Caipirinhas

Do any of my many, many fans out there (I think there's about a dozen of you) know what a Caipirinha is?  I didn't, until very recently.  And I still don't.  But it's become inextricably linked with some of the frustrations of the past few days.  Really.  In my head, Caipirinhas have become something mythical and magical.  It's probably the best drink in the world.  It might make rainbows burst onto my tongue.  For all I know, every Caipirinha comes with its own complementary Tardis - and anyone who knows me, knows that all I've ever wanted in this world is my very own Tardis.

Be warned, this posting might sound a bit whiny and self-pitying after a while.  I'll try to avoid that.  It's bewilderment rather than misery that's motivating it, though.

To set the scene... for the past four years, I've been on a site called Couchsurfing.  It was set up so that people could travel the world on a budget.  They'd visit a city, but before they got there, they could check the site for potential hosts.  There's a sort of culture sharing ethos going on.  In exchange for a couch (or a bed or whatever sort of hospitality is involved) you offer something that isn't money.  Company, friendliness, cooking... just whatever works.

I haven't surfed much with the site, because I have Asperger's Syndrome and that causes a few social anxieties.  I don't like the thought of visiting someone and then, perhaps being a burden because I don't get on with that person.  I'm not the best judge of most social situations, so I'm constantly stressing that perhaps I'm missing some sort of cue that any other person would pick up on.  Perhaps I'm unwittingly annoying people or being creepy or something like that.  These anxieties are usually not all that bad, but if I'm in someone else's home and taking their hospitality, the stresses can be compounded.

I do host people, though.  I've been doing that for a while, now.  Sometimes it really works.  Other times it doesn't.  And sometimes a person's initial email can be pretty misleading.

My current guests - a young couple I'll call "B" and "E" - seemed really nice when they first got in touch.  E wrote the email and a key phrase was "B is an excellent caipirinha-maker and if you're not familiar with the Brazilian drink, we'd be glad to introduce you to it."  That seems pretty unambiguous, but even today - on my birthday, when it would seem fairly appropriate to do so - the drink has been conspicuously absent.  The message was really cool - they both sounded like nice people and it was clear that they'd read my profile, so that was great.  I liked them.  The Caipirinha definitely swung it, though.  Someone offering to make me a drink is definitely going to entice me.

So I was really looking forward to the Caipirinha and I asked about it last night.  Just a description so I could find out a bit more about what it was.  And when they described it, it sounded even nicer.  Rum and lime... sounds good to me.  I know they're on a budget, so perhaps I should have bought the ingredients or something.  Made it a bit easier on them.  If everything was available when they got in, then perhaps we could have spent an evening drinking Caipirinhas.

Their stay hasn't been as easy as I anticipated, though.  The first night, they seemed pleasant and I had a great time with them.  They cooked up a pasta dish for me and I opened a bottle of Port that my sister had given me as an early birthday present and shared that with them.  They were curious about the massage therapy I used to do, so I gave them both acupressure massages.  A friend of mine recently gave me an Oakworks Desktop Portal, so I was able to use that.

(I used to specialise in acupressure therapy.  It's a sort of deep tissue massage, which is delivered through clothing so the client doesn't have to get undressed.  I'd probably still be doing that professionally, if I hadn't been in a car accident that messed up my shoulder in 2009).

But it's been much harder to talk to them since then.  I've been working late on various digital animation projects just lately, so have been sleeping late.  They get up while I'm still in bed, go out into the city and come back in the evening.  That's basically a problem with timing, so it's not like anyone can be held responsible for it.  The rest of it, though, is more frustrating.

We've had occasional stabs at conversation, but I've been finding it difficult to talk to them.  They've seemed a bit distracted.  Partly due to their having to cook something to eat, because they've just got in, but also because that seems to be their time to get online and sort out some internet stuff.  That's when my AS issues start kicking in a bit.  I find myself stressing about whether I'm interrupting them.  I know how irritating it is when I need peace to do something online and someone is distracting me.  And I know what it's like to want to cook something and someone is distracting me.  So... if they appear preoccupied... I don't want to distract them.

I should point out that my own budget is an issue here, right now.  I haven't had much work lately, so there's absolutely no money at the moment.  Normally, when I have guests, I try to cook for them so that I'm contributing to the food as well.  I don't want to just eat their food, like I expect them to feed me or something.  And since I don't have enough available to make up proper meals right now, I've been trying to time my meals so that I've eaten before they get back, so they can eat without having to stretch their food to include me as well.

So... typically for me... I've been erring on the side of caution.  A couple of stabs at conversation, that don't go well, so I worry that I'm being irritating.  So I go the other way and I withdraw, to a certain extent.  My own laptop actually becomes like a bit of a shield. The lack of camaraderie (or whatever term you want to use) doesn't get too awkward, because now I'm preoccupied as well.  But then, that leaves me wondering if it's the fact that I've withdrawn that's making it difficult to talk.  Which would make it my fault rather than theirs.  And it just keeps on spiralling like that.

The other complication is the sleeping arrangements.  There are limited options.  I have a large, double bed mattress that I can put down onto the floor of my bedroom.  That involves sharing the room with me, though, and that's not an option that everybody is cool with, which makes sense.  Or there's the couch and the floor space in my sitting room.  That's less comfortable, but it has privacy.  I have a spare room too, but it's not available right now.

(Incidentally, I told them about all this in advance.  I made it clear what options there were and left it up to them to decide whether those options were cool with them before they got here.  Just in case any of you think these limitations were sprung on them only after they got here.)

