a girl thing, or just me, but I can't laugh at other people's misfortune (usually). Slapstick, for instance. Watching people in pain, tripping over something, getting slapped or punched or kicked in sensitive areas, breaking valuable artifacts, getting covered in something gooey--none of this is funny to me. I don't get the joke. I mean, I know that it's usually fictional: some trick of the camera, or clever stunts, or at least someone getting paid to be put through the pain and humiliation. But it's not funny. And I can't see why other people find it so. What are they learning? Where is the surprise? Most comedies hint at what kind they are right from the get-go, so you know somebody's going to get a pie in the face, eventually. But I probably can't get into it, because I've spent my entire life struggling to connect with people, and when they are in pain that I can understand, I am instantly brought down by it. It doesn't matter if the person is on a screen or right in front of me: if I know you're hurting, so am I. People say I'm too sensitive. Maybe they're right. But I don't see the advantage to numbing my sense of empathy, just so I can laugh at other people.
I find myself in a confusing situation, one which I think many people have been in. I like it when people laugh with me, but not at me. I think that's a pretty universal feeling. When I tell a joke, and other people think it's funny, it feels amazing. It means that I have a connection, however brief, with the people around me. But if they laugh at me because of some mistake I made, some trait of what makes me, me, I can't stand it. I prefer to deal with pain and humiliation privately, as I re-write my previously incorrect reasoning, or figure out how to cover up the offending feature. But apparently neurotypicals aren't like this. They love pointing out mistakes and faults, to the victim and those around them, as though it's easy to have your flaws on public display. I've been mocked for my weight and skin color, my voice, my clothing, my stuttering and my unsuitable word choice, my unique perspective on the world, my taste in food and men and books, even how I smell. And it hurts, every last bit of it. A lot of them are for things I cannot change, only cover up and make adjustments to appear normal. Surviving and fitting in in this alien world is hard, and I'm constantly struggling to be accepted into the society I'm in. When I screw up, and people notice I'm not "like them," they are startled, and confused. And then they laugh. They don't intend to hurt me. They probably don't think I'm an "alien freak who doesn't deserve to be in their presence," but that's what it feels like they're saying to me. It's a tangible feeling, of them pushing me away every time they laugh at me.
But let me stop here for a moment. If humor is learning something surprising, then when they laugh, it's because they just learned something about me. I hadn't really thought of that before. Maybe laughing at someone else is just a form of acceptance? Although I would argue that bullying is anything but.
There is (in my opinion) a truly barbaric practice which I have seen in multiple occasions, in a variety of social groups. And that is insulting your friends. I first noticed this when I worked at the Mexican restaurant. Those people who were close to each other would exchange nicknames and insults in "good humor," calling each other "old man," "fatty," "ugly," and of course any number of body parts. I could not figure it out. I actually asked a fellow employee why they did that, (a girl with a unique perspective of both cultures, who grew up in the States, but with immigrant parents) and she said "I don't know. We just... Do." I assumed that this was just a Latino cultural occurrence, nothing more. But then I started seeing it everywhere.
When I returned to school, several groups of friends did the exact same thing. They would call each other names that I don't even feel comfortable typing, let alone saying it to someone I care about. They did it again and again, with a smile on their face, and everybody just went along with it. I can't understand. I know that people will just say "it's just a joke," but is it?
I suppose it's absurd of me to say this, but once I heard that jokes were used to hide the truth in plain sight. Ever since then, I believed that it applies to all jokes, told by anyone. That the person telling the joke believes what they're saying, and they want to say it in a way that won't get the physically or psychologically injured. I also concluded that when people laugh--when they "learn" this new bit of information, they are agreeing with it, and allowing it to alter their perception of the world.
If people use humor to hide their beliefs in plain sight, that means they use it to say whatever they were too afraid to say seriously. Somewhere, someone actually believes that all black people are poor, and all blondes are stupid, and all lawyers are heartless. Which is ridiculous, obviously, but those jokes came from somewhere, some stereotypical thought. When I hear women jokingly calling their friends a "female dog," I think that deep down, they really believe it. That they think their friend is a horrible person, and want to slap that girl in the face. The only reason they won't actually do it, is because it's socially unacceptable, and they don't want to "burn that bridge" just yet, so she can still extract some benefit from socializing with the "female dog."
