Underneath my yellow skin

Tag Archives: neurospicy

Triple AAA–Zzzzzzzzzzz, part two

I’m not sure where to put this because I’m going to talk more about AAA v. indie games, but I want to jump of that into talking about how I think about things in general. And why I have felt so deeply while playing Schrödinger’s Call (Acrobatic Chirimenjako). Add to that why I feel like nothing playing most AAA games. Oh, and just to get even spicier, why I don’t like most soulslikes even though I adore most FromSoft games.

While I’m at it, I’ll make the connection between my preference for indie games over AAA games and my preference for indie movies (when I even watch them) over Hollywood movies. To be fair, the last–no, the second-to-last blockbuster movie I’ve seen is–well, no. Let me rephrase that. The last superhero movie I saw in the theater was The Last–er, Guardian sof the Galaxy, and much to my surprise, I really enjoyed it.

After that, I saw Knives Out, which was hyped to an unbelievable degree. And which I was quite looking forward to. Even after seeing the trailer, which I did not like. Look.  I went into the movie excited because I love Agatha Christie. I love huge ensemble whodunnits, and this was supposed to be the next big thing. When I saw the trailer, well, my enthusiasm dipped dramatically. All the cast members were excellent, but there was something amiss. I hated the way the trailer was cut, and I did not enjoy the dialogue at all.

I crashed while writing this, so I’m picking it up today. My sleep has been all over the damn place.

Back to Knives Out. I did not like the first movie by this direction. Rian Johnson. Brick. I found it pretentious, ponderous, and laborious. I did not enjoy one second of it, and I did not understand the hype at all.

I was willing to give him a chance with tihs movie because, well, I’m a slow learner in some ways. I so want a new Poirot (with less British colonialism, please or if it’s another Poirot, an actual Belgian actor), I was willing to overlook my initial doubts about the trailer. I enjoy an ensemble cast, and this one was star-studded. Yes, the trailer had highly-stylized dialogue and hyper-cuts that made me wince, but I tried to put that aside.

More doubts began to creep in when the director made this big deal about pleading with the reviewers not to give ‘the secret’ away. After watching the movie, I have no idea what he meant by that. If he meant the perp, well, I sussed that out the first time I laid eyes on them. I said, “This person did it”–whatever ‘it’ was, and I sincerely hoped it wasn’t the case.

But, alas, two painful hours later, it turned out to be exactly the case.

Look, the cast was fantastic. Jamie Lee Curtis chewing up the scenery gave me so much life. But that was the only thing I liked about the movie. I was so disappointed in the rest of the movie.


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Thinking about how I think, part five

I’m still thinking about my thinking and what parts of it I want to/think I’m able to change. In yesterday’s post, I talked about my unending difficulty in getting to bed at a reasonable time. It’s something I’ve struggled with all my life, and any time I think I might have a handle on it, I don’t. It’s the hardest thing I’ve done in my life, quite frankly (trying to get a decent sleep schedule), and I don’t know if I can actually do it.

Huh. This is the first time I’ve actually admitted that.  Let me clarify. By “it”, I mean getting to  bed at 2 a.m. every night. I think even 3 a.m. is pushing it. I have said for many years that it’s possible while I continue to not do it. Most emphatically not to do it. Right now, I’m getting to bed around seven to eight, which is the latest I’ve ever done.

As for eating, I’m also in a pretty bad rut. I’ve been DoorDashing way too much as it’s way too convenient. I hate cooking. I see it as a huge waste of time, especially as I live alone. I don’t mind eating the same thing several days in a row, so I get the idea of cooking in batches. But it’s still so much work for such little return. I hate all the prep work so much. But, I can do simple things when I put my mind to it. Like pasta and sauce, scrambled eggs, and salads. The last isn’t cooking, obviously, but it’s still more effort than I actually want to make.

Here’s the thing. It’s really hard to separate to stop thinking of myself as lazy because it’s what I’ve been told all my life. Seriously. How the fuck hard is it to put a simple salad together? I can even buy the bagged lettuce for fuck’s sake. It is literally buy the bag of lettuce/spinach/whatever and a bottle of  dressing. Yes, I can add tomatoes to make it even better. If I’m very ambitious, I’ll buy an avocado and let it rot. This is the problem. I have all the good intentions in the world, but that means jackshit at the end of the day if I don’t actually eat them.