So they went for the privacy option and for the first two nights, they slept in my sitting room.  But then, that made me feel bad, too.  I have a huge, double bed all to myself, while two people - guests of mine - are trying to make themselves comfortable in my sitting room.  And since I'm in the bed, but I'm not even sleeping - I'm working for hours on various digital art projects - it really feels like I'm being selfish.  It hardly seems like good hospitality.

So tonight - their third night - I've given them my bed instead.

I can't count how many times this has happened, by the way.  I've often accepted guests on the proviso that they take either the sitting room or the mattress on my bedroom floor - and then, when they arrive, I end up giving up my bedroom.  But in this case, they want to go to sleep at 10:30 in the evening, which makes the choice even simpler.  I genuinely don't want to have to go to my bedroom that early, so letting them take my bed is the better option.  Also, my sitting room and kitchen are combined, so I'm pretty much disconnected from both rooms if I don't use that option.

It doesn't help that my sleep patterns have messed up again.  On their first night here, I was still awake at almost 8AM, so I was falling asleep as they were getting up.  Then last night, I was awake until about 4AM, so the same thing happened.  So both days, they went out into town without disturbing me.  Now, if there's any blame to be dealt out (and I'm really trying to find alternatives to the whole blame game thing) then that bit is definitely my fault rather than theirs.

Bearing all that in mind, there have been a couple of details that have been more difficult to accept or make allowances for.  There have been opportunities for them to extend a bit of social courtesy.  The fact that they've chosen not to do so, has been fairly telling.

Last night they came back to the flat in the early evening, but they had plans.  They had something to eat, then went back out again to join one of the free ghost tours.  At this point I was looking for an opportunity to hang out with them and try to break down the barrier to socialising, so I would have gone along with them if they'd invited me to join them.  They didn't offer, so I didn't want to presume.  I suppose I could have offered to walk into town with them.  Show them the short way through the Grassmarket.  If I'd done that, I could have worked out whether I would have been welcome, without making an awkward scene if they preferred to go alone.  So... once again, I'm left wondering whether it's my own fault and whether I'm the one that's making it difficult for them to socialise with me - and not the other way round.

The thing that's bugging me most of all, though, is tomorrow.  They're meeting a friend so they can have some sort of party before they go to the street party. And they know that I don't have any plans for the bells, just yet.  And they know that's bothering me, because I really want to be doing something.  And this is Hogmanay.  It's a big event in Scotland.  Every year, I have a stressful Christmas and a shit birthday, and I can cope with that, because I know that Hogmanay is coming up.  The big party.  The first footing, the traditions, the drinking.  The fact that Scottish people really know how to celebrate our culture, fully and without reservation or irony.  Christmases and birthdays are OK.  They can be fun or they can be shit.  But Hogmanays are amazing.

They're also completely dependant on finding a party, though.  You can not celebrate Hogmanay on your own.  OK... some people do.  You hear about people who are happy with a glass of whisky with just one person they love.  They wait for the bells, they toast each other, they bring in the new year and they have a quiet, happy, contemplative moment.  And that's cool, too.  Maybe one year, that's going to be all I want and need.  But not yet.  Anyway... even in the scenario I just described, it's still two people.  There's still companionship going on.

Well, I can't help thinking that… maybe… since B and E are going into town and since they're meeting up with a loose group of people and since they're just chilling out before the street party... then maybe I wouldn't exactly be intruding if I was asked along.  Maybe it would be a nice gesture.  A friend of theirs is in town and they're meeting her and the rest is revolving around meeting various people who are connected through mutual friends.  Nothing particularly organised - not at that stage.

And that's the bit that bugs me most of all.  Surely they could have asked me along without really putting themselves out.  On our first night, we definitely spoke about Hogmanay and the traditions.  I told them that the one thing I took very seriously was the first footing.  The first person into your home in the new year has to fulfil certain characteristics, because that person brings along all the luck for the following year.  I am practically a stereotype of a lucky first footer, so one thing I made sure that they both knew - no matter what happened or what plans we all made individually, I was going to be the first person to step into my flat in the new year.  Even if we were all sitting in my sitting room and toasting each other during the bells and I literally stepped outside just for a second, then stepped back inside again - even if it came to that, I was going to be my own first footer.  For as long as I've lived alone, year after year, I've been my own first footer.  I've always had a bottle of single malt with me.  I've always opened it in someone else's home, toasted the new year, had a great time and shambled home drunk, tired and happy, hours later.

(One year I celebrated Hogmanay in Florida.  I bought a bottle in anticipation of the first footing, then when the moment came - when I opened it - the cork broke in the bottle.  Prior to that, if anyone asked me whether I genuinely believed in the superstition, I would have said no.  But when that cork broke, I had a serious feeling of foreboding.  This was like a very, very, very bad omen.  I refused to drink from that bottle, even though all my friends were telling me not to take it so seriously.  They all took a drink but I didn't join in.  I simply refused to touch it.  That year, I was in a car accident that destroyed my career, I lost my home and a most of my possessions, I had a lot of other bad luck.  I wasn't exactly cavalier about the first footing before that, but I definitely take it more seriously, now.)

Anyway, I didn't exactly set out to describe this year's limited options to B & E.  They asked me what my plans were and I said I was going to a party at 3AM, but before that I didn't know what I would be doing.  I admitted that I was starting to stress about that a little, because it's the one hour of the one night of the year that I want friends around me - but that this year, my various friends and family were in Arbroath, Gorebridge and Greenock.  Or were doing other things.  I definitely didn't set out to make it look like I needed to be bailed out, but over the course of the conversation, two things definitely became known.  One is that Hogmanay is the festival that genuinely animates me.  And the other is that this year,  I have absolutely no plans.

