Conversation Code




Category: Conversation

Sub-Category: Small talk/gossip

Subject: Mrs Neighbour and her front garden

Response Required? Y/N

...

N

Change subject? Y/N

Y

Y...Y

Change subject? Y/N

(hammers internal keyboard) YYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Subject: Mrs Neighbour and her front garden (continued)

Response Required? Y/N

Y

(respond that if front garden such an issue why not finally confront Mrs Neighbour and solve issue)

Interruption in conversation - restart? Y/N

Y

Subject changed: Successful installation new software patch

Interruption in conversation, error code 33anger2

Subject changed: Mrs Neighbour and her front garden (restart)

Response required? Y/N

...N...

Response request: (empty file)

Response request: (corrupted file)

Response request: (there was a problem opening this file)

Change subject? Y/N

Y

Y (please)

Subject changed: Successful transmittance of relationship advice to new friend

Subject interruption: Broken message, garden, neighbour

Would you like to quit this conversation? Y/N

Y

Are you sure you want to quit? This conversation is still Open.

Y

Quitting conversation failed. Cannot quit.

Response request: (error: distraction code face-change)

Conversation quit successful. Would you like to walk away?

Y

Congratulations! You have successfully Walked Away.


Amanda




My books and writing blog, with free stuff.
Find me on Facebook.and Twitter!

The Disgruntled Aspie



It stands, like a disgruntled bull at the farm gate, watching you as you cross the kitchen. You are followed, the angry eyeballs moving only to track your progress as you tip-toe past on the way to the bread.

'Would you like a sandwich?' you ask, your voice an imitation of innocence. You know your aspie won't have a sandwich, it's the wrong bread, but you pretend not to know and ask anyway, just to break the thunderous silence.

The silence holds, then an exhalation like hornets exiting stage left as your aspie loses the fight between frozen anger and needing to answer a question when it is asked.

'No,' they manage, breathing in, then out, then failing once more to resist routine, 'thank you,' they add, angrier with themselves now as well as you.

You make the sandwich, very conscious of the laser-beam gaze fixed on your back. In trying to pretend normality, you hum a little tune, like you do when you are on your own in the kitchen. Big mistake.

'Stop it!' a strangulated whisper comes from your aspie. Yet another misdemeanor to add to your list. Or their list, you can never tell whose list it is anymore.

'There's yoghurt in the fridge, would you like some?' you venture, feeling awfully brave. If people who understood could see you now, making conversation with a fiery aspie, they would be very proud.

'Ungh!' Your aspie sounds like they just bit their tongue but you are complicit in the ways of such creatures and know the pained squeakish grunt means they are biting back a torrent of flaming fury because you asked another question and now they have to answer it.

'It's cherry!' they gasp, forcing out the reply. 'I don't like cherry!' they add, getting a better hold of their temper and fanning the flames again.

You sigh. This isn't going well. You did hope that by ignoring the steaming firebrand in the middle of the kitchen that you would also avoid the meltdown associated with your terrible crime. But it seems that pretending everything is fine is not going to make this go away.

You sigh again, opening your mouth to say something mollifying, still hoping for salvage.

'It's not like I ask for anything!' The wailing starts from behind and you pause, hand on cheese. 'I only wanted one afternoon to myself!!'

You take your hand off the cheese and look longingly at the waiting bread. Oh well. Turning to face your aspie, you rearrange your face into what passes for I'm Not Going To Lose My Cool and open your mouth again.

Sensing comforting words, the aspie gets in first, keen to stop you from minimising their suffering. 'And I am not making a fuss about nothing!' The hands clench at the sides and the face thrusts forward.

'I know you're not,' you say, accidentally doing an eye roll. As usual, the aspie who notices no expressions ever sees this one thing and takes complete offence.

'Stop rolling your eyes at me!' they shout and turn on their heel, ready for the Storming Out. At the last second, they pause to look back. 'And for what it's worth,' they add, looking justifiably superior, 'I might have wanted to come to the birthday party, if you hadn't sprung it on me.'

The feet march off, the aspe body marches almost in tandem with the feet and the kitchen is clear once more. You turn back to the cheese, thinking how nice it is to have uncomplicated dairy in the room instead of an aspie.

