But right now I'm pretty damned broken.
-TCKH
Saturday, October 30, 2010
If you were expecting anything meaningful
But right now I'm pretty damned broken.
-TCKH
Thursday, October 28, 2010
I am also an idiot.
Apparently, I am not being ignored. From what I can gather, Best Friend is somewhere that he cannot reach me, probably jail, as his phone is disconnected.
This is totally stupid. I hate stuff.
This is totally stupid. I hate stuff.
More melancholia.
I was going to make this mostly a humorous blog with fun things, but let's face it: I'm not always a lot of fun.
I am prone to fits of melancholy, and I say things that are hurtful and mean and inconsiderate pretty much all the time. I can't really help it. I'm better than I used to be, but I still run off at the mouth and make people feel like hell. It is related to the fact that I tend to set all my hopes and plans on one thing, and when it doesn't happen it often feels as though it's the end of the world, even though it obviously isn't. I think this is a typical characteristic of people with Asperger's syndrome. The contemporary view of AS is of slightly quirky, funny people with strange habits and obsessions, but it's not only like that. AS means you are almost constantly annoyed by life. It's not cute, and those of us that have enough coping mechanisms to seem normal almost have it worse than those who don't, because our disability isn't as obvious and we just end up looking like contentious assholes.
The other part that sucks is the near-total inability to understand others' motivations and emotions. I read emotions that aren't there, and I miss obvious ones frequently. This will never change; there is absolutely nothing I can do about this. I can't tell where boundaries are; I can't figure out why things are sometimes one way and sometimes another. Those of us with AS are creatures of habit. We are mostly unchanging in our feelings and ideas about things. This is why, I think, I get along better with cats than with people. Here is a list of why cats are like people with AS:
1. Like to have alone time to recharge.
2. Very choosy about being touched.
3. Get upset if routines are changed or things are moved.
4. Annoyed/startled by loud noises, sudden movement, unexpected events.
5. Eye contact is aggressive/ to be avoided.
6. Easily fascinated by spinning things and moving objects.
7. Strike out when overloaded.
I'm sure there are more, but that's what was immediately in my head.
This was supposed to be about why I'm an ass and not a giant list of excuses for my behavior. It's hard, though. I've been told all my life I'm cold, lazy, unmotivated, unresponsive, and that I'm wrong for all of these things and I don't know. Is it my fault or is it the AS? I have so much guilt, and I feel like I'm constantly having to examine everything I do in great detail to see where I've gone wrong. This is why I'm better off alone. I should just focus on the damn harpsichord and stop bothering other people, because that's really all I do unless I keep a great distance between myself and others. I deserve solitude.
I am prone to fits of melancholy, and I say things that are hurtful and mean and inconsiderate pretty much all the time. I can't really help it. I'm better than I used to be, but I still run off at the mouth and make people feel like hell. It is related to the fact that I tend to set all my hopes and plans on one thing, and when it doesn't happen it often feels as though it's the end of the world, even though it obviously isn't. I think this is a typical characteristic of people with Asperger's syndrome. The contemporary view of AS is of slightly quirky, funny people with strange habits and obsessions, but it's not only like that. AS means you are almost constantly annoyed by life. It's not cute, and those of us that have enough coping mechanisms to seem normal almost have it worse than those who don't, because our disability isn't as obvious and we just end up looking like contentious assholes.
The other part that sucks is the near-total inability to understand others' motivations and emotions. I read emotions that aren't there, and I miss obvious ones frequently. This will never change; there is absolutely nothing I can do about this. I can't tell where boundaries are; I can't figure out why things are sometimes one way and sometimes another. Those of us with AS are creatures of habit. We are mostly unchanging in our feelings and ideas about things. This is why, I think, I get along better with cats than with people. Here is a list of why cats are like people with AS:
1. Like to have alone time to recharge.
2. Very choosy about being touched.
3. Get upset if routines are changed or things are moved.
4. Annoyed/startled by loud noises, sudden movement, unexpected events.
5. Eye contact is aggressive/ to be avoided.
6. Easily fascinated by spinning things and moving objects.
7. Strike out when overloaded.
I'm sure there are more, but that's what was immediately in my head.