I have a dozen eggs sitting in the fridge right now. I bought them several days ago with the intent to make breakfast sandwiches. People in the Discord were going on and on about them, and it inspired me. I like eggs, and I can actually make a good omelet/scrambled eggs. I put in fake cheese, some kind of veggie, and sometimes chicken or ham. It truly is simple and doesn’t make time at all. Oh, sometimes I put lactose-free sour cream in it as well.

I have yet to make anything with the eggs. They are sitting guiltily in my fridge, and I am aware that time is running out. Will I make anything with them before I have to toss them? Who knows? If I don’t, then I’ll feel so bad when I throw them out. And yet.


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Poking more into my brain, part four

Arrrgh. How am I here yet again?! I have a friend, A, who gently pokes me to go to bed early. It’s a positive thing on her part, and I call her my reverse-alarm. She poked me around 4 p.m., and I said I was aiming to go to bed by 4 a.m. I mean, that seemed reasonable twelve hours ago. Twelve hours was so much time! And yet, here I am ten minutes before said time, and I am nowhere near ready to go to bed. Four in the morning was a reasonable time for me to set as a goal for going to bed. Unfortunately, I fucked around too much and I found out that I am once again not quite ready to go to bed.

I know being frustrated with myself won’t help. Indeed, it just makes things worse because of the shame spiral, but I can’t necessarily stop myself, either. I get others being frustrated with someone who can’t do something on time, but there’s no way they’re more frustrated with that person than that person is with themselves.

I hate that I let hours slip by while I do nothing worthwhile. It’s not like I’m curing cancer or anything important like that. I’m usually fucking around on the internet or playing games or watching videos. None of that is enrichment for the brain, and I could easily chop off three-fourths of it all.

I know that it’s the way my brain works (or doesn’t), but it’s so fucking frustrating. I want my brain to be normal for once. It’s not something I would usually say, but let me experience it for one day, please. Actually, no, don’t. If I only got to feel it for one day, then it was whisked away from me, I would be displeased, no matter what.

If I preferred how I felt when I was normal, then I would be forever sad that I had to give that up. Unless they erased my memory of it once I returned to my normal. Then, fine. whatever. But why would I bother doing it if I could not remember it? What’s the point in that? If I preferred how I was as a weirdo rather than being normal, then I would be doubly mad at all the people judging me after I lived as aa normie for the day.

Having said all that, I would probably do it if it was on offer because I am incorrigibly curious. It’s one of the best and worst things about me, as with many of my traits. I don’t half-ass anything. If I’m going to do it, I’m using my full ass. It’s not much, but it’s more than it has ever been–thanks to Taiji.

Back to eating. Here’s my post from yesterday in which I talk about how I eat (and don’t)–which is not “normal”. I have said in the past that I know most of my flaws. I know the ones that are worth trying to fix and the ones that aren’t. for exmple, I am a huge procrastinator. I work to the back end of a deadline, and I’ve made my peace with that.


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How my brain does what my brain does, part three

I’m back to talk more about how my brain works (or doesn’t). I’m happy to know that it isn’t completely broken, but I still can’t help but think it’s somewhat broken.

For example. I have no hunger signals. I know that I broke my hunger meter at some point after many years of struggling with eating disorders. I thought that was the only reason, but I learned recertly that autistic people have many difficulties with eating. One, the sensory issue. Weirdly, I have very few textural issues with food. I do have a ton of sensitivities, though. I’m gluten-free and dairy-free, and I have to be careful with onion and garlic (much to my dismay. I’m Asian! Garlic is in almost every dish we have). I also think I have an issue with cauliflower, but I don’t want to test it.

Before I get into it, I just want to say that I talked about gender roles and how rigid they are in different countries, but in different ways in yesterday’s post. Now back to eating.

You know all those articles that tell you to listen to your body when it comes to eating? That intuitive eating is best? I say this with absolutely no snark–that’s a good idea if you can’t do it. I just can’t.

