Life update (04/27/2024)
Check out this post on my personal page, where it looks better
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As of today, I'm thirty-nine years old. Most people out there seem to want to celebrate their birthdays, but I don't: every passing year, I feel increasingly worse regarding my age. In a very real way, mainly due to my neurological handicaps, I doubt I have aged much mentally and emotionally beyond eighteen years old. I didn't expect to live past that age either. But I find myself as a middle-aged person who others have unironically referred to as a "gentleman."
I have felt sick for the last two or three days, as if I've been beaten up, but I can't tell if I have caught something or it's just the mounting stress. Apart from issues at work that refuse to get permanently solved and that keep me dreading the next time some issue will pop up, one I will have to figure out how to solve, I have been put in charge of the maddening task of having to replace about 960 printers in the whole hospital complex. This happens every four years or so due to the contract that our health organization has with the company that supplied the printers. The last time one of our technicians was put in charge of it, he looked miserable every single day, and by the end he refused to continue working as a technician for the hospital, choosing instead to do administrative work somewhere else. I don't even have that choice, as I can't speak Basque.
A few days ago, my boss and I received the delivery driver who was supposed to bring the first batch of printers. The company, instead of hiring a regular van dude, sent a truck driver. He barely filled one-fourth of his trailer with our hundred printers, and his gigantic vehicle struggled to maneuver through the inner roads of the hospital complex. We ended up blocking traffic for a while as we hurried to unload the pallets of printers and guide them through the corridors and elevators to the second story of a nearby building, to put them in storage. Turns out that the stacks of printers didn't fit through some doors, so we found ourselves having to dismantle the stacks and remove the printers one by one. As someone with a heart condition, this isn't something I should be involved in, but someone had to do it.
So, starting from this Monday, I'll find myself, an autistic man who can barely tolerate interacting with human beings, in charge of two younger technicians to coordinate going from department to department convincing the users to let us replace their printers. And because human beings are exasperating like that, I'll have to deal, as I've had to already, with the usual, "If you're changing the printer, why don't you put a color printer instead?" and "Now that you're here, you should solve this other issue I have as well." Some users engage you in conversation because that's what they'd rather do other than work. The more I deal with human beings, the more I'd rather live in the middle of nowhere, growing and raising my own food.
I daydream often about vanishing from the memories of everyone who has ever known me, and for situations in which I've been involved to get magically reorganized so that I wasn't present. It would be such a relief if nobody knew I exist, if I could just drift from place to place anonymously. Nobody would demand from me more than I can give. In such daydreams, however, I tend to end up shacking up with some wealthy mommy type who'd take care of everything in exchange of regular intimacy. As a thirty-nine-year-old man, such a woman would be a bit younger than me, but in my daydreams I'm younger as well.
What else can I say? I may be depressed at the moment. I've been begging the spider goddess to let me die already, but I suppose I have stuff left to create. Other than being left alone, losing myself in creative endeavours has been my main need in this stupid life. I can't produce songs for a while, because I hit the monthly output limit, but I have progressed a bit more on my novella about a long-dead aspiring motocross rider, a story that apparently nobody likes.
Anyway, I'll have to keep my head up and force my aging body to perform what's required of me.
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As of today, I'm thirty-nine years old. Most people out there seem to want to celebrate their birthdays, but I don't: every passing year, I feel increasingly worse regarding my age. In a very real way, mainly due to my neurological handicaps, I doubt I have aged much mentally and emotionally beyond eighteen years old. I didn't expect to live past that age either. But I find myself as a middle-aged person who others have unironically referred to as a "gentleman."
I have felt sick for the last two or three days, as if I've been beaten up, but I can't tell if I have caught something or it's just the mounting stress. Apart from issues at work that refuse to get permanently solved and that keep me dreading the next time some issue will pop up, one I will have to figure out how to solve, I have been put in charge of the maddening task of having to replace about 960 printers in the whole hospital complex. This happens every four years or so due to the contract that our health organization has with the company that supplied the printers. The last time one of our technicians was put in charge of it, he looked miserable every single day, and by the end he refused to continue working as a technician for the hospital, choosing instead to do administrative work somewhere else. I don't even have that choice, as I can't speak Basque.
A few days ago, my boss and I received the delivery driver who was supposed to bring the first batch of printers. The company, instead of hiring a regular van dude, sent a truck driver. He barely filled one-fourth of his trailer with our hundred printers, and his gigantic vehicle struggled to maneuver through the inner roads of the hospital complex. We ended up blocking traffic for a while as we hurried to unload the pallets of printers and guide them through the corridors and elevators to the second story of a nearby building, to put them in storage. Turns out that the stacks of printers didn't fit through some doors, so we found ourselves having to dismantle the stacks and remove the printers one by one. As someone with a heart condition, this isn't something I should be involved in, but someone had to do it.
So, starting from this Monday, I'll find myself, an autistic man who can barely tolerate interacting with human beings, in charge of two younger technicians to coordinate going from department to department convincing the users to let us replace their printers. And because human beings are exasperating like that, I'll have to deal, as I've had to already, with the usual, "If you're changing the printer, why don't you put a color printer instead?" and "Now that you're here, you should solve this other issue I have as well." Some users engage you in conversation because that's what they'd rather do other than work. The more I deal with human beings, the more I'd rather live in the middle of nowhere, growing and raising my own food.
I daydream often about vanishing from the memories of everyone who has ever known me, and for situations in which I've been involved to get magically reorganized so that I wasn't present. It would be such a relief if nobody knew I exist, if I could just drift from place to place anonymously. Nobody would demand from me more than I can give. In such daydreams, however, I tend to end up shacking up with some wealthy mommy type who'd take care of everything in exchange of regular intimacy. As a thirty-nine-year-old man, such a woman would be a bit younger than me, but in my daydreams I'm younger as well.
What else can I say? I may be depressed at the moment. I've been begging the spider goddess to let me die already, but I suppose I have stuff left to create. Other than being left alone, losing myself in creative endeavours has been my main need in this stupid life. I can't produce songs for a while, because I hit the monthly output limit, but I have progressed a bit more on my novella about a long-dead aspiring motocross rider, a story that apparently nobody likes.
Anyway, I'll have to keep my head up and force my aging body to perform what's required of me.
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