Compusion

I'm back. Hello, honey, I'm home. I imagine you're out there somewhere. Will I wait a lonely lifetime? If you want me too, I will. I hope you're as good looking as Courtney Thorne Smith.

I started getting here about two hours ago because I have something to say about my autism. My illness has different levels of severity. I suffer from a less severe form; asperger's syndrome. What I really want to say as; autism is incurable according to trusted medical practitioners. So I'm relieved to say that we can give up finding a cure and learn to live with what I've got, o merciful one.

This is a killer. So unintentionally cruel. I have an obsessive-compulsive disorder, and my father taught me how to play chess. It's a small mercy that we have empirical ways of measuring how well I'm doing or I never know where I stood, because it's so hard for me to judge my progress in subjective areas like poetry and art. Like some people say some lousy painters produce good art and I just don't see what they mean.

I hate it when I see that I've lost. I hate it when I can see the game is in the balance. I love it when my confidence I am winning rises.

Compulsion, to follow up interesting leads, to do what I am doing now, and to finish what I am doing now before I do what I do do next.

The **** my father says and DOESN'T say is unrepeatable.