I’d like to think that I’m the type of student that the teachers don’t forget, just because I stand out in a particularly unique way–as opposed to being just particularly annoying.

It’s 3:25 in the morning, and I’ve been awake with insomnia for 2 and a half hours.  I discovered something particularly droll about my smoke detector though, in the course of the that time, in regards to its blinking.  You see, every 32nd pulse of light is longer than the other preceding 31 pulses.  All this year I just thought that my eyes were playing tricks on me, but this time I decided to count and see what was really up with it.

And there’s your answer.

Woo.

I’m writing  an HP fanfic.  Have I mentioned that before?  I think I have.  Anyways, still going, and I’m nearly to 133K.  Meanwhile, the plot bunnies have started attacking me in my sleep (what sleep?), and I’m seriously considering starting another story to write simultaneously as the nearly 133K one.  After all, when I’m reading books, I tend to keep more than one going at a time.

You all might be interested in knowing that I plan on giving my next Harry a disability.

Anyone know anything about leg braces?

I want to see if I can do this.  The idea came to me just now at 3:13 am, waking me up from a much deserved rest.  I’ll go ahead and say that titles that start with “The” will not count as T’s.  Feel free to borrow this, but at least mention that you are stealing it from ME.  lol  BTW, I suggest starting with the ones you best know and then getting the other ones later.  Luckily and ironically, since I’m a geek, the odd letters (i.e. – Q, X) were often easier to fill than the regular ones (i.e. D, R).

• A Wizard Alone (Diane Duane)
  
• Batman Murders, The (Craig Shaw Gardner)
  
• Crazy Horse Electric Game, The (Chris Crutcher)
  
• Dark Half, The (Stephen King)
  
• Ear, The Eye, and The Arm, The (Nancy Farmer)
  
• Fires of Coventry, The (Rick Shelley)
  
• Giver, The (Lois Lowry)
  
• Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (Douglas Adams)
  
• Ironman (Chris Crutcher)
  
• Joker:  The Devil’s Advocate (Chuck Dixon)
  
• K
• Leaping to the Stars (David Gerrold)
  
• Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, The (E.L. Konigsburg)
  
• Night of the Twisters (Ivy Ruckman)
  
• Orbital Resonance (John Barnes)
  
• Power of One, The (Bryce Courtenay)
  
• Q-Squared (Peter David)
  
• R
• Starship Troopers (Robert E. Heinlein)
  
• That Was Then, This Is Now (S.E. Hinton)
• U
• Voyage of the Dawn Treader (C.S. Lewis)
  
• Whale Talk (Chris Crutcher)
  
• X-Files:  Ground Zero (Kevin J. Anderson)
  
• You Don’t Know Me (David Klass)
  
• Z

And yeah, as you can see, I can’t think of titles that start with K, R, U or Z.  Hmm.  Suggestions?

After spending many hours in the files at my job, my tendencies towards alphabetizing things have started to get out of hand a bit, I think. *laughs*

Actually, it reminds me of the days I worked in a gas station; the more OCD you were, the more they liked you.

Anyways, I recently thought of a different way of telling right from left.  If you put the two of them side by side on a horizontal plane, and list them in alphabetical order (left to right), then there you have it. 

Am special – *nods*

Speaking of words and letters and whatnot, I thought I should mention that my undergrad is a Bachelor of Music education – BM!!!  Kinda sounds bad, hmm . . .

Well, I just found out that I have been ACCEPTED into the MBA program here at TWU.

BM . . . MBA . . . maybe I just like M’s and B’s a lot, I dunno.

I seem to have had writer’s block for about 6 months leading up until about mid-May, when I went to go visit my mama in NC for a about 18 days or so.  In that time, I started writing my first ever fanfiction (HP, no less), and wrote more than 100K.  I am still writing it, mind you, and I just reached 126K this evening.

And still not done!!!  I’ve got the first 46 chapters posted on fanfiction.net, but I shan’t post the address unless you’re really interested in that kind of thing.   I’m well aware that there are plenty of folks who despise fanfiction.

Anywho, that’s me.

My Poptart Has Stigmata!

‘Cause it did this morning . . . anywho.

Here’s a great clip showing an impromptu piano duet at the Mayo Clinic between a 90 year old couple.

I just wrote an email to 9 of the 14 employees over at the financial aid office on my campus.  As you might recall, I had to do something similar last summer.  My oh my, perhaps that’s why the bursar’s office has been sending me personal email updates ever sense.