Bearing that in mind, it would have been nice if they'd asked me to join in with at least part of their plans.  But there hasn't been a hint of an invitation.  At one point, it occurred to me that the ploy I missed out on last night - offering to walk with them and show them the short way to wherever they're going - could be a viable one.  But I dismissed that right away; it was a thought that came to me in a weak moment and it wasn't worthy of me.  Self-respect had stepped aside - just for a few seconds - and that pathetic little thought popped up to tempt me.  There's no way I'm going to tag along, hoping they'll take pity or something like that.  And that's what that would amount to.

I really am more bewildered than anything else, here.  There's irritation and frustration, too - that's undeniable.  But above all else, I just keep trying to think that there must be a reason for being excluded like this.  Because I don't think they're being cruel or selfish or anything like that.  But I also keep thinking... has it really just not occurred to them to invite me along?

So their plans...  They're going out again tomorrow morning.  And they're coming back around 5PM to pick up their things.  They were originally going to stay until the 2nd, but I think they changed their minds when I started trying to figure out the best way to make our schedules work out without leaving anyone stranded outside.  They'll be gone from 5(ish) to - at the very earliest - 1AM.  And probably much, much later if they find a party to join.  I'll be gone from around 3AM and I definitely won't be back until much, much later.  That's all very vague and I don't want anyone to be stranded outside in the cold without keys because that person has returned home first.

I've been pretty flexible with B & E until this point, but that's the one area where I don't want to compromise.  I first foot myself and I don't want to leave my only guaranteed party before I'm ready to.  So I tried to discuss with them what their options were.  I could step outside and first foot myself before I left for the party - that was taken care of.  And if they were likely to get back at a realistic hour, they could have the keys and let themselves in.  I thought it was fairly reasonable to at least try to come up with some sort of vague schedule.  Not even a particularly restrictive one.  Just a means of minimising the potential for being locked out in the cold.

Ultimately, though, their solution is that when they come back here at 5PM, they're going to collect their things and leave.  They'll spend the rest of their time in Edinburgh with someone else.  This friend of theirs that they're meeting, I think.  I really felt bad about that.  It made me feel like I'd forced them out or something like that.  But the only realistic alternative I could think of was either to stay at home so that I could let them in when they got back or give them the keys and hope they got back before I did.

It was much, much later that something else occurred to me.  They're going out tomorrow morning.  Coming back in the evening.  Picking up their stuff and leaving.  Which means there are going to be no Caipirinhas.  Now, I'm the kind of person who watches John Cleese attacking his car with a branch and thinks that's a perfectly acceptable and understandable response.  So when I suddenly realised I wasn't going to get a fucking Caipirinha, I was absolutely gutted.  I want a Caipirinha.

(Incidentally, if you'd asked me to guess what a Caipirinha was a few days ago - before I'd been told - I would have had a very inaccurate mental image of one.  A sort of large, rodent-like creature.  I realise now, that I was thinking of a capybara.)

Anyway... that's it.  End of complaint.  And if you've read this whole thing, then you deserve a reward.  A drink, maybe.  Well, you're not getting a fucking Caipirinha from me.

Employment

It's fair to say that the employment figures in the UK aren't great. I got these statistics from the Autism Now website.

68% of people aged 16 to 64 without disabilities work.
24% of people with cognitive disabilities aged 16 to 64 work. In this survey cognitive disability is a very broad category that includes people who say they have difficulty learning, remembering, or concentrating.

So... since I passed an interview to be an Autism Support Worker - despite being completely open about actually having the condition myself, at the interview - I think I might just be allowed to feel a little pleased with myself. Not smug, exactly... although if I DID allow myself the occasional bit of smugness during a moment of spiritual weakness, I probably wouldn't feel too bad about it.

I was up against stiff competition for this job. I know, because I checked the sign-in book when I attended the interview and I saw a lot of other candidates waiting, when I left. (At least, I assume they were candidates as well. They might have been there for entirely different reasons.)

This is the first job interview I've attended since I worked at Glasgow Airport, six years ago. And THAT interview was the first one I attended in... I don't know... a long, long time. It was the first time I had a proper shave in over a year, as opposed to merely picking up an electric shaver and trimming down my stubble. It was the first time I made any attempt to make a shirt look vaguely less crumpled, since I attended a funeral a few months ago. Basically, I suppose, it's the first time I made any real kind of effort at all. Well... unless you count the hen nights, which I take very, very seriously. But the effort involved in those are just par for the course. Nothing particularly special.

It's also the first time I made any real effort to get back into any kind of employment since the car accident put me (temporarily) out of commission, back in 2009.

I think it's fair to say that I've overcome some genuine odds, here. It's late in 2012 and the financial situation isn't great. Rent is overdue and I haven't paid the power bill in months. Things aren't exactly rosey quite yet, but the potential is definitely there for things to get better.

Let's hope those fucking Mayans are wrong, because that would be terrible timing.

Whit're ye daein'?

I don't know where I'll find the right group for this, so I'll post it in my AS blog, just because my reaction to it is probably a little strange. I found the dialogue to be absolutely hilarious. Which is good, because I saw it on the news at my parents' place and the previous item - an outbreak of Legionnaire's Disease in Gorgie (which is where I live) was a little sobering.