I think that is why it hurts so much to have people tease me and laugh at me. It's the reason why I won't show most people just what goes on in my head. Every time they laugh, they're saying "this person is different from me, and since they are different from me, it is acceptable for me to further remove them from me, and belittle them as I'm doing it." I feel small. Stupid. I'm an outcast. A freak.
A couple of weeks ago, I was telling my family about my habit of twitching my head to release small bits of important information. They looked confused and surprised, which made me start to laugh uncomfortably, because, let's face it, it is a bit weird. So, they laughed too. There wasn't much behind my desire to tell them, except that I've been experimenting with expressing myself in different ways, to see if I can function with little or no filter around people who love me. They laughed about it, and the conversation moved on. But later someone brought it up and teased me about it, and it hurt. It shouldn't have: I was laughing when I told them, which is plain English for "this is funny, so you can laugh at it." But I hated that they said that. And so I stopped doing my "head twitch" thing, because every time I thought of doing it, I could remember them mocking me. It doesn't work for me anymore, or at least, I don't try it anymore, which is a shame, because it really worked for me. And there goes one more chip of my unique personality. I suppose if I continued to tell them about myself, one by one, each of my traits that make me different will be surgically removed, leaving me in the end, a "normal" person. But I don't want to do that. I've finally realized that not only is it okay to be different, it's a good thing. Unfortunately, I haven't reached the point where I can hear it from other people yet. If I say it, I'm giving myself permission to act the way I want to. From anyone else, it's another brutal stab to the chest.
In other words: I need to learn how to take a joke.
Penny
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Why I really, really, REALLY don't like Sheldon Cooper
Today, I would like to talk about Sheldon Cooper. When I think of characters or celebrities with Asperger's, every time, the first person I think of is Sheldon. Now, this could be because the only person I have met who told me they had Asperger's, immediately compared himself with Sheldon. It could also be because he is and has been a very popular character from a very popular show for quite some time now, and so he's the person who everyone looks to as the "Face of Asperger's."
Well, today I read this article, which is the first mention anywhere that I've heard which states that the character Sheldon Cooper is NOT autistic.
And I love him for it.
I'm still pretty new to learning about the spectrum, so I don't have any good evidence to either side, but I'm so glad to see someone representing the opposite side. Why? I'll tell you why.
Reason number one:
I do not like Sheldon Cooper. He's smart and all that jazz, but other than that, I can't stand him. I hesitate to use words like "hate," because I always feel like that should be reserved for the Hitlers and Vlad the Impalers, but it comes pretty close for Sheldon Cooper. He's self-centered. He is obnoxious. He is in-flexible. For all of his supposed "genius," he is incapable from learning from his mistakes. He forces people to bend over backwards to succumb to his every whim, and he scares away anyone smart enough to realize that Sheldon Cooper is a jerk.
If he is autistic (and I hope that we can do more evidence to the contrary), he proves to be all of the negative aspects of it, with few of the positives. Let me give you some examples. I have a "spot." I like to sit where I like to sit. Whether it's on the couch, at the table, in a classroom, or at church, I just know where I'm "supposed" to be. I even have certain places I like to park my car, at school, at home, and at work (when I have a job). It makes me feel... better. Safe. Secure. It's easier to let my brain and body just go where it's "supposed to be," so I can better focus my energy things that are more interesting, and less anxiety-inducing. But, what if someone's sitting in "my" spot? I stop. I feel confused, anxious. I look around--now I have to figure out where to be, where I can still receive the same or similar experience that I would normally get in whatever situation. I usually end up just picking the first empty space I can see (that is somewhat close to the original position, and, hopefully, with no one sitting next to me, otherwise, with someone I know sitting next to me). I (usually) don't even sulk about it. I just sit there. Sometimes it throws me off, sitting in a different angle from the teacher or the television than I'm used to, but I am a human being, not a robot, and I can adapt to new situations (when I have to). I do not pitch a fit, like Sheldon does. I do not ramble on, telling people all of the reasons I like that spot (I usually have a few reasons, but sometimes, I just like it).