First of all, I am not hungry when I wake up. I’ve said this several times. I don’t eat breakfast or for several hours after (except for one bite of something approximately twenty minutes after I get up because I have a medication I need to take with food AND a medication I need to not take with food. So I take the latter with the other med I take daily in the ‘morning’ (I have one other I take at night) and then take the one I need to eat with food twenty minutes later. If I remember it all).

There’s a narrow window of time in which I have to eat something or I simply will not. And this is where I differ from the intuitive eating philosophy. Again, I want to emphasize that I think it’s better to be intuitive about eating–but it’s also better to actually eat.

Another thing that I can’t do is three square meals. I just quickly Googled, and it seems that after much debate three meals a day may be better for you than snacking throughout the day (as long as you don’t eat a huge meal late at night), but I just can’t do that.  I eat one big meal in the middle of my day (which can be anywhere from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m., depending, and then I eat here and there.

There’s a saying for new parents–fed is best. This is because there’s a raging feud over breast-fed v. bottle-fed, with virtual blood being spilled on both sides.

I have to embrace fed is best, as messed up as that may sound. Otherwise, I won’t eat. Like, I did not eat an actual meal today until 2 in the morning. That’s not good, I know, but that’s just how it goes sometimes.


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More thoughts in my brain, part two

I have more thoughts about society and how my brain works. Strap in because this is going to go places. I don’t know which places, exactly, but we’re going to go to them. Maybe. You know how I do. I may end up somewhere completely different; we shall see. In yesterday’s post, I was all over the place. I eventually talked about not getting gender on a cellular level. No, that’s not how I put it, but it’s what I meant.

I’ve been tinking about it a lot lately for several reasons. One, because of *waves at world around me*. Two, because of my dip into Kpop as I mentioned in yesterday’s post. Gender roles are very prescriptive and proscriptive (as they are in many countries), but in a somewhat different way than it is in America. Granted, this is a very niche area in the first place (Kpop). I don’t know for sure, but I would wager than men in Korea who aren’t in the arts probably don’t–well, I just looked it up, and I was wrong. Men in Korea do shave their body hair. It’s the standard over there.  It’s considered dirty unkempt to have body hair, apparently. Which is funny because many Asian people have very little body hair. I don’t, and I haven’t shaved anything since I was in my early twenties.

As for makeup, that’s much less common, though a chunky minority(roughly 16%) wear it for special occasions. About 4% wear it daily. Interesting. I say it’s interesting because in general, at least from the Kpop I’ve seen (mostly Stray Kids, but I have watched other groups), there is less of the overt muscular masculinity, even though there is some of that, and more of a cute vibe. In fact, theat’s part of the culture–adults acting cute as social lubrication.

It’s been a really interesting look into how another culture does gender–and it’s another culture in which I would not feel welcome. I’m saying this as a person of Taiwanese descent. It’s not the same as Korea, obviously, but there are some similarities. The honorifics based on gender. The veneration of age. The rigid gender stereotypes. I will note that I have not been to Taiwan in a decade and a half, so I can’t speak to how it is now. But when I was there, I got a lot of shit for not fitting their idea of what a girl/woman should be.

The first time I went was when I was ten or so. Taiwan did not have a taboo about talking about weight. I had more than one cousin I had just met for the first time tell me how fat I was. You can porbably guess that this made me feel really good about myself. My mother put me on my first diet when I was seven. And she nagged me about my weight until I put my foot down when I was in my late thirties. I told her explicitly that she could not mention my weight. Or health, for that matter, because she would use health as a cover for weight.

I know I’m going to dip out of Kpop at some point because the environment is not healthy for me. Also, I know that it’s a world that I most definitely do not fit in. I mean, that’s all worlds so far, but this is the one I’m currently interested in.

This is my life, by the way. I stay in a space for as long as it’s tolerable for me, and then I move on. I know there is no place that would feel 100% comfortable (because that’s life), but I would settle for 50%. Maybe even 40%. I also would like to know if others feel the same way.

Here’s the thing. Any time I’m in a crowd, I’m keenly aware of just how different I am, and it’s been that way my whole life. It’s because I’m several deviations away from the norm, and it’shard to find a middle ground. Let’s list them out. I’m queer  (bi), Taiwanese American, areligious, agender, able to think about things on several different levels, and that’s just the start of it. I don’t wantto be in a long-term relationship, and I’m ethically nonmonogamous. I am looking to date again, but just for sex. I would love a fuck buddy who I could call two or three times a week–have a laugh and a few tumbles in the hay, and then send them home again.