Soon you will have to risk offending them again by re-springing the party invitation. Until then you know to enjoy the quiet time in between, just you and your sandwich and maybe a little glass of something later. With a bit of luck your aspie will sulk all the way through your favourite show and you won't have to swap over to Trucks That Tumble again.

Perhaps tomorrow you could bring up the party? Or maybe the next day? Sometime soon anyway. You have only a month between now and your brother's birthday to convince your aspie to come along. And you know your aspie hates having these things sprung on them.

What was your brother thinking, only giving you four week's notice? Does he not know you need lots of extra time to spoil your aspie's day/afternoon/morning/bedtime? Does he not realise how horrid you will have to be between now and then, with all your awkward silences and making of sandwiches?

Sighing happily, you retreat with your sandwich, pausing a moment to listen for the keyboard clicking in the other room. Safe.

Nodding to yourself, you settle down, ready to recharge for the next time you need to corral your aspie into doing something awful, against their will and just because you want to spoil their day.

Amanda




My books and writing blog, with free stuff.
Find me on Facebook.and Twitter!


Once more, with feeling.




'Do you like it?'

Some bright and wonderful thing is held before my eyes and I take in the iridescent gleam of light bouncing off its surfaces. My eyes sparkle in reflected beauty and my mouth opens to praise it in all its magical glory.





'Hmm, it's nice,' I say, 'I like the sparkles and stuff.'

The gaudy treasure is replaced as my less-than-enthusiastic response renders it unworthy. We move on with me giving backward glances to the beautiful thing and wondering why it remains unbought.

I said it was nice and I said I liked the sparkles but if my opinion was really needed, perhaps it would have been better to pass me a pen and paper instead of asking me to speak my thoughts.

I can love something and sound lacklustre; I can adore and covet a glorious object and only be able to stand, holding it this way and that, revelling in how I feel about it without expressing myself.

And then I can love something and go on about it so fulsomely and endlessly that the other person is turned off it before they have reached the shop door.

If I am in favour of something, it seems to be an irritating fact that I either sound only vaguely interested or as if I am from the Cult of Glitter-Ball Refugees.

The same applies to being told good news. If I am pleased by the news and interested, I might exclaim,

'That's brilliant, well done!'

Most of the time this works quite well, though I never sound as enthused as I mean to; the rest of the time my words will be right but my tone sounds sarcastic.

Why on earth do I have to sound sarcastic so much of the time? Not many people respond well to sarcasm, especially not the ones who want you to congratulate them on something marvellous. You don't want to go through life with a Bill Murray-esque tone at the ready to crush the hearts and minds of anyone with news to share. (Or do you? Tempting, at least half the time).

It only makes it worse if you try to explain you always sound that way, you don't mean it, you really are pleased, and so on. People don't want you to make up for it after the event - that means nothing! They want you to react the right way at the time, because that means your feelings are true.

And there is the problem: people think your first reaction is the true one, so if you sound depressed or bothered or irritated or sarcastic, then that is how you feel about them and what they are talking about. You can't blame them, can you?

Once your brain has caught up with the conversation, you realise how you feel and you can then express yourself perfectly. Or at least sound more enthusiastic. But by then it is too late. Feelings have been hurt or the moment has passed and you are left looking like a Sarcastic Susan or a Terse Terry.

Yes, I like your new hair (now I've had a moment to get used to being able to see your face again). Yes, I like your new car (though why you needed to buy another is beyond me). Yes, I like the pot plant your Aunty Flossie got you that looks like the offspring of a giant alien mixed with a small, ugly dog. And yes, for heaven's sake, I do like your child's rendition of Alice Cooper's loudest and most explicit song, even though she is only ten. Lovely!

So yes, once more with feeling is the way to go when someone asks what you think or how you feel. Instant answers are not always to be trusted (and neither are considered ones, if it involves bad cover songs).

Trust me when I say that most of the time I am not as sarcastic as I sound and that I do appreciate you sharing this with me. Trust me, I can express myself, given the time. Honestly, give me the chance to say it once more and then we can move on.

And please, don't ever ask me about your hair again.

Amanda




My books and writing blog, with free stuff.
Find me on Facebook.and Twitter!