Anyway, it's not the item itself that was funny.  It was specifically the quote of Stuart Morris.  Sometimes Scottish people have an absolute gift for understatement and when he said "Whit're ye daein'?" I nearly choked.  Like he was having a reasonable, civilised debate with the woman who has just hit him with her car and is taking him on a high-speed tour of Falkirk.  For hours afterward, every time I remembered the way he spoke, I started sniggering all over again.  He had a strong, regionalised accent - the sort of accent that can make a person sound stupid sometimes, even if he's actually pretty intelligent.  In fact, I suspect that Stuart Morris probably is intelligent.  But he definitely sounded like a bit of a bumper.  And, for comedy value, you might want to enunciate the word "bumper" in exactly the same was as he did.  It's not big and it's not clever, but it's definitely funny.

By the way... to all those who might be concerned about my health... I'm not within inhalation distance of any of the cooling towers responsible for the outbreak, so I'm not in any danger of contracting Legionnaire's Disease myself.  I just thought I'd throw that in to set your minds at ease.  I know you all worry about me.

Perhaps one, perhaps many

I originally wrote this a few weeks ago, while the situation was still ongoing.  At the time, I appeared to find a positive resolution to it, so my conclusion was fairly positive.  But it got worse, until I finally found myself in a position where I had to ask a guest to leave my flat.  Looking back on it, I can see that I got a lot more stressed by the situation than I was actually aware of at the time.  So much so, that it's only now that I'm able to update the posting.

I'm a member of a site called Couchsurfing and I get a lot out of that.  It keeps me from spending too much time on my own, because it helps me to socialise.  People from different cultures come to visit, I show them round the city and welcome them into my home.

The concept of Couchsurfing is simple.  People travel the world and they crash on other peoples' couches when they arrive.  You can host travellers, or just meet them for a coffee and show them around.  The idea is a combination of cheap travel, combined with a sort of cultural exchange.  It's a great thing, and I've had some amazing guests.  Really cool people that I would welcome back in a heartbeat.  And some that have returned for repeated visits.

Sometimes, though, it sort of goes a bit wrong.  Back in March, someone (I'll call him R) sent me a request and asked to stay.  He said he would arrive on the 12th and leave on the 15th.  He seemed pretty cool, and so I accepted his invitation.

On the 12th, I waited for him all day and he didn't turn up.  I checked his profile and realised he'd logged in since I sent him the email to accept him, so I got a bit irritated - I had waited for him, put myself out and he didn't even have the decency to acknowledge my acceptance.  I sent him a short email at around 8PM on the 12th.

I wrote this...

Since you didn't include an arrival time on your request, I didn't know when to expect you. So I've been at home all day, waiting for you and watching for an update about your schedule.

I assume you've changed your mind or made alternative arrangements?

I checked a couple of times on the 13th to find out whether he'd responded to that, but there was nothing.  He hadn't logged on though, so I couldn't figure out whether he was being rude or not.  Well, I already felt that not acknowledging my previous message the last time he'd logged on had been rude, but I wasn't sure about this.  I didn't know what kind of stuff was going on, and he might have a very reasonable explanation for not answering.  All this meant that he might turn up at any time on the 13th, so I felt obligated to wait at home for him on that day, too.

I had also accepted a small group of people.  The girl (I'll call her C) had told me she was travelling with some friends, so I was expecting three male guests and one female guest.  I told them that things would be a little cramped on the first night, but that they were all welcome to come along, regardless.  After all, it would only be the first night - and then R would be heading off for somewhere new.  Their original plans had been to arrive on the 14th and leave at some point before the 31st.  I said I could probably host them until the 27th, but that would be the absolute limit of their stay.  Later, C told me that one of the men had dropped out, but it was still going to be her, her husband and a friend of hers.

Then on the 13th, unexpectedly, I got a 'phone call from them late in the evening.  They had already arrived, they had just got into the city and they were wondering if I could host them from that night.  Now, I'm better than a lot of autistic people at coping with unexpected changes to plans, but I'm still not great at it.  Waiting at home all day for someone who doesn't turn up creates a sense of heightened anticipation and I don't handle it even remotely well when the wait turns out to be unnecessary.  So I was still coping with R's second day of absence.  At that point, I decided I'd had enough with him and I told them all - over the 'phone - that they were welcome to come along.  I found myself talking to a male who was communicating very hesitantly with broken English - which made for a slow, stumbling conversation.  At one point, I heard him ask C (in English) if she wanted to talk to me, but she said "no".

To complicate matters, they had lost the directions I had given them though, and it took a bit of co-ordinating and text messaging and a couple of 'phone conversations to let them know where I was staying, and I have to confess that tried my patience a lot.  In fact, by the third 'phone conversation, I know that it was pretty clear from my voice that I was getting irritated by the end and I felt bad about that.

Then, there was a further surprise.  I only had one guest - not three.  It was just one of the men staying with me.  The same man I'd been talking to and guiding on the 'phone.  The girl (I'll call her C) had gone elsewhere with her husband, so now it was just him and me.  She had apparently made alternative arrangements because I had been expecting R to be around.  This was the point where I really started to struggle with things.

The new guy (I'll call him D) was polite, but by then I was struggling a bit to be friendly.  I wasn't rude, exactly, but I was finding it to be a bit of an effort to socialise.  OK... yeah... maybe that's rude.  Anyway, I let him in, made some coffee, showed him where his room was, explained the situation about R, let him have a towel, let him use the shower - all that stuff.  But I was definitely a bit withdrawn.

