Upon a lovely person, well-endowed with wisdom and-from what I've seen-a great deal of tension that I should be trying to do my part to relieve, I am attempting to show this person that I care about them. They already know this. They feel like they are talking to a wall, and I do not always provide enough proof that I am anything but. I admit my fault in these proceedings; while I am certainly moving forward, I do not always take the time to contemplate and recognize how my former reactions have colored perceptions.
While my belief that perception are things based entirely on the moment of which you speak to the person, not everyone sees it that way.
But first, a message; I apologize. I truly and wholeheartedly do so because I do not wish to cause harm or to cause grief in anyway. My intent in my voice is not to be aggressive or dismissive. My intent is to allow you to make your point without interruption from the peanut gallery like myself, who would come up with criticism which does not pertain to the situation at hand nor is pertient. I am attempting to also establish emotional control and social control, allowing others to speak their mind fairly and without interruption. It is also not my intent to blow off your concerns; I just found them unlikely in the context of the situation you had presented, and that I also want to find something to do in writing, but also because I am happy where I am at this moment.
Will it last? Of course not. By historical precedent, nothing ever lasts indefinitely. Education and certain statues certainly last a long time, to that I admit. My education in English Writing was to write, but it was also to set a proper framework from which to communicate with my family and loved ones. To improve as a young adult who is a man (Still young at 25 people. At least that's what I keep hearing.) and to self-advocate my feelings and thoughts to those that matter.
Also, it should be for the record that at one of my jobs, higher-ups are considering me for positions in social work with adults with AS. Perhaps counseling and motivational strength is where my true calling lies just alongside gaming? Only time will tell.
ANYWHO. Those who know who they are, this is for you. Two starting paragraphs I developed for a possible short story.
I'll add more to this as I feel the inclination, and at least expect more activity at this blog in the future. Halfbeard's HUD is a great site to write for, but I wanted to get some creative juices flowing. Reaction summaries and questions will abound this blog. Personal? Sure. Professional? I like to think so. Too personal? Yeah, nice try out there.
Let's get to the main event.
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Max swung on the swings, rolling the peanut butter on his tongue from the Cup as his mother pushed him. He liked the swings because the cold, autumn air between the sides of his arms felt good. Also, there was only his mother and him. Ninny was too small to push in a big-kid swing, and while it would have been fun, Max knew Nanna and Pop-Op didn't like the cold weather. Everyone else was busy with big work or really-big school work. Max liked school; you could think hard and adults smiled at you. Then you thought and worked hard at home and they were still happy the next day.
Adults were more fun to Max. They always had more interesting things to say to one another, and you could learn stuff from them. They also knew how to play games better and read the longer stories in bed. Sometimes Max didn't quite get it, and things got loud and blurry in his head when he felt bad. Still, it was more fun. Kids like him were noisy and ran around a lot. Others were better because they liked games and encyclopedias and television, but they could still be pretty noisy. The running was okay, but they weren't careful. Max scratched his shoulder, but his mom slowed down, so he stopped. Kids weren't careful.
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