I don’t believe in marriage. I mean, I know it exists–I’m not saying it doesn’t. But it’s just not for me. As for kids…the less said about that topic, the better. I’ve talked about it enough–you know what? No. I am going to get into it.

When I was in my early twenties, I realized I did not have to have children. I grew up assuming I was going to have them because that’s what you did as a woman. You were for breeding and spawning and anything else was extraneous. That’s what my mother and her very sexist evangelical Taiwanese Christian church had me believing, and American society did not do anything to dissuade me of that belief.

So when I realized that I could actually choose not to have children, it was the best decision of my life. I was so excited about it, I shared it with anyone who wanted to know. And, boy, did a lot of women want to know. So many woman. So much questioning. Ugh. If I could go back, the one change I would make is that I would have kept my decision to myself. I naively thought that it was a small thing that should not matter to anyone. In reality, I got a lot of shit for deciding not to have children.

See, this is yet another way in which my brain is broken. I thought, “This is a decision that doesn’t affect anyone but me. No one is going to care.” I was so, so, so wrong. for some reason I still don’t completely understand, many women* were heavily invested (and, sadly, still are) in propping up the ‘a woman’s purpose is to have children’ bullshit and took it REALLY personal when someone like me came along. More tomorrow.

 

 

*Yes, only women in this case. Men at the time wnated to avoid getting me preggo because they wanted to get in my pants. A gross generalization, but not far from off.

 

Why my brain doesn’t brain, part six

I want to talk more about how my brain works–or doesn’t. In the last post, I went way off the tracks as is my wont, and I never really made my way back to the main road. Who knows if I’ll do the same thing today? (I will. I always do.)

I was talking to my mother tonight, and she was lamenting that she hadn’t been shopping in a real store in such a long time. Nor does she really feel comfortable shopping online. She was castigating herself for not doing the former, putting it in very negative terms. I was saddened for her because of the huge amount of shame she was carrying because of it. And I understood because I did the same thing to myself more often than not.

She was shaming herself and saying she was getting agoraphobia as a reason for not going shopping. I stopped her and said that she had a lot to deal with, so it made sense that it would be harder for her to go shopping. In other words, it didn’t always have to do with mental health. This was something I had a hard time deciphering. Sometimes, it was my mental health issues acting up. Sometimes it’s something that anyone in the situation would do. And sometimes, it’s just the way my brain works.

In other words, it’s not always a mental health issue–though sometimes it can be, of course. Anwdn it’s not always my particular way of thinking. Sometimes, anyone would react in the same way in the same situation. It’s just hard to tell when I’m used to defaulting to there’s something wrong with me.

One thing I talk about with A is how to decide which flaws I want to actually change and which I’ve accepted. This is getting past the point of shaming myself for everything I think of is wrong with me. For example. I work to the back of a deadline. My mother and I used to have friction over this when I did editing for her. She would give me a date, and I would assume that was the date she wanted it by. It was usually a date far in the future, so I would file it in the back of my brain and move on.

A week or two later, my mother would ask how it was going, and then  be not happy when I said I hadn’t even started. We did this song and dance for far too long (Midwestern and Taiwanese cultures at work here) until I finally brought it up to her. She said that the date she gave me was the ‘last resort’ date. Secretly, she wanted me to get it to her about a week or two after she sent me the piece to edit.

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My brain and me, part four

Let’s talk more about how my brain is weird. I’ll give a very recent example. Tonight (last night? About five hours ago), my carbon monoxide detector/smoke alarm went off. I thought it was four quick, sharp (and loud) beeps in rapid succession while the lights flashed green. I looked it up, and four beeps meant CO. Before I go any further, here’s my post from yesterday.

I’ve had one go off before, and it was because it had reached the end of its life. I read a lot of conflicting information about the beeps, but I finally decided that calling 911 and just explaining the situation as I did the last time was probabl yfor the best. Three policemen came, and I explained what happened. We tested the detector/alarm (I had put the two batteries in wrong, so we put them in the riht way and tested it.) It was actually beeping five times. We counted several times. That meant it was at the end of its life, but why is it so close to the actual alert for CO, I don’t know.