Withdrawal is like a sort of automatic response to stressful situations, I think.  I sort of "hide" behind a prop.  When I was younger, if I couldn't physically retreat to a different room, it would have been a book or a magazine.  Anything that would discourage people from engaging me in conversation.  These days, it's a laptop or my Mac.  And that prop carries a bit more legitimacy, because I have to write business emails and respond to queries about hen nights, anyway.

Anyway, at one point, D proudly produced a loaf of bread.  I think it was sourdough bread, which I'm fond of anyway, but I can't remember.  He said we could use it to make sandwiches with.  I thought that was pretty cool, but I was still struggling a bit to be sociable.  Later, he went to bed and I stayed up late watching films on my laptop.  But first, I wrote a final message to R.  

Your request stated that you were arriving on the 12th and leaving on the 15th. It's now the 14th, and there has been no sign of you and no update to your request. I know you've been online since I accepted your request, so it seems reasonable for me to expect some sort of response.

I realise that you haven't been online in the last 34 hours, so unless you're getting updates from your 'phone or something like that, then you probably haven't read the message I sent you last night, when I tried to get some clarification about your plans. But that doesn't change the fact that I've now spent two days waiting for some sort of update or contact. And it doesn't change the fact that I've had to tell other guests that there might be limited space - which has meant that they, too, have changed plans unnecessarily.This just seems rude to me. So I'm going to revoke your invitation.

Later, I noticed that he had been online since then, but he didn't respond to that message, either.  And now, five weeks later, I think it's safe to assume that he's not going to.

(A brief sidenote, to elaborate on another reason I wasn't happy to have R as a guest by that point:-

A couple of weeks earlier, I accepted a young couple as guests.  They were from Taiwan and the request was sent by the girl.  She seemed very nice and wanted to stay for one night.  They arrived in the evening, whispered to each other a lot (as if I could understand them anyway), had a shower each and went to bed early.  She spoke some English, but it seemed that he didn't.  I made a couple of attempts at conversation with her, but it amounted to little more than telling her about the bus routes and timetables and how best to get into town in the morning and offer a couple of suggestions for places to visit.  The following morning, they left.  I was under the impression that they were coming back that afternoon, but late in the evening - when their flight was getting to be due - I checked their room and discovered that all their bags were gone.  So when they had left that morning, that had been it.  They'd had a free place to stay and then gone on their way.  No cultural exchange.  Nothing at all.  For that reason, I am not comfortable with hosting anyone for one night.  Even if the guests are friendly and want to get to know me better, there's too little opportunity to do that.  And if they're not, then there's too much opportunity to abuse the hospitality.  And so, if R was leaving on the 15th, then he simply wasn't welcome to wait until the 14th before turning up.)

The following morning, D and I got up.  He produced his bread again, like it was some amazing gift, then asked what I had to make sandwiches with.  Now, another problem I have, is trying to decide whether something is a bit cheeky or not.  I'm never sure whether I'm overreacting a bit.  To me, this seemed to be cheeky, but I let it go.  I told him to help himself to whatever was in the fridge.  He made sandwiches for himself, then went out to see the town... and probably to meet C and her husband somewhere, as well.  I had some correspondence to take care of.  And I was annoyed at that sandwich thing, so I found myself  struggling with the situation all over again.  In absolutely no time at all, it seemed like the tiniest little thing was enough to piss me off and set me right back to square one, in the tolerance stakes.

(I have no idea if that last sentence makes sense.)

The main problem was that I had expected to have a flat full of people.  I was promised music and fun and interesting personalities, but all I got was a single other person and I was finding it increasingly difficult to even talk to him.  The thing is that if there's more than one person around, I can step back more easily and in more socially acceptable ways, because they interact with each other and I can respond to that interaction when appropriate.  If it's just a one-to-one situation with a stranger then it becomes much, much harder for me.

C was the person who initially approached me for hospitality, so she was definitely the person I expected to see - and my interaction so far, had been with her.  The circumstances, the rules, the guests, the atmosphere, the ambience and whole, general situation - nothing was what it was supposed to be.  And I really didn't know how to handle it.

One night, I cooked something up for D and I - a sort of vegetarian pasta dish, because I knew he didn't eat meat - but he was out late.  That was cool, because he had the spare keys and I didn't expect him to observe any kind of a curfew.  So I ate some, then set the rest in the fridge.  The following morning, I took it out of the fridge, poured it into two containers and froze it.  D saw this and bounded across the room to see what it was I putting into the freezer.  He literally peeled the lid off one of the containers, so he could take a closer look.  This seemed to me like a strange breach of etiquette, but again, I didn't know if I was overreacting, so I let it go.

On the 15th, there was a disturbance from outside my flat.  Out in the stair, someone was banging on my neighbour's door and demanding to be let in - for more than an hour.  I confronted him three times, but each time he got more and more aggressive, to the point where he was actually inviting me outside to "take a walk" and "discuss" the situation.  Now, I'm not a complete pussy.  If someone attacks me, I'll defend myself pretty fairly well.  But I'm not going to actually accept an invitation to a fight if I don't have to.  So I closed the door and called the police instead.  They arrived quickly, but by the time they got here - in a perfect example of bad timing - the arsehole had gone.

At one point (before I called the police) there was a fresh wave of banging and shouting from out in the hall, as this stranger made a renewed attempt to demand entry.  Without warning, D stood up and walked out into the hall.  By the time I realised what his intentions were, he had opened the front door and started his own conversation with this guy.  I was incredulous and actually sat and listened to the exchange without doing anything.  This seemed like a serious liberty to me - making a decision like that in my home and acting on it without making sure I was cool with it first.  And if he had asked, I would have definitely said I wasn't cool with it.  I was genuinely astonished.  And yet again, I couldn't tell if this was something I should genuinely be outraged at - or if I was simply overreacting.

