[She shows me this "too good to be true" job she found on craiglists]

One of the annoying things about being autistic is that I am compelled to categorize things. In my specific case, my obsession seems to be ensuring that all my mp3 files are tagged properly. While the merely neurotypical may be satisfied with song name and artist (and many NTs probably don't even care enough to tag that much), I try to also get the album artist (which may differ from the track artist), the date of release (not just the year), the current track number, the total track number of the album, the current disc number, and total number of discs, and the BPM.

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I get home and I realize my whole room is re-arranged (and now that I'm awake I realize that the room in my dream is not my current room, but one of the rooms in the house when I lived on Roselyn). I used to have this pretty huge beige desk with two LCDs for my computer, and now it was this little kid's white desk with a single LCD.

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A while ago, I wrote about how I was considering killing myself. People responded to that post. I had started writing a response to their responses, answering the questions that were raised and all that... but I never finished writing that response. My reply was too long, and I didn't have the energy to write it all down. I probably still have that unfinished reply stored somewhere on this computer. I feel a bit guilty about having never posted my response, because it felt like I was just ignoring all the people who bothered to write to me.

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Back when I was doing telemarketing, there was this girl who helped me get the job. I’ve completely forgotten her name now, unfortunately. Anyway, one day at the job, I got pissed for some reason I didn’t remember, and I went on the lunch break, we went to this restaurant in China town, and I took the tea-cup that they use in China town, and I was kinda twirling it around my finger noisily.

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