Sunday, September 2, 2012

Sob Story, Part One

Happy Labor Day weekend, cyberworld.

Like many younger Americans, the exact meaning of Labor Day is deep within a mist from me, so it may or may not be somehow poetic that I'm bringing this up now. And I'm hesitating at the beginning here, considering that, apparently, I really feel that I need to write and post this. At least some aspect of it doesn't seem right. But here it is:

My mother has threatened to kick me out of our house if I should remain unemployed come this month's end.

This, as perhaps you can imagine, is not something I'm having a great time coping with. I've been in my parents' shelter all my twenty-six years. I went to college right across town. I've never known anything else. And despite my mother's half-assed attempts to charge me (her only son) monthly rent for staying here, I'm not the least bit prepared for anything else, and I'm wholly unlikely to make a smooth transition.

Another piece of information that might be useful here: I'm a child of Asperger's Syndrome. Though the affliction was more prevalent in childhood than now, my aversion to minor changes then may perhaps be indicative of my (potential?) aversion to major changes now. Also, it meant that I was not at all social growing up — I wasn't anti-social, I just simply didn't make friends or talk much — the consequence of which is that I have no social group — no clique or niche — that I identify with or conceivably fit in. Though that aspect of me has eased somewhat the last few years, I still nonetheless have no close friends, not even from the last bits of college. Also, I don't drink, which rather robs me of what seems to be the primary means of adult socialization. I have kind of bar-hopped locally on Saturday nights now and then, occasionally casually conversing with a familiar face from days of old and then just awkwardly standing or sitting with nothing much else to say. And, to top that all off, I am an only child. For all the horror stories of sibling torture I've heard, I can't particularly recommend “onlihood”. I might not even recommend first-born-hood, but I suppose our species actually does depend on those. I can sort of approximate a sibling with my only cousin, who is a wonderful perpetuator of peace, love, and a general lack of dysfunction, some three-and-a-half hundred miles away.

Where was I....the Syndrome also means that I take horrendous amounts of time doing certain things that might take non-afflicted people not so much time. Writing is often a good example of such a thing. And I must break now. Back in a bit.

5 comments:

Momo said...

Is it just a threat? Or does she mean it? Keep trying to make progress. Sometimes, some progress is enough to make them happy. Maybe some extra chores? I know you would probably love to have place of your own and I'm sure it will happen someday.

Cheshire Adams said...

Hi Marika. I can't really tell with her. I know I don't like that tone in her voice.

More to come in part two.

Momo said...

Hey Cheshire! Yeah, moms get crazy like that. That was my experience with my mom - they freak out, but I think they back down if you're trying. At least mine did. The advice I give my sister who lives at home and is 25. But, you seem more self aware than her.

Anonymous said...

Sigh, I can relate to many aspects of your story (only child, social situation). I am lucky enough to have a job, but at - shall we say, only a little older than you - am back at home.

Wishing you luck, fortitude, and the connections you so deserve.

Cheshire Adams said...

Cheers, Anonymous.

Momo, I have a hunch that my muddah wants results or nothing....