*raises an eyebrow*

This time, I’m arguing that I’m being punished for something that I wasn’t told about; namely, the concept that there might have been a different due date for the submission of the FAFSA for our campus as compared with the FAFSA site itself.  According to FAFSA, the due date is June 30th, 2009.

After looking through nearly every nook and cranny on the TWU website, I have determined that if it is listed somewhere, it’s probably in the back of someone’s car, under a pile of soon to be donated old clothes.

*looks at you in exasperation*

I am a good researcher; I proudly claim that description.  If I can’t find it, how the hell are they expecting other people to do so???  So I brought that up and mentioned that as a registered member of my campus’s disability services, I am supposed to have equal access to all of the campus programs–which I think Financial aid most definitely counts as.  Furthermore, if they deny me equal opportunities and access in the financial aid office–either in person, or by website alone–then they are denying me my right to an equal education, since without the aid, I can’t go to school.

Makes sense to me.

Now I just hope they feel the same way.

Plus, since I work at the same office as the EEO guy on campus (as in my desk is right in front of his office), I included his email address too.

As like last year, I sent the email TO the basic financial aid folks, CCed their bosses, EEO guy, bursar’s office, and the Disability office, and BCCed the financial aid bosses’s boss, and then just for good measure, included her boss in there too.

Sigh.

(Provided you’re not colorblind)

Red is a bad color.  It’s a color that we Americans (and likely other countries as well) associate obedience with.  Stoplights and stop signs are red.  Firetrucks are red too; you see a firetruck barrelling on down behind you, what do you do?  You pull over, let it by, as much as you can, anyhow.  You see red and blue flashing lights?  Let’s face it; you’re in deep shit.

Even Santa Claus is part of this trend.  You gotta be good to get presents; you gotta be obedient, follow the rules etc.

In elementary school, some of the classes had this point system that they used as a disciplinary means.  If you were doing badly, you got a red card and everyone knew what that meant.

Sunburns are red too.  And they hurt as a result.

Blood too. You don’t want to see your own blood.  You have to obey the rules of your body too.  Hmm, except that works kind of backwards with girls . . . meh.

CVS – a pharmacy sort of place around here has those letters in bright red on their store.  The main point of that place is so you can get medicine to make you feel better.  That’s what they say anyways–and what we believe, usually.  If you don’t go in there occasionally to get the things you need, you feel worse.  You have to obey the red.

In that case, you could argue that obeying is a good thing and not a bad.

But in my world, as an aspie growing up in a school system more focused on rich kids and jocks, obeying was the very worst thing of all.

They make you think that if you follow the rules, you’ll get the reward for your obedience.

They lie.

It was never good enough for them, because they don’t tell you about the unwritten rules.  They don’t mention that the hidden privileges of others tends to get in the way of your having perfect obedience.

Details, right?

I make my own rewards; I follow my own rules.

I go my own way.

Me.

I have synaesthesia.  It causes me to see numbers and letters in color.  Those different colors don’t change over time; 7’s are always purple, S’s are always green.

M’s are always red.

Ultimately, I only obey ME.

You can make what you want of that, but let me add this onto all of that above.  Perceptions are not set in stone.  Bad is only a word.

I am not bad, but there are those in my past who would have liked me to have believed it so.

There are few people in the world who piss me off as much as “John Best”.  All in all, I think I’d rather go up against Voldemort in a rage than have to listen to the insane and hate filled drivel of John Best, the demented and psychotic man who writes a blog called “Hating Autism.”  I’ll let you look that one up, if you will.  I’m not linking him.

While he does have somewhat of a point in saying that Asperger’s and autism are not exactly the same thing, the validity of his statements ends there.  And for him to lever death threats against someone who has done far more good in this lifetime than anyone like Best, allows for even LESS credibility to be extracted from his statements on anything.

Asperger’s Syndrome and autism are not the same thing, but they are related, and often in more ways than one.  I can relate an example as to how I know this to be true.  For people experienced in the world of autism, they should know that autistic people on the lower functioning end of the scale often have episodes of self-harm or commit bodily injury against themselves, like throwing themselves into walls.

As for me, with my aspie status, I still have the desire to throw myself into walls, I just tend not to listen to it.  It is a partially a sensory thing and partially an emotional thing, which both lead to an uncontrollable bout of sensations that I, and I’m sure others like me, experience an overwhelming desire to just make stop, damn the costs.