On the Friday morning of that week - the 16th - I asked D if C had told him I had Asperger's Syndrome.  Then I told him that one of the problems with the syndrome was that people who had it didn't always handle changes very well.  I explained that I handled them better than most people, but that there had been a lot of changes in the past couple of days and that by the time he had arrived, I had been struggling with them.  I said I had expected more people than just him.  And I pointed out that the guest I had received was not the guests I had been promised.  I did my best to phrase this politely diplomatically, but I felt it was important to voice my frustration.

That evening, when he came home, he said he had two surprises.  He had brought beer and he had brought C home with him.  These surprises were presented to me like I should be ridiculously grateful, but they were clearly just concessions to the fact that I wasn't happy with the situation.  C had graced me with her presence.  For a while, things did seem livelier and at one point I went out for more beer.  D pointed out that he had brought beer with him, but four small bottles really weren't going to be enough to last the evening, so I wanted to get some more.  He seemed a bit offended by this, but seriously - two beers each is just enough to give you a taste and leave you wanting more.  This might be the same sort of philosophy that most alcoholics use, but just about every one of my friends will back me up on it.  Which probably means I only hang out with alcoholics.

At that point I was getting hungry as well, but apart from the frozen pasta dishes, some bread and some cheese, I didn't have any food in the flat.  So I offered to make up some sandwiches.  C and D both turned those down, so I made up a couple for myself.  Then, D asked if the pasta dishes were still in the freezer.  Yes.  He asked if he could have one.  Yes.  So he got up, reheated the pasta and shared it with C.  Yet again, I was astonished.  I ate my cheese sandwiches, while those two tucked into the pasta.

C stayed that night, then disappeared again the following Saturday morning.  For the weekend, it was just D and myself in the flat and things were getting strained again.  Mainly because of yet another detail that seemed trivial, but felt rude.  We had started watching a film together, and suddenly he reached into a bag that was by his side, brought something out and started tucking in.  Every time I had cooked or eaten, I had offered to share it with him if he'd been around.  I thought it only natural that he would at least offer to return the courtesy.

On Sunday afternoon, I went to my parents' place.  When I got back on Sunday evening, D asked if I was hungry.  I was really surprised at this enquiry and admitted that I did feel a bit hungry.

"It is too late, I think, to do any cooking," he said.  And that seemed to conclude that line of conversation.  But that pissed me off, so I set about backing him into a corner.

"The pizza shop is still open," I said.  Translation - go out and get us a fucking pizza.  He stood up reluctantly, and got his jacket.

"But you do not want anything?" he asked.

"Actually, I could really go for a pizza," I said.

When he came back, he had the cheapest option on the menu.  A small cheese and tomato pizza.  But I ate it, anyway.  For some reason, it felt like some sort of moral victory.

On the 19th - the Monday - I had an appointment to keep, so I got up early and headed out the door.  Just before I left, D told me that C was coming round that afternoon to collect some things.  Once again, he was looking annoyed at me, but this time I couldn't figure out why.  It only became clear later.  I attended my appointment, then when things were wrapped up, I realised I'd had a couple of missed calls.  I checked my 'phone and realised C had been trying to get in touch.  Then, when I went home I found her waiting for me in the stair.  She was there to collect her things and then move on to a different city, because "Edinburgh made her uncomfortable".  I wasn't sure how to interpret that.

It took me a little while to figure out the miscommunication - and the reason for D being annoyed at me.  I had been told that C was coming round, so I had been expected to wait for her.  And he had felt that I had been obstructive when I went for my appointment.  I had assumed that since I wasn't going to be around, then he'd wait for her instead.  But he had simply carried on with his own plans and gone out sight seeing.  Which meant C had turned up to an empty flat and had waited in the stair for me to come home.

Before she left, I asked her what D's plans were.  By then, he had stayed for nearly a week and had contributed a grand total of two beers, some bread (which I never tasted) and a pizza.  She told me I would have to ask him.  I decided that it was time to raise the whole issue of the misleading couch request, but she countered that by saying that I had accepted "perhaps one person, perhaps many".  I felt like I was politely raising a subject that had been a real bone of contention lately, but I could see that she was getting angry at me and - to be honest - I wondered if there had been a subtlety in her email that I hadn't picked up on.  One that meant that her "perhaps one, perhaps many" statement was accurate.  So once she left, I checked the email again, but it didn't read that way to me, no matter how loosely I tried to interpret it.  And there was no getting round the fact that I'd been promised lively conversation, music and some lessons in vegetarian cookery.

I'd had enough.  That evening, I told D that he could stay that night and one more night, but then he was really going to have to find somewhere else to stay.  I figured a full day was enough time for him to make alternative arrangements.

The following morning, at around 9AM, he knocked on my bedroom door.  His bags were packed and he told me he was catching a train in an hour.

I can't begin to describe my surprise and relief.

Neurotypical

I read something funny, today.  It was on a site called Neurotypical.

What is "neurotypical"?
Neurotypical syndrome is a neurobiological disorder characterized by preoccupation with social concerns, delusions of superiority, and obsession with conformity. Neurotypical individuals often assume that their experience of the world is either the only one, or the only correct one. NTs find it difficult to be alone and are often intolerant of seemingly minor differences in others. When in groups NTs are socially and behaviorally rigid, and frequently insist on the performance of dysfunctional, destructive, and even impossible rituals as a way of maintaining group identity. NTs find it difficult to communicate directly, and have a much higher incidence of lying as compared to persons on the autistic spectrum.

