Thursday, August 09, 2018


Last night I really had to get out of the house. My apartment mate was watching Doctor Pop-a-zit on youtube, and exclaiming in wonder. And she happily remembered my sebaceous cyst from several years ago. When I told her nix on that, despite it still being "active", because the last time it cost me two hundred dollars at the dermatologist and destroyed a splatter guard, she offered to pay the two hundred dollars, if only .....

Heck, no. Ain't gonna happen.

Keep away from me.

My apartment mate is a good person. She's reliable, trustworthy, honest, and totally Asperger. Which means that her obsessive phase is constantly at one hundred percent. I am sure I will hear much more about amazing advances in zit-popping technology and positive karma from removing minuscule sub-dermatic waste sacs, for many more days to come.

Yeah, no. I do not want to know all that.
Colour me un-interested.

Asperger people are often entirely clueless about the appropriateness, or inappropriateness, of certain subjects and details. Such as, when I was much younger and in my junior scientist period (teenage years), how seriously cat XXXX (XXXXXXXXXX) resemble XXXXX when the family was enjoying a delicious XXXXXXXXX dinner.

My enthusiasm at that time was NOT infectious.

It took me a while to understand that.

I am small-talk impaired.

Last night I went out and smoked my pipe outside a local establishment where I had some Scotch and water sitting on the counter. A personal mixture of over eighty percent aged pressed red Virginia and three percent, more or less, Perique tobacco. It was totally lovely. An antique fragrance perfumed the night-time air, the fog showed glowing areas in the middle distance, and every light had a nimbus .....

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