Really, in a way, aspies are more like gatekeepers into the world of the autistic spectrum itself.

A great many would argue that we do not experience the same things and therefore do not have one inkling of understanding as to what it is like to be a lower functioning individual.

I beg to differ.  It’s true that while the severity of the sensations is often not the same, the sensations themselves are still felt.   I don’t think it’s a question of intelligence, but rather it’s levels of understanding and expressing that are different.

And let me say this, all of us, across the spectrum, we all know fear; we all know terror, and what it does to our lives.

And you, John Best, are no better than anyone, especially for thinking that you can just add to that fear that makes all of our lives harder to experience here in your fucking world.

So fuck off and leave the death threats where they belong – out of the conversation.

I made a list.  I’ll share:

• Acceptance
• Faculty support
• Integrity
• Being “part” of something/Belonging
• Even playing field
• Honesty
• Equal opportunity
• Being good at something
• Respect
• Untold potential
• Acceptance
• Home
• Unconditional regard
• Acceptance
• Friendship
• Self-Pride
• Civility
• Withholding judgment until after all is said and done

In an ironic twist of fate worthy only of my life of late, I have decided to put in an application to the graduate program in The School of Management – i.e. Business.  More specifically than that, however, I have decided that if I am to be accepted into the program, then I would like to also get a concentration in accounting.  More specifically than even that, the whole point of this endeavor is to enable me to try and acquire my CPA and go on to be an auditor.

Now I know what some, if not all, of you may be thinking.  Where is lastcrazyhorn and what have you done with her?

As I mentioned recently, I enjoy making order out of chaos.  It’s just something I do.

I’ve already gone over there and talked to them.  I left feeling encouraged.  The woman I asked most of my questions of supervises the full-time working folk’s MBA program.  Within half an hour of meeting her, I decided to bring up the Asperger’s Syndrome.  I just put it out there.  Her response?

“That was actually going to be my next question.”

She was the one who suggested the accounting concentration.  I had told her about my job, and she said that given my eye for detail and ability to see patterns, auditing was a potential direction that I should consider.  She also mentioned that she didn’t want me to major in anything I’d get bored in, given how intelligent I seemed.

From there, she introduced me to the accounting guy, a guy whose nickname is “Papa Smurf,” on account of his balding head and big white beard.  He’s a nice guy.  He was also very helpful; when I got back to my room, I discovered that he had sent me several email attachments about the program.

Regarding the CPA, it is a test that one must pass in order to become a “Certified Public Accountant.”  Papa Smurf also mentioned that only about 30-40% of people pass the test.  There’s a lady at my office who has her CPA, and she told me that he’s actually one of the folks who grades the durn thing.

It turns out that a lot of the work I’ve been doing at my job is similar to auditing.  Moreover, when I told my office about my decision, I was told more than once that, “Wow!  That would be great!  You’re such a natural!”

Therefore, provided I’m accepted, which I think I have a good chance at becoming, since my two reference letters are coming from the Payroll Manager of TWU and the Associate Vice President of Human Resources, I’m soon going to be striving towards earning an MBA, with a concentration in Accounting.

Now if that’s not a kick in the butt, I don’t know what is.

Seeing that I still want to be involved in helping people, I think that after I graduate I’d like to get hooked up with a non-profit organization of some variety.

I figured out what it is that I do.   I had an epiphany during church.

I seem to be having a lot of those lately.  Something about repeatedly getting the shaft from the organizations you’re in/applying to be in, minus church choir and work, is bound to make one look more critically at their life than previously.

I create order out of chaos.

I work to define the unwritten rules of not only life, but also those of organizations and processes in general.

I write down the rules of the game, in order that people who have not grown up playing it may still have a chance at joining in.

I figure out the unwritten schemata of the divisions of power and jobs.

I am an organizer.  What are you?

Dear You*,

I don’t trust you.   I don’t trust you to realize or understand the reality of my everyday existence.  I don’t trust you understand that the rules of my world are different from the rules of yours.   I don’t trust you to understand my feelings.  I don’t trust you to even take my feelings seriously.  I express myself differently than you, and you don’t seem to understand that.  I don’t feel validated by you.   When I have told you how I’ve felt, you’ve turned around and told me that my feelings aren’t true, or that I’m exaggerating them somehow, often criticizing me for some kind of ulterior motive.

*You is not anyone specific . . .

This is part 1 of a letter I’m trying to get myself to write.  That’s why I’m breaking into smaller pieces.