They checked the gas levels all over my house, and there was nothing. The lead cop told me to buy a new one (I only had one) and to monitor how I was feeling. I knew the basics–flu-like symptoms, dizziness, etc. The lead cop told me that I really don’t want to turn chherry red.

I’m not overly concerned, but there is a nagging thought in the back of my mind that maybe there is gas somewhere. And I should have tried harder to get the detectors (I’m getting them tomorrow morning). I don’t think that’s so unusual, but I don’t know.

That’s the worst part of having a weirdo brain. Not knowing what is normal and what isn’t. I don’t think this is that unusual (to be worried even though there’s no real reason to). The higher the stakes, the more the worry explodes. And even though the chance of dying from CO poisoning is minimal, it’s impossible to detect except for with a detector.

I don’t know if I’m overreacting or underreacting. Or maybe just reacting? It’s so hard for me to gauge. Also, I’m tired AF because I only got three-ish hours of sleep last night. So knowing whether I’m fatigued or not is not that possible. I was joking with the lead cop that who wasn’t fatigued these days? He had a girlfriend and a child, so he knew all about tired.

He sent his cohorts back to the cop shop to get the CO monitor, and we chatted while they were gone. I learned about his prior jobs and how he ended up in New Brighton on the night shift. It was a nice little chat, and I proved I can be normal when I need to be. Granted, I had a vested interest in keeping the cops on my good side, but still. I was able to talk like a normal person, and that felt good.


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Me and my brain, part three

Let’s talk more about me and my broken brain. I say that with my tongue firmly in my cheek, but I still half-believe it. Or rather, I know that I think very differently than most other people. I have accepted that, and I’m mostly ok with it. The hardest part is when I say something that I think it totally vanilla and get an outsized reaction to it. That’s when I completely retreat into myself and shut down. I hate when I’m trying my very best, and it’s still not good enough.

Which, honestly, is how I feel most of the time when I interact with the normies. I’m always calibrating what I should say and what I shouldn’t. And usually erring on the side of not saying something if it’s even close to questionable. That’s why I’m miffed when I say something that I consider safe and then I get shit for it, anyway. Oh, and here is my post from yesterday before I go any further with this post.

You know what’s also frustrating? Neurotypical people saying that everyone has to mask or hide parts of their true selves at work (or other times). While it’s true that everyone has to mask to o certain extent, it’s the extent and amount of effort that matters. And it’s discounting how much more neurodivergent people have to mask than normies.

Side note: I could say that about any minority, by the way. It’s a point I wish normies would truly internalize. Minorities have to go the extra mile-and-a-half past where they (the normies are) just to be considered equal. Plus, we always have to make the calculation of how much of ourselves we can show. In some ways it’s better now than it was when I was in my twenties, but in many ways, it’s much worse.

One of the big ones is queer issues, especially trans issues, obviously. It’s horrifying how quickly and viciously the current administration is attacking civil rights for queer people. Every time I check the news, they are trying something or the other to do harm to me and my kin. It’s reached the point where I don’t want to hear anything on the news because it’s just going to make me angrier.

I was talking in the Discord I’m in about dating. I mentioned that I haven’t dated in quite some time in part because the last two times I thought about dating, rather big events interrupted that train of thought (the pandemic and me dying (twice!), respectively). I know it’s superstition, but I’m worried about trying for a third time.

Also, I’m overwhelmed every time I go on the apps. There is just so much there, I don’t really know what to do. One person in the Discord suggested doing backstage steps first. Such as writing out what I was looking for to make it clearer in my mind. I told her that was what actually worked for me, anyway. Breaking things into micro-steps, I mean.


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How my brain works (or not), part two

For the first forty years of my life, I thought my brain was broken. I didn’t think like other people, and for the first few decades of my life, I thought that meant there was something wrong with me. It didn’t help that I had very old-fashioned Taiwanese parents who were more than willing to criticize every aspect of me. I was too loud, not feminine enough, too fat, just too much in general. Here is the post I wrote yesterday in which I wrote a lot about politics. Which is a side tangent, but also not a side tangent. Which I also said in the post.