This was supposed to be about why I'm an ass and not a giant list of excuses for my behavior. It's hard, though. I've been told all my life I'm cold, lazy, unmotivated, unresponsive, and that I'm wrong for all of these things and I don't know. Is it my fault or is it the AS? I have so much guilt, and I feel like I'm constantly having to examine everything I do in great detail to see where I've gone wrong. This is why I'm better off alone. I should just focus on the damn harpsichord and stop bothering other people, because that's really all I do unless I keep a great distance between myself and others. I deserve solitude.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
I GOT SOME MOTHERFUCKING CAKE!!!!
Today still sucks, and tomorrow will suck, and the next day will suck, and then Saturday will also suck because it involves a ten hour car ride, BUT:
I GOT CAKE!!!
It wasn't the best cake ever, but it was okay cake. Fuck, any cake is better than no cake. Except grocery store birthday cake where you have to surgically excise the icing (which consists largely of Crisco and sugar) and then you don't enjoy the cake part anyway. You poke at the icing in a desultory fashion and squoosh it on your plate and try eating little bites of it, but nothing changes the fact that it is bullshit icing and is made of hydrogenated fuck-you.
Here is a picture of my cake. There is also a pear, because I fucking love pears almost as much as I love cake.
Here is a close up of the cake that I ate.
You will notice that it looks like two pieces of cake because it is. I realized this three bites into it. I took off the top piece and ate that with my hands and then saved the bottom piece for later. This was good cake. I left it on the festive paper Thanksgiving plate because I didn't feel like it deserved glass as it appeared to be bullshit cake, but it was not bullshit cake. It had nuts and raisins, and was nicely spiced...all it was missing was carrots and cream cheese frosting and then it would have been The Best Cake, but I'm not bitching. The frosting appeared to be homemade as well, as it had kind of a shitty texture, but at least it wasn't made of Crisco and hate.
UPDATE: You may have been wondering where I got cake. Well, I think this upgrades it from good cake to pretty good cake, because I did not have to leave the house. My mother brought it back from some drunken golf-lady party, and left it for me on the counter. cake - effort= pretty good cake. (but, cake^groceryStore=bull*shit)
I GOT CAKE!!!
It wasn't the best cake ever, but it was okay cake. Fuck, any cake is better than no cake. Except grocery store birthday cake where you have to surgically excise the icing (which consists largely of Crisco and sugar) and then you don't enjoy the cake part anyway. You poke at the icing in a desultory fashion and squoosh it on your plate and try eating little bites of it, but nothing changes the fact that it is bullshit icing and is made of hydrogenated fuck-you.
Here is a picture of my cake. There is also a pear, because I fucking love pears almost as much as I love cake.
Here is a close up of the cake that I ate.
You will notice that it looks like two pieces of cake because it is. I realized this three bites into it. I took off the top piece and ate that with my hands and then saved the bottom piece for later. This was good cake. I left it on the festive paper Thanksgiving plate because I didn't feel like it deserved glass as it appeared to be bullshit cake, but it was not bullshit cake. It had nuts and raisins, and was nicely spiced...all it was missing was carrots and cream cheese frosting and then it would have been The Best Cake, but I'm not bitching. The frosting appeared to be homemade as well, as it had kind of a shitty texture, but at least it wasn't made of Crisco and hate.
UPDATE: You may have been wondering where I got cake. Well, I think this upgrades it from good cake to pretty good cake, because I did not have to leave the house. My mother brought it back from some drunken golf-lady party, and left it for me on the counter. cake - effort= pretty good cake. (but, cake^groceryStore=bull*shit)
This is a black, black day.
This is not funny, or cheerful, or about cake.
My best friend, to whom I am probably unhealthily devoted (and whom I have also just insulted on facebook because I'm a shit), is not done with his fucking court case. It has been continued roughly a million times (read: three) and I feel really fucking sad for him because his life kinda sucks a bit right now. At least he's not in jail. But he still might (although not likely) have to go to jail in a month. I was hoping we'd be able to go back to Ohio, and go see Guided By Voices whom I consider to be pretty alright but he calls fucking awesome, so I respect that. Anyway.
I'm sorry I spazzed at you, Best Friend. I miss you lots and I love you more than cake. A lot more than cake.
...actually, I guess this is still kind of about cake.
This is a sad me.
...actually, I guess this is still kind of about cake.
This is a sad me.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
I promise I will stop posting this much. (The Many Faces of Kirill)
Here is a picture of me not having any cake.
...and here is a picture of the giant tortilla chip made of beef jerky that I happened to luck across.
....and here is a picture of me chewing said meat dorito chip in a contemplative manner.
See how elegant my hand is? And also, what a lovely curvature to my neck.