Another example: I like consistency. My family has this tradition. Since before I was born, every Friday was a sacred night, where we would order pizza, and watch a movie. As long as I can remember, through thick and thin, Friday was Pizza Movie Night (we're really good at naming things). I actually was terrified of even tasting pizza, so until I was thirteen or so, I ate other things. But I could always count on us having pizza and a movie every Friday night, and when I finally tried pizza, and discovered it was not Evil Food That Will Probably Kill You, but Manna From The Gods Of All Things Delicious instead, Pizza Movie Night got even better. As I got older, and we ended up doing grown up things, and got jobs and everything, Pizza Movie Night started to decay. Sometimes people had work, and we would have to have Pizza Movie Night on Saturday, which is just wrong, but at least we still have it. Sometimes, Unit A complains about how much she hates pizza, and the Parental Units don't actually any stock in pizza, so we eat Chinese food on Pizza Movie Night, which just doesn't make sense at all. I like Chinese food just fine, but it's not pizza. People start clashing, being unable to decide on what movie we should watch, so we stopped going to the RedBox, and instead just watched TV, at last turning sacred Pizza Movie Night into Chinese Food and Whatever Random TV Show We Happen To Be Watching (Big Bang Theory, anyone?) Night. This decay has been devastating over the last few years of turmoil and confusion, removing one of the few stable things my family has for me to rely on. But do I complain? Do I fight for Pizza Movie Night? Do I say anything at all? No. I do not. Unlike Sheldon Cooper, I don't inflict misery on those around me, simply because they don't draw safety and security from meal routines. I don't complain when people eat up the leftovers from my cheese pizza, even though I'm the only person in the house who actually likes cheese pizza, and I cannot/will not try any other flavor (unless you put chicken on it. Cheese pizza with alfredo sauce and chicken on it makes it the best thing you ever tasted). Why don't I do this? Because I am an adult. I am able to function, despite mild inconveniences, and I understand that other people do not and cannot understand me, and therefore do not inflict these inconveniences on me on purpose. I also know that no matter how many times I tell them, they still won't understand, and it will only annoy them to remind them. So, to keep harmony with my friends and family, I shut up and "take it like a man."
Sheldon Cooper is a whiny little brat, and I hate him for it.
If someone were to tell him that he was autistic, it either wouldn't change a thing, or, it would make it worse. He would have a "legal" reason to inflict misery on anyone and everyone around him.
And now we come to the second reason why I'm glad that he possibly is not autistic, which probably reveals even more about my psyche: everyone laughs at Sheldon Cooper.
All of the characters are constantly annoyed by him, it's true, and at times they act as though they really hate him. But the rest of the time, they are affectionately amused by his behavior. The canned audience is always laughing at his antics, and my family goes right along with it, my dad laughing loudest of all.
I remember, when I first started watching the show, before I ever heard of Asperger's, I laughed too. I'll admit it. There were a lot of things he did, which I could understand, like the "spot" thing, or the "food" thing, or his difficulty figuring out other people. I would laugh when he misconstrued social interactions and conventions, seeming robotic at best, and certifiably insane at worst. Then I meet this guy, who I clicked with immediately, unlike any of my other friends, who tells me "I have Asperger's, just like Sheldon Cooper!" I couldn't see the Big Bang Theory the same, ever again. My Aspie friend didn't tell me much of anything, least of all how and why he was anything like Mr. Cooper. But suddenly I had a reason to try and understand Sheldon, and to tolerate him, because I had a friend who was "just like" him. Over the months, he became less and less funny, and more and more... annoying.