What is the cause?

NT is believed to be genetic in origin. Autopsies have shown the brain of the neurotypical to be typically smaller than that of an autistic individual and to have overdeveloped areas related to social behavior.

How common is it?

Tragically, as many as 149 out of every 150 individuals might be neurotypical.

Is there any treatment for NT?

There is no known cure for Neurotypical syndrome, however, many NTs have learned to compensate for their disabilities and interact normally with autistic persons.

A postscript to an earlier posting

A while ago, I wrote a posting about a relationship I had with someone.  I only referred to her as "E".  The posting was called How not to be a stalker.

A few hours ago, I got a response to that posting from someone, which was pretty cool.  I don't update this blog often, so it's not very active - and I don't get too much feedback.  But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate it when I do get feedback.

Anyway, this response kind of reminded me that there was a final update and resolution to the story of E.  I initiated a final bit of correspondence with her back in April of last year.  I wrote this...

I don't expect to get a response, here. In fact, you probably won't even bother reading this. I just want to say it anyway.

You are a hypocrite.


You accused me of hypocrisy when we started writing again - and that's something that nobody has ever accused me of before now. I accepted it at the time, although it confused and surprised me.


But now... months after you just cut off all communication without even bothering to explain yourself and leave me completely bewildered about what it was I did wrong. This coming just a few days after you assured me we could be honest with each other and pointed out how understandable it is that our friendship could be strained. Commenting on how we haven't pissed each other off yet. And after repeatedly assuring me we could be honest with other - and that I should stop editing my thoughts when I write to you. That's hypocrisy. Worse still - it's cowardice.


I tried. I took the chance that you would be receptive to repairing things. All I wanted was my friend back. I was honest with you about my beliefs regarding what constituted a friend and I can only assume that it was this honesty that made you throw my words right back at me and cut off all correspondence.
From the very beginning, I said that if we tried and failed to make this work, then I would hope that we'd be mature enough to conclude it amicably. You agreed with me. So... you lied. You broke your promises. And you ran away.


It's not the first time you've done that, though. In fact, it's standard procedure with you. From the very earliest days, you've done it repeatedly. And the only reasons we ever managed to maintain a friendship at all for so long was because I was stupid enough to go to all the effort of repairing things between us - over and over again.


I hope you don't treat other people like this. Because if you do, then one day, you might find out that you've driven everybody away from you. And you'll be lonely, bitter and twisted.


Maybe then, you'll remember that one person accepted you for what you were and tried to repair a friendship - even after it had become twisted and abused by you.


Goodbye.

I expected that to be a conclusion to it.  I was actually pretty surprised when I got a response from her.

I can't talk to you anymore. My husband found out I was still in contact with you and he flipped out, he wrote you that email. Besides the fact that talking to you was so awkward. I had to force myself to reply to you and I had to put aside a block of time to do it because I'd analyze everything I wrote. I realized it wasn't going to work and you even commented on the fact. That's not friendship, it's desperately clinging to the past. It wasn't easy anymore, it was becoming a chore. It's better this way. Call me all the names you want, believe what you want to, I don't care anymore.

And so I wrote my final message to her and finally brought everything to a conclusion.

No, I realise you can't talk to me any more. And I want this to be the final bit of correspondence that ever passes between us. Because now I believe that I can add liar to the list of qualities I ascribe to you.


Your husband wrote that last email to me? He wrote "do not email me again" and that was the end of our correspondence. No. I don't believe that happened. This is the man who has never concealed who he was - and in fact threatened me with physical violence. I don't like him, but at least he was always honest. Writing an email and claiming to be you was never the kind of style I could anticipate from him.


And even if it was him, it doesn't change the fact that you couldn't be bothered answering any of my emails up to now and settling things. You still preferred to hide away and ignore all my requests to explain what I said to mess things up. In fact, you were happy to let me think that it was - once again - all my fault. That's cold. That is incredibly cruel.


As for your "that's not friendship" statement. I think it could have worked if you had only been prepared to work at it. Instead, it was just too difficult for you and you chose not to try. No... it wasn't easy. But it wasn't a "chore", either.


The thing is... if you had said at the time that you wanted to bring it to a conclusion, then I would have accepted it. If you had just said more than "do not email me again" and explained yourself, then I'd have let it go. I'd have been upset, but I was prepared for it and I would still have had some regard for you.


Now, however... hypocrite, coward and liar.

I'm aware, by the way, that I sound like a bit of a bitch in my emails to her.  Fair enough.  By this point, I think that's allowed.

Face blindness - Agnosia

There's something that happens a lot with me... I hear of a personality trait that people with autism have and I think "I have that - I've had it all my life." Then I read or hear a little more about it and realise that I've got a comparatively mild form of it.  I seem to have a very broad spectrum of the characteristics - like most of them have some sort of hold on me - but not to an absolutely crippling degree.

Today, I read about something called Agnosia - or face blindness. And I've definitely experienced that.

I went to a lot of different schools when I was young, because my parents moved around a lot. But I could never recognise more than about three or four of the other kids. And they were either particularly distinctive, or they were the kids that I'd be wary of. The ones who would pick on me, for example.

