The hardest blog post so far

I have a few things to blog about:

1. how I shouldn't let screwed up people screw me over
2. music
3. Asperger's
4. taking with a friend about automotive tech
5. the weather

Now for the life of me I can't find any way to link these ideas up into a coherent post. Perhaps it's the way my mind works - if it were a CPU it'd be probably one of those newfangled things with dedicated cores, each doing a specific function, such as that Playstation 3 Cell CPU.

And yeah, those CPUs are a bitch to program for. It's difficult to coordinate the data exchanging between those sub-CPUs and to distribute the workload evenly. It's the same with my brain. I daresay I'm excellent with working things out, but in terms of remembering things in a coherent manner, I might as well be a drooling spastic kid.

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OK. A few paragraphs have passed, and I'm not into item 1. Know what? I should just do some pseudo-chronological thing, because if nothing else connects the items together, time will. Time heals everything. Riiiight.

And today isn't as bad as the previous days, because of an epiphany I had while lying in bed trying to sleep late in the night listening to the traffic downstairs zooming by and the sad sad people milling around the estate by themselves.

So what if they treat me like shit. There'll always be other people who don't. I'd just have to tough it out for a couple more weeks, and I won't even need to get along with them any more.

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Peter Bjorn and John is playing on my iPod while I do that daily groggy bus commute, trying to keep my appendages from freezing off. They're this Swedish indie band that had made significant inroads into the UK alternative scene, especially with their infectious anthem Young Folks.



They're like the Flaming Lips, only poppier.

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Thursdays are happy days because it's lecture day and I can choose to hang out with people other than my group mates. People I can actually talk to, without that overwhelming viscous fog of inadequacy surrounding me. It's not so much that I feel inadequate, but it's plain obvious that I'm kicked aside like an extra cog that doesn't fit anywhere in the machinery.

I've this friend who I can actually crap with about automotive tech in real life! Other than Richie that is, because he's in the land of cows, Hobbits and unpronounceable town names, more colloquially known as New Zealand. I mean, how many people I know can actually tell the difference between a synchromesh and a torque convertor?

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Speaking of which, Asperger's. Autism. It's often said that autistic people don't see objects in the context of the object's purpose, and often, when given a toy car, would flip over the car and play with its wheels.

Perhaps I'm mildly Aspergersy, but I indeed did that as a kid. But it was because I was enthralled by the design of that particular toy car. It had plastic wheels suspended on an axle made of springy metal, such that it acted as a primitive spring suspension of sorts.

And of course, as a kid, I naturally went on to test the durability of the suspension by rolling it off heights and hoping it lands like a cat. But unlike those feline creatures or Murphy's tasty buttered toasts, there's no physical mechanism that ensures that the car lands on its wheels.



I have some pretty Aspergersy interests myself. I could tell you the make, model and characteristics of almost every public bus on the road. But that's nothing close to some of the purely obsessed who can tell you everything, down to the bus route and permanent bus registration numbers that appear on a particular service.

Heh I guess I'm prolly pretty normal, given that many of my classmates are totally Aspergersy about the obscure facts they read in the textbooks.

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And finally, the weather is driving me nuts, preventing me from getting my regular bike rides and jogs done. I'm gonna grow fat argh. It's no secret that my weight can fluctuate by a couple of kgs, depending on whether it's rainy or clear season.

Chinooks flying low above my block because of the low-lying clouds can be pretty scary. Especially when you can make out all the little parts on the underbelly of the helicopter with your bare eyes.

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There. I thank you for listening to me whine.