When I finally started to investigate autism, and reading about the symptoms, what do you think sprang to mind? Sheldon Cooper. The clown. The man who everyone loves, because they don't have to deal with him. How is that supposed to make us feel? Sure, everybody accepts autistic people! They're hilarious! Show us what crazy thing you're gonna do next, you silly Aspie! We haven't watched the Big Bang Theory in a while (we ran out of episodes, and didn't buy any more), so I don't know how my family will react to him. I don't even know if they've heard that people say he's an Aspie. But it hurts now. Every time someone laughs at Funny Sheldon, they're laughing at me. When he obsesses over physics or his comic books, when he struggles and tries and fails to connect with the people around him, when he's got his "quirks" and his "spots" and his idiosyncrasies, and the only way people can except that is to mock it, it tells me that they will only mock me. That they won't understand the pain and struggle I've had my whole life, trying to stop being what I am, because they just think I'm a silly little Sheldon Cooper wannabe.
This is the same reason why I stopped liking Monk. People think his fear and discomfort is funny--I don't. I can't remember what I thought of it as a child, but I've considered the possibility that I had OCD for a long time, I take the show way too seriously now. I really wish people could see us for what we are, not to mock us or hate us, or file us away in the "weird, but harmless" category. We're people. We want people to understand us, just like we want to understand other people. We have our burdens, and we try to overcome them, but sometimes they just crush us. We struggle alone, because nobody understands us. They just laugh.
To be continued...
Penny
Well, today I read this article, which is the first mention anywhere that I've heard which states that the character Sheldon Cooper is NOT autistic.
And I love him for it.
I'm still pretty new to learning about the spectrum, so I don't have any good evidence to either side, but I'm so glad to see someone representing the opposite side. Why? I'll tell you why.
Reason number one:
I do not like Sheldon Cooper. He's smart and all that jazz, but other than that, I can't stand him. I hesitate to use words like "hate," because I always feel like that should be reserved for the Hitlers and Vlad the Impalers, but it comes pretty close for Sheldon Cooper. He's self-centered. He is obnoxious. He is in-flexible. For all of his supposed "genius," he is incapable from learning from his mistakes. He forces people to bend over backwards to succumb to his every whim, and he scares away anyone smart enough to realize that Sheldon Cooper is a jerk.
If he is autistic (and I hope that we can do more evidence to the contrary), he proves to be all of the negative aspects of it, with few of the positives. Let me give you some examples. I have a "spot." I like to sit where I like to sit. Whether it's on the couch, at the table, in a classroom, or at church, I just know where I'm "supposed" to be. I even have certain places I like to park my car, at school, at home, and at work (when I have a job). It makes me feel... better. Safe. Secure. It's easier to let my brain and body just go where it's "supposed to be," so I can better focus my energy things that are more interesting, and less anxiety-inducing. But, what if someone's sitting in "my" spot? I stop. I feel confused, anxious. I look around--now I have to figure out where to be, where I can still receive the same or similar experience that I would normally get in whatever situation. I usually end up just picking the first empty space I can see (that is somewhat close to the original position, and, hopefully, with no one sitting next to me, otherwise, with someone I know sitting next to me). I (usually) don't even sulk about it. I just sit there. Sometimes it throws me off, sitting in a different angle from the teacher or the television than I'm used to, but I am a human being, not a robot, and I can adapt to new situations (when I have to). I do not pitch a fit, like Sheldon does. I do not ramble on, telling people all of the reasons I like that spot (I usually have a few reasons, but sometimes, I just like it).
