Overwhelmed.

Overwhelmed. That one word probably is the exact summation of how I feel. It's too much. It's just too much. How can one person handle all of this? Well, a normal person probably can. Normal people do. Normal people handle much more, and they're fine. Perhaps that's part of why it's so unbearable? To know that I am and forever will be inferior to everyone else, to know that no matter how hard I try or how much progress I make, I still have that label. Asperger's. This mysterious thing that makes it so much harder for me.

School. School is hard. Well, kind of. The schoolwork isn't hard. The socialization is hard. Just being there seven hours a day is hard. Why is it so hard? Why is something that is just another day for everyone else such a challenge for me? I'm rambling now. This isn't the stress managing exercise I need, it's just a jumble of words. Let's break it down.

School

-Lots of noise. Lots of visuals. Lots of people.

-Social interactions, knowing I'm thought of as the weird kid. Pretending it doesn't bug me, forcing myself to believe it doesn't bug me. It bugs me. It hurts.

-Homework. School is a stressful place. I put in my time. Home is supposed to be safe. I don't want to bring that into home. 

-School doesn't excuse my absences. That means detentions. Detentions mean no Prom.

-Fear that I've bitten off more than I can chew.

Work

-Eats up time. Precious time.

-Feelings of inadequacy. I struggle with these, always have, kind of a side effect of growing up as I have. 

Volunteering at the Humane Society

-Eats up more precious time.

-I thought I could clear off some detentions here, but apparently it's the shelter's stance that working with animals isn't community service.

Life in General

-Not enough time. Not enough time for anything. I can't possibly fit everything into the amount of time I have.

-Troubles sleeping, don't get enough... still wouldn't get enough if I didn't have troubles sleeping.

-Mom. Don't feel close to her. Feel like she's not who she's used to be. I've already mourned the loss of my mother in a way. I'm also not gonna lie, the fact that she gets everything handed to her pisses me off.

-Pat. Worried about Pat. She's getting old, this is too much for her. I feel like she's just going to simply lose the will to live. 

I feel like I'm held up to a complete double-standard to my mom. Pat pays for everything for her. She spends my child support. She expects to live out her days perfectly supported by someone else's money.

I go to school. I go to work. I do the best I can. I get amazing grades. And yet, still... I'm told I'm not good enough. I don't do enough around the house. I spend my money stupidly. I'm just generally awful.

I feel like I've just lost the will to do anything, including continue writing this... 

See you in another 8 months.

People suck.

I hate people. People are crazy. If you expect me to like you, I expect you to be a good person, this means:

1) You don't feed or instigate constant drama.

Seriously, what the fuck is going on in your head that benefits from ensuring that you do your damn hardest to act like a high schooler, are people that fucked up in the head that they think this helps?

2) You realize that other people have shit going on too, you're not the only person.

Just because I move on and don't let shit build up (or try to) and I put on a happy fast, fun and friendly face doesn't mean your shit is worse than mine. I have plenty of fucked up stuff going on, I just don't feel the need to broadcast it or mope about.

3) You're not an uptight prude.

The word "fuck" will not hurt you, I promise. It is, in fact, more versatile than your face. Topics that are not squeaky-clean will also not hurt you.


IN CONCLUSION. You know what? Fuck you, I think the Aspergians are the normal ones and the rest of you fuckers are loons. We don't pick up on social cues because shit should be BLACK AND WHITE AND CLEAR AS DAY, would make life a lot easier.


I recommend a Blended Raspberry Mocha Chai this week.

The Machines of Evanbucks

Because I'm just that amazing, I'm going to tell you the products we use here at Evanbucks, this is very prestigious and expensive shit.

This is the Mr. Coffee Espresso-Steam-Cappuccino-Does A Lot machine. It will steam the fuck out of your milk, ignoring every crazy completely legit company policy it encounters.

This is the Mr. Coffee Cafe Frappe. It can blend your fucking face off, but it won't because it's a good little kid. You put the coffee/espresso and water in the top, ice and the add-ins in the blender pitcher and hit "Frappe" and it makes that shit.

You need one of these.

Target's got a special going on that if you buy one you get a $20 gift card until Saturday.

This is a HamiltonBeach bean grinder. It will chop your beans into powder without remorse. You can tell how badass it is because of it's slick design and color. Don't fuck with it.

And, of course the syrups, powders and coffee beans come from Starbucks. Duh.

Alright. Well, here's my blog. I've officially done everything I need to do in life.

This is going to be the "disclaimer" post. I'll do my best to outline for you the tone of this baby blog.

First, let's start with me.

This will probably be the only post showing a hint of human emotion, I keep them guarded as they are in short supply.

I am also a heavy user of sarcasm font, if you feel offended or that you should feel offended but are laughing to hard to be offended, assume it is written in sarcasm font.

This blog may be updated daily or may go untouched for weeks. I may not even touch it after this post. I'm guessing it will be a cycle.

I have a fucking goddamn pottymouth and often swear, this is something you will have to live with or leave. I'm not forcing you to read this.

I love everyone, except some people, and you know who you are.

I work at Target (hopefully) and my heart fucking beats red and khaki. Expect many references to this.

I love coffee, namely Starbucks. If you haven't guessed.

I also own a cow costume, it's taken on a life of its own.

Now let's move onto you.

You need to read this blog.

You need to comment on the posts.

Also, Tom wants you to know that he loves penis vagina.