After getting some of the rest that comes with home time, my mind and body are sound enough to express ideas in writing again without sounding like Dollar Tree’s version of Alexa.
For the most part, driving a large truck across the country is somewhere between boring and mind-numbing. If you’re not enriching yourself with audio books (or paper books if you’re extremely bold) or actively thinking about something, the hundreds of miles to be driven a death clock for your IQ.
The precise deficit of truck driving, however, comes at the benefit of teaching the importance of focus. If you read my past blog posts, you’ll discover that i clearly come from a family heritage of individuals with the attention span of a medium-sized housefly. By applying a focus of driving a vehicle, much of that has burned itself off by virtue that 200 miles away is not as important right now as the next 2 miles if you like keeping your driver’s license.
Like toilet paper when camping or an ear for tone when singing, one individual item can demarcate the difference between success and failure. In this case, the solitude and peace of being isolated in a truck cab on the road has failed to provide an opportunity for me as long as I don’t have a proper laptop to create with.
The importance of creation cannot be understated. Without our ability to make paintings, lawn gnomes and fart jokes, humanity would be like any unintelligent being. Even with a highly sophisticated miracle of engineering like my phone, it wasn’t designed for power-using. Instead, I should use a windows-based OS that allows dragging and dropping items more effortlessly, and the best window-based operating system is, obviously, Microsoft’s iOS.
Editor’s Note: Upon further research, apparently Microsoft has not created iOS. Therefore, I meant to say that the most window-based OS is Apple’s iOS.
In the meantime, this downtime has sometimes given way to the uptimes of forcing meditation time. Due to all of this time, I’ve had plenty of thinking time, and it has wrought many changes over time upon me. In fact, the first time I came home to my Booger Noodles, she had a hard time recognizing how I behaved!
I will endeavor to share most of the thoughts, experiences, failings, etc. in future posts, books, podcasts, YouTube videos and other narcissistic media, but for now I only have one thought to express, and I’ll close with that thought until I have enough money to buy a device that will allow me to write with gusto and pesto about anything I darn well feel like.
I am making a public modification to my previous posts regarding my extended family. As you have probably noticed, I have had a beef with them. Thankfully, this has downgraded to a chicken with them. Hopefully in a year, I’ll be all tofu up in this situation.
My mother has NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder), and you’ll note her lack of a Facebook profile as evidence of it once you combine it with her lack of desire to learn any new technologies ever. She needs formal diagnosis, but the very diagnosis means she will evade the diagnosis, so here we are.
In most non-Hollywood functioning homes, the husband is the voice of reason. My father has decided that it is better to adhere to the absurd demands of an image-obsessed mentally unwell individual over his own common sense, and that has created a morbid fear of the vast and beautiful expanse of Everything Else.
This marriage has never really been healthy. Since we often become more like who we associate with, my father’s latent NPD that lies within all of us individually through our sin condition came into fruition.
About 5 years ago I started blogging about whatever the heck came to mind. My parents’ response was to bring in their usual Shame Train with heavier payloads. Since I didn’t want any bad blood I adapted my writing style, deleted and edited old posts, tore down entire blogs and was very careful about what I said. However, that didn’t yield any affirmation from them that I had actually done anything noteworthy.
3 years ago I started expressing thoughts more articulately and with more devotion to what I truly wanted to say. I had downsized my Pain Yard and rejected most of the loads that came in from them. The result was 3 parts confusion, 1 part bitterness and a dash of something that was almost, but not quite, like spurned love.
Finally, once I started succeeding with completing my 100,000 Tips, publishing my first book, getting into management, having a miniature human with the love of my life and whatnot, their feelings of shattered image were so great that they were incapable of BIRGing with me about literally anything.
However, instead of holding the grudge that I deserve to hold over this rather unfair treatment, I’ve instead decided to publicize the truly miraculous work God has brought into this arrangement before it even got this ugly.
The science has shown that NPD is probably about 5.9% of the population. If you find Facebook annoying, blame that 5.9%. If you post more than 2 times a day on Facebook, you might be that 5.9%!
Contrastingly, ASD (autism spectrum disorder) is about 1% of the population. If ever you find yourself in the geekiest parts of the internet and hear an argument about the colors of lightsabers or which model of tricorder was the most advanced for its time, you’re surrounded by autistics.
If you combine the two, it’s a weird mixture. NPD by nature is obsessed with image, appearance, power from image and looking perfect all the time. ASD is a deficiency in understanding the sociological nuances of image, how power dynamics actually work and a general inability to see the world like neurotypicals see it.
The odds of two NPD’s spawning an ASD are pretty low (0.059% if you put the 2 together), but God provided me with an in-born obsession with strictly what is true to offset their obsession with what everyone sees things as. In fact, now that I’ve grown well into this development, I can faithfully say that I am healthily capable of caring about image to the extent it truly matters, but never more than it can really matter.
In light of this, my extended family will be floundering for years to come as their adult child continues to flex his intellectual muscles, unheeded by the hindrances of implied image impotently imposed on his person. This will come full circle with pepperings of shame and guilt every time I do something that could be risky (which you all know I never do), but it’s worth it to live the good life.
Besides, how many other people can stick accountant, analyst, supervisor, truck driver, published author, dad and site admin on their resume?