I think meat has temporarily cured me of cake. Here is a picture of me happy even though there is no cake and there is not likely to be any cake any time soon.
It is not intentional but it's really awesome that my thumb appears to be preparing a laser strike.
I'm not high but I for some reason I always look that way. My eyes have never really opened all the way no matter what. Even when I try. And then I just look nervous, sort of like I expect you to hit me or drop an n-bomb. This is me trying to open my eyes.
Okay, that is enough pictures of me. I am quite sure that there is something very wrong with me.
I think meat has temporarily cured me of cake. Here is a picture of me happy even though there is no cake and there is not likely to be any cake any time soon.
I'm not high but I for some reason I always look that way. My eyes have never really opened all the way no matter what. Even when I try. And then I just look nervous, sort of like I expect you to hit me or drop an n-bomb. This is me trying to open my eyes.
Okay, that is enough pictures of me. I am quite sure that there is something very wrong with me.
Why don't I have any goddamn cake?
Okay, so the title of this blog....I'm generally looking for cake. Right now I want cake so bad that it is driving me a little crazy. There's a little voice in the back of my head that keeps saying "cake cake cake cake", and it won't stop. I tried eating a granola bar and also some grapefruit but those two things sequentially (or even simultaneously) do not equal cake.
I actually don't know if I really want cake. I think I have this primal cake drive that makes me seek out cake when I can't think of anything else to do. I think it's what I have instead of a sex drive. A cake drive. I could make a cake but that would equal a mess and also effort.
Fuck.
Cake.
Here is a small song I wrote about cake:
I actually don't know if I really want cake. I think I have this primal cake drive that makes me seek out cake when I can't think of anything else to do. I think it's what I have instead of a sex drive. A cake drive. I could make a cake but that would equal a mess and also effort.
Fuck.
Cake.
Here is a small song I wrote about cake:
Travis Hodgdon
I'm really fucking bored.
Hi.
I'm on Fall Break from Oberlin College and I am really fucking bored. I am in Mebane, NC, which is a very small town mostly known for being between some other small towns and not having anything interesting in it aside from meth labs and (actually, this is fucking awesome) a giant cat retirement home. Like, lions and tigers and shit. Oh, my. Oh, and the county is the world's largest producer of country ham. And subsequently, probably pig shit.
I have barely made it through a paragraph without swearing four times. Actually, I did not. So now would be a good time to warn you that this blog will probably contain very strong language, drug references, insults, rage, kitties, cake, and mythological creatures.
I am doing this because I am bored. I have nothing to do except for blog right now.
About me somewhat:
I have an attention problem.
I have also an autism problem. Burgers of the ass.
I have psychotic ideas about what my hair should look like and will not leave the house if it is curly.
I play a lot of instruments but primarily the harpsichord. That's right, motherfucker. Harpsichord.
I play the harpsichord at what is arguably the best music conservatory in the USA.
Okay.
This layout kind of sucks because I basically just breezed through the design section and clicked colors that remind me of the original NES.
Also, the background is baby chicks because for some reason the fucking uploady thing wouldn't let me upload my awesome drawing of some evil cake.
Nevermind. Cake problem solved.
I will leave you with a drawing of a unicorn that I did a few years ago.
That is all.
-Kirill
I'm on Fall Break from Oberlin College and I am really fucking bored. I am in Mebane, NC, which is a very small town mostly known for being between some other small towns and not having anything interesting in it aside from meth labs and (actually, this is fucking awesome) a giant cat retirement home. Like, lions and tigers and shit. Oh, my. Oh, and the county is the world's largest producer of country ham. And subsequently, probably pig shit.
I have barely made it through a paragraph without swearing four times. Actually, I did not. So now would be a good time to warn you that this blog will probably contain very strong language, drug references, insults, rage, kitties, cake, and mythological creatures.
I am doing this because I am bored. I have nothing to do except for blog right now.
About me somewhat:
I have an attention problem.
I have also an autism problem. Burgers of the ass.
I have psychotic ideas about what my hair should look like and will not leave the house if it is curly.
I play a lot of instruments but primarily the harpsichord. That's right, motherfucker. Harpsichord.
I play the harpsichord at what is arguably the best music conservatory in the USA.
Okay.
This layout kind of sucks because I basically just breezed through the design section and clicked colors that remind me of the original NES.
Nevermind. Cake problem solved.
I will leave you with a drawing of a unicorn that I did a few years ago.
That is all.
-Kirill
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