I thought I was worthless and broken when I was a kid until I was in my twenties. Hm, scratch that. It was until my mid-thirties. Then, I started taking Taiji, and that helped me feel better about myself in agonizingly tiny incremental steps. It wasn’t until about five years ago after my medical crisis that I realized I was probably autistic (with the help of a friend who was also autistic).

I thought I couldn’t be because of how strong the stereotypical depiction of an autistic person as a young, hapless, white man who stims, can’t look people in the eyes, and makes clueless comments all the time is so pervasive. Oh, and that he has little to no empathy. It’s the last one that made me think I had no chance at being autistic. For several years, I thought that I might have ADHD because that fit better. The lack of focus until I hyperfocus. The scattered attention. Those were the main ones.

I knew there was something wrong with my brain–I just wanted to figure out what it was. This is one of the arguments I’ve had with K. She thinks that there is too much emphasis on…how do I phrase this correctly? We are both proponents of mental health awareness. She’s just less enthused about how much it’s emphasized now. She said we dealt with it as kids and figured things out. I pointed out in a snappish tone that some didn’t figure it out. Like me.

I spent so many years thinking it was me when it mostly wasn’t. I mean, it’s always partly one’s one fault because no one is perfect. However, the way I thought was not my fault–or rather, it wasn’t because my brain was broken or wrong–it was just different. And had I been told this when I was a kid, I would have had a much easier time in life.

You would think that having a psychologist as a mother would have made these things much better for me, but that would only be true if she was a good psychologist. Which, sadly, was not true. Her flaws as a human being interfered with her ability to be an effective psychologist. In fact, she went back to Taiwan so she could escape some of the constraints she faced here in America. Like mentioning religion in a session.

Honestly, the vast majority of my self-esteem issues stem from her constant and persistent criticism of every part of my being. I cannot name a single thing she liked about me when I was a child. I was never enough, and she pushed me to do a wide variety of things I didn’t want to do. Like a typical Asian mom, my brother and I had to take music lessons. I did piano for a few years and then cello for eight or nine years. dance lessons for twelve, and I played ping-pong, volleyball, and softball. Not on a league, but just played them. Oh, and tennis.


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The fluidity of Taiji and me

Before I start the actual post, I want to complain a bit about Word Press. The post I wrote yesterday did not get published on time, and I don’t know why. This has happened more than once, and I think it has something to do with lag. It’s Chrome. I don’t know why it’s all fucked up, but it might be time to change browsers again. I remember when it was fast and sexy. Now it’s sluggish and annoying.

Anyway. I was talking about habits, schedules, rigidity and Taiji in yesterday’s post. And neurodiversity. Taiji is really good for me because it challenges the part of my brain that gets stuck in routines.

It’s tricky because habits are good, especiallywhen you’re starting a new skill. But there’s a thin line between a healthy routine and stagnation. I can tell when I’m practicing when I’ve crossed that line. It’s a feeling in my body, and it’s hard to explain.

Taiji is alive, and ideally, you should practice while being rooted in the present. Your brain should not be thinking of what you need to do next or that fight you had with your partner last night or anything like that.

Most people have difficulty with that, including me. I have anxiety, so my brain is always scrambling all over the place. Taiji has helped with that, I must say.

My teacher has said that everyone’s minds are gaing to wander. There’s no point in castigating yourself for it. Simply note it and bring your mind back to the present.

In yesterday’s post, I mentioned that I am evenly split between needing a schedule and doing something impulsively. I like routines, but then if someone suggests doing something on the supr of the moment, I’ll be happy to do it (if it’s something that interests me).

It’s one reason I really like being friends with K. She is much more imuplsive than I am, so I have ended up doing things with her that I wouldn’t have done otherwise. For example, her brother was in a band who were performing in two days in Kansas City. Missouri, I think, not Kansas. So she, andother mutual friend, and I drove down there. Or rather, she drove and the mutual friend and I rode in the car. K loves driving, which works for me because I hate it.

We stopped at a seafood restaraunt and then got to the hotel with about an hour to spare before the concert. I flirted my ass off with the bassist and got his orange-lensed sunglasses by the end of the night. If we weren’t leaving the next morning, I would have spent the night with him, but I needed to be somewhat responsible with my time. Also, the fact that K and our mutual friend was there. It’s not nice to ditch your friends for a booty call.


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