Another example: I like consistency. My family has this tradition. Since before I was born, every Friday was a sacred night, where we would order pizza, and watch a movie. As long as I can remember, through thick and thin, Friday was Pizza Movie Night (we're really good at naming things). I actually was terrified of even tasting pizza, so until I was thirteen or so, I ate other things. But I could always count on us having pizza and a movie every Friday night, and when I finally tried pizza, and discovered it was not Evil Food That Will Probably Kill You, but Manna From The Gods Of All Things Delicious instead, Pizza Movie Night got even better. As I got older, and we ended up doing grown up things, and got jobs and everything, Pizza Movie Night started to decay. Sometimes people had work, and we would have to have Pizza Movie Night on Saturday, which is just wrong, but at least we still have it. Sometimes, Unit A complains about how much she hates pizza, and the Parental Units don't actually any stock in pizza, so we eat Chinese food on Pizza Movie Night, which just doesn't make sense at all. I like Chinese food just fine, but it's not pizza. People start clashing, being unable to decide on what movie we should watch, so we stopped going to the RedBox, and instead just watched TV, at last turning sacred Pizza Movie Night into Chinese Food and Whatever Random TV Show We Happen To Be Watching (Big Bang Theory, anyone?) Night. This decay has been devastating over the last few years of turmoil and confusion, removing one of the few stable things my family has for me to rely on. But do I complain? Do I fight for Pizza Movie Night? Do I say anything at all? No. I do not. Unlike Sheldon Cooper, I don't inflict misery on those around me, simply because they don't draw safety and security from meal routines. I don't complain when people eat up the leftovers from my cheese pizza, even though I'm the only person in the house who actually likes cheese pizza, and I cannot/will not try any other flavor (unless you put chicken on it. Cheese pizza with alfredo sauce and chicken on it makes it the best thing you ever tasted). Why don't I do this? Because I am an adult. I am able to function, despite mild inconveniences, and I understand that other people do not and cannot understand me, and therefore do not inflict these inconveniences on me on purpose. I also know that no matter how many times I tell them, they still won't understand, and it will only annoy them to remind them. So, to keep harmony with my friends and family, I shut up and "take it like a man."
Sheldon Cooper is a whiny little brat, and I hate him for it.
If someone were to tell him that he was autistic, it either wouldn't change a thing, or, it would make it worse. He would have a "legal" reason to inflict misery on anyone and everyone around him.
And now we come to the second reason why I'm glad that he possibly is not autistic, which probably reveals even more about my psyche: everyone laughs at Sheldon Cooper.
All of the characters are constantly annoyed by him, it's true, and at times they act as though they really hate him. But the rest of the time, they are affectionately amused by his behavior. The canned audience is always laughing at his antics, and my family goes right along with it, my dad laughing loudest of all.
I remember, when I first started watching the show, before I ever heard of Asperger's, I laughed too. I'll admit it. There were a lot of things he did, which I could understand, like the "spot" thing, or the "food" thing, or his difficulty figuring out other people. I would laugh when he misconstrued social interactions and conventions, seeming robotic at best, and certifiably insane at worst. Then I meet this guy, who I clicked with immediately, unlike any of my other friends, who tells me "I have Asperger's, just like Sheldon Cooper!" I couldn't see the Big Bang Theory the same, ever again. My Aspie friend didn't tell me much of anything, least of all how and why he was anything like Mr. Cooper. But suddenly I had a reason to try and understand Sheldon, and to tolerate him, because I had a friend who was "just like" him. Over the months, he became less and less funny, and more and more... annoying.
When I finally started to investigate autism, and reading about the symptoms, what do you think sprang to mind? Sheldon Cooper. The clown. The man who everyone loves, because they don't have to deal with him. How is that supposed to make us feel? Sure, everybody accepts autistic people! They're hilarious! Show us what crazy thing you're gonna do next, you silly Aspie! We haven't watched the Big Bang Theory in a while (we ran out of episodes, and didn't buy any more), so I don't know how my family will react to him. I don't even know if they've heard that people say he's an Aspie. But it hurts now. Every time someone laughs at Funny Sheldon, they're laughing at me. When he obsesses over physics or his comic books, when he struggles and tries and fails to connect with the people around him, when he's got his "quirks" and his "spots" and his idiosyncrasies, and the only way people can except that is to mock it, it tells me that they will only mock me. That they won't understand the pain and struggle I've had my whole life, trying to stop being what I am, because they just think I'm a silly little Sheldon Cooper wannabe.
This is the same reason why I stopped liking Monk. People think his fear and discomfort is funny--I don't. I can't remember what I thought of it as a child, but I've considered the possibility that I had OCD for a long time, I take the show way too seriously now. I really wish people could see us for what we are, not to mock us or hate us, or file us away in the "weird, but harmless" category. We're people. We want people to understand us, just like we want to understand other people. We have our burdens, and we try to overcome them, but sometimes they just crush us. We struggle alone, because nobody understands us. They just laugh.
To be continued...
Penny
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