I used to dread being picked to hand out the jotters, because that meant matching up every name on the jotter to a specific person - something I was completely incapable of doing. It simply wasn't an option to admit that I just didn't know who my classmates were, if I'd been sharing a classroom with them for the last six months or so. But occasionally it got highlighted, because there was just no hiding it.

One time, the teacher asked me to hand something to Jane. And I looked round the room in confusion, trying to remember who Jane was - and the entire classroom looked at me expectantly. My hesitation and confusion was instantly clear to everyone. And I froze. Panic set in.

"Give it to Jane," the teacher repeated. More slowly this time. Like she was talking to an exceptionally slow pupil. And I cringed.

The thing is, that this condition was bad enough with the boys - but for some reason, it was even worse with the girls.  I still can recognise men more easily than women.  Not by a huge degree, but enough to be noticeable.

It became obvious to everyone very quickly that I didn't know who Jane was. Which meant that a social difficulty that I went to great pains to conceal was suddenly revealed to the entire room. It was a horrible moment. And this bitch of a teacher could have made things easier on me, but she chose instead to highlight the difficulty and make it even worse.

"Point to Jane," she said.

I chose a girl at random and hesitantly pointed to her. I was wrong. The class spewed out their amused and incredulous contempt for my mistake. This was great sport. Their day was truly being brightened by this unexpected turn of events.

"Point to Michelle," the teacher said.

I pointed again. I was wrong again.

"Point to..." And this went on a bunch of other times, until I was reduced to this cringing, flinching kid - standing slumped at the front of the classroom, wishing I could just disappear and be spared this humiliation. But the teacher wasn't done.

"I've been teaching here for just a few weeks now, and remember the names of everybody," she said. And to demonstrate her skill, she pointed at and named half a dozen of the kids right there on the spot. "Why don't you know anyone's names?"

I had no answer to that, but she demanded one. It wasn't a rhetorical question. So now I was a cringing, flinching kid muttering "don't know" very quietly at every question. And she kept demanding that I "speak up".

This, by the way, was the same teacher who called my "Dozey" one morning, because I didn't realise she was talking to me - a nickname that stuck with me for the rest of my time at that school.

Anyway... earlier today, I heard of a condition called Agnosia - face blindness - and I realised that's what I have. If I'm introduced to too many people at once, I won't remember the names and faces of any of them.

If I meet you (whoever you might be) in a pub, and have a great conversation with you for the next three hours, I might not recognise you tomorrow, if I meet you in the same pub the following day.  It's not my greatest difficulty, if the setting is the same and if I expect to meet you again.  But I may subtly scrutinise other people - even people who might look substantially different to you - before I discard them.  It takes me a while to build up a template of features and quirks that will help me to recognise you without difficulty.  This is bad enough if you're on your own when I first meet you, but much, much worse if you're part of a group of people.

The setting is very important.  I might meet you a dozen times or a hundred times in the same place, but not recognise you if I meet you in a different place - because you're out of context.  You're not in the place that I expect you to be in.

I don't know how many times I've got into conversations with someone I've encountered randomly - some person who is a stranger to me, but who knows who I am.  And I'll talk about various other mutual acquaintances, without having a clue who most of those people are.  And I'll see the occasional moments of confusion in their eyes, where I don't respond quite the way I'm expected to, because I'm desperately trying to fill in all the blanks, figure out who this person is and pretend that I'm keeping on top of the conversation.

It affects how I watch TV, too.  Any series that has too many characters introduced in too short a space of time can be troublesome.  I really struggle with anything to do with the mafia, because there's also the problem of individual loyalties and rivalries to factor in to the interaction.  I've given up on such varying series as The Sopranos as a result of that - despite having watched the entire first series and a substantial part of the second, purely because enough people told me it was good and I felt I was missing out on something.  Eventually, I just came to terms with the fact that it wasn't good enough to make me keep trying.

Game of thrones was a tricky one, but thankfully the characters are very distinctive and very diverse.  I've had to watch every episode twice and read a synopsis of each one, just so I can be sure I've got it.  I think a lot of people have had similar problems with that series, though, because it's so densely plotted.  If I hadn't been so fascinated by the concept, though, I might not even have attempted it.

The most difficult one was also one I kept going with, purely because I liked it so much.  It was the reinvented Battlestar Galactica.  In this case, a couple of the younger cast members were too similar for me to easily distinguish - most specifically, Anders and Apollo.  I think a large chunk of the difficulty lay in the fact that the characters had to wear the uniforms and have their hair cut short, so there were fewer distinguishing characteristics.  Unusually, I had more difficulty separating the male characters from each other.  Normally it's female characters who blur together for me, but this time round the primary ones were much more distinctive.  I was never, for example, going to confuse Starbuck with Boomer.  The concept was further complicated by the "human" Cylons in the series - there were identical models who had had different experiences that had either scarred or moulded them in different ways.  There were times where I got particularly confused about the subtexts of a particular scene, or what a specific bit of interaction actually meant.  This was only partially due to the face blindness, but that was definitely an element of the confusion.

In essence, the more generic a group of people tend to be, the more I struggle with them.  For a while, I thought I had grown better - that I had learned to cope with the difficulties.  But I realise that while I may have developed strategies and mechanisms as I grew older, the earlier difficulties were stronger, because they involved my peer group - which was obviously composed of other children.  I still struggle to separate children's faces from each other.

Like a lot of my own personal autistic characteristics, I don't have face agnosia too overwhelmingly strongly - but it's definitely there. But it's good to know there's a word for it.  Which means that in the future, perhaps I'll just say "I'm sorry, but I have Agnosia... who are you?"