I’m beginning to think that my computer crashes are actually a good thing.
Why? Because it encourages me to stop playing video games for once and be more sociable online instead.
And that’s a good thing. The more positive social input I can get, the better. Right now, it’s all text based (damn microphone not working) but I am going new places and doing new things and these things do involve other people, so it’s all for the better.
So I now poke around on Instagram and Blue Sky. Of the two, I prefer Blue Sky as it doesn’t automatically play video when I mouse over them like Instagram does.
I wish I could set a global “never automatically play anything” flag on my computer so that all apps and sides know to wait until I tell you to play that video”.
There might be a way to make that happen in Instagram’s settings.
I will look into it.
And last night I managed to do what seemed impossible : I found a Discord server where people were actually talking.
Thank frigging god. I was getting serious liminal chills.
It’s called Paradise Paws and it seems quite lively, with many active channels and a pretty good system of moderating bots and other necessities of modern online life.
So I actually text chatted with total strangers last night and it was loads of fun.
It helped that these total strangers were furries, of course. It would have been a much harder row to hoe if I had to deal with normal people.
But some day, I will venture into some sort of normal person online space and do my best to get along with them, too.
I suppose Instagram and Blue Sky are not filtered by furriness, so I am dealing with normal people there.
But I try not to think about that.
To me, they’re just strangers who can type.
And the best thing is that in these environments, you ARE your words. You are free of all your accidents of birth and can express yourself however you like and maybe even be the person you’ve always wanted to be.
Like me, with Fruvous.
So while this is, in fact, an increase in social stimulation, it’s in a small enough dose and a safe enough form for me to use it as the next step up in my journey to unlock my full and natural self and be happy, gregarious, charming, adorable person I once was a long time ago, before I was raped.
That wall inside me has to go. It is the beating, throbbing, bleeding heart of all my problems and the more I tear it down, the saner I will be.
I am, in fact, a pretty amazing dude. One that has no reason to fear interacting with others because he is genuinely likable and in fact rather remarkable.
I am an academic genius, after all.
I can’t help but hear that in a Wile E. Coyote voice in my head.
I have physical issues. And I am not just talking about the mysterious illness destroying my arms and legs.
The dyspraxia and major brain fog are also handicaps. They make it so I can’t quite function like other people do, and that gets me down sometimes and fills me with a very deep sense of shame.
But fuck that. I have plenty of other gifts. I might be a tad overspecialized in certain areas and abnormally weak in others, but that’s where genius comes from.
And nobody is good at everything.
I seem to have enough good attributes that people want me around.
And what else do you need, really?
Grumble mutter curse!
It was call it that or try to transliterate a growl.
So I order me some pasta from Pizza Hut. Creamy chicken alfredo. Good stuff.
The problem starts when the driver shows up. She calls up on the building phone, which is what she is supposed to do, and that building phone still has the worst audio connection the Earth has ever known, so I couldn’t hear or understand her.
So she hangs up, and a couple of minutes later, she calls back, and I can tell by the clarity of the audio that she is now on her cell phone.
Once more, I try to explain to someone that I can’t let them in the building while I am talking to them on the phone.
I only have the one phone line.
There is a pause after I stop talking, and I know in my soul that she did not listen to or understand a word I just said.
Then she says, in the voice of someone who is retarded and/or a toddler, that she has another order and she has to go.
I’m still hoping against hope that she caught what I said.
But no. I look up my order on DoorDash and there it is, a picture of my beloved pasta sitting alone and forlorn OUTSIDE THE FRONT DOOR OF BUILDING.
God fucking damn it.
Who knew modern conveniences could be so stressful?
So I do the usual complaint and get the usual refund. So I am at least not out any money. And I decide to pivot and order me some Burger King instead.
Got the Bacon Whopper Melt again. Very tasty. I do love that flame broiled taste.
Even if it’s probably mostly chemical.
That leaves one matter : there’s still my pasta sitting out there in front of the god damned apartment building.
So I called up Julian to ask him to get it for me when he comes home from hanging out with Joe and his parents like he does every Saturday night.
Sadly, it will no longer be in an edible state by then. Alfredo means dairy and dairy means do not eat after it’s been sitting outside in the elements for three or four hours.
I dunno. It might still be good. It depends on whether or not Alfredo has cream in it as well as the cheese.
But I don’t think I will risk it.
I am proud of myself for ending my complaint to DoorDash with, “I am very angry!”.
Yay, I expressed anger!
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.