Monday, November 15, 2021


At this point I have to admit that I don't do the "person" thing well. This may be an Asperger thing, or it may simple be the neurotic patterns common to Dutchmen, pipesmokers, certain types of people I shall not name because I do not wish to get into arguments with old friends who read this, or just kvetchy old men.

During the working day I have to "person", with a spectrum of other people.

Imagine eight hours plus of listening to Grandpa Simpson talking about the time he took the ferry to Shelbyville, called Morganville at the time, because his shoe needed a new heel, and in those days the ferry cost a nickel ... bumblebees, onions, the war ...
Good lord, man, shut the heck up.

After a full day of that, I just want to "unperson" for a while.
Basically, I want my total predictability.
I don't want their predictability.

Asperger folks will often try to explain everything in complete detail, but focussing on the details which to them make everything absolutely clear. Often only to them.

Hufflepuff; they're like the wanker ones who are never mentioned. Dweebs. I now know far to much about Hufflepuff. In great and totally uninteresting detail. Cold, wet, misery, starvation. Like a little dead bird. As a christmas ornament. It's the sentiment that counts. Hufflepuff.

The idea that Hufflepuff is the best house at Hogwarts is incorrect.
No skills, just hard work by unexciting untalented boring people.
A house filled with just plain average middle-class types.

This was exclamatorily expressed to me in several ways by a person who did not realize that the Harry Potter mythos bored me to tears. Repeatedly. At length, painfully, with much detail.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.

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