I’ve worked as a computer technician for a hospital for about six years. A couple of weeks ago, though, the big boss at the office told me that until January 12, I would be programming instead. I’m a trained programmer, not that it necessarily means anything; some of the best programmers in the world are mostly self-taught, and I’ve certainly learned more on my own than from any course. In any case, working these past few weeks as a programmer for this public health organization has shown me that most of my issues with my job these last six years were due to me being ill-suited to my tasks.

I suppose I’ll have to mention again that I’m autistic, as in literally autistic. Atypical synaptic pruning resulting in idiosyncratic neurological pathways and all that. As permanent as Down Syndrome, but fancier. While many (perhaps most) autistics end up the groaning, hitting themselves kind (not that I don’t groan or hit myself at times), I can sustain a semblance of normalcy, with severe limitations relevant to this matter: I have a hard time handling change and interruptions, noise, bright lights, interaction with human beings, etc. I also have a, let’s put it this way, unstable interior world.

Computer technicians are the firefighters of the computer world: some days very little happens, and other days you’re putting out fires everywhere. The notion of heading to the office and spending seven hours dreading whatever unpredictable problem may come my way grinded on my nerves. Most of those tasks also involve dealing with users, which I fucking hate, as I dislike interacting with humans. Programming, though, is generally blissful: I know in advance what needs to be done, and I’m on my own, building the system so that a computer performs that task. I even do it for fun in my spare time, as you know already if you’ve followed my posts. I’d say I’m a pretty good programmer. In addition, with AI these days, you can do the job of a week in a day.

My issue with my current job has been, unsurprisingly, the human element. I attend meetings almost daily to figure out how to progress from our current point, and all those meetings have been a demonstration on how differently other people’s brains work compared to my autistic brain: for me, the topics jump wildly from one to another, based on logic I can’t grasp. When the conversation seems to be approaching something resembling concrete information, suddenly I have to process interjections or digressions. It’s like trying to keep your toes in contact with the sea floor while the waves keep pushing you around. From time to time I try to steer the conversation in ways I can comprehend, such as, “So, to produce this result, this and this data are relevant. Do I have that right?” I rarely need more than that information, so as far as I’m concerned, the meetings could be reduced to five minute affairs.

I’ve been called “serious” more times that I can count. I even had one random employee of the hospital, who watched me exit a network closet, say, “Ah, I know you, you’re that serious guy from the bus.” I didn’t recognize him, but I guess he takes the same bus to work. I’m a silly bastard, and my interests are generally as unserious as can be, but I guess I have one of those faces. In addition, I barely speak, and when I do, it’s because a point needs to be made. I’m not the person to rely on when you need emotional support, because if I pay attention at all, I probably won’t give a shit. Yes, this would make me a terrible partner and father, and you know what? I refrain from being either. If I had the body to get away with it, and could stand people a bit more, I would have probably been the hit-it-and-quit-it type. Not that it particularly matters, but my bus and train rides are a succession of, “Man, she looks good, really fills out those leggings. Cute face. Damn, that long hair is so shiny and soft. Check out that mommy type; I’d love to see her in some lingerie. I need to squeeze that ass.” Thankfully I spend most of the time looking down at my tablet.

Anyway, what I guess I wanted to say is that I’m doing much better than usual. When I wake up in the morning, I don’t think, as I constantly did, like Ignatius Reilly put it in Toole’s A Confederacy of Dunces: “The day before me is fraught with God knows what horrors.” I read manga on the train (right now Hanazawa’s Boys on the Run; fantastic read), do some programming, attend a meeting or two, then head home to continue exploring of my range of kinks (did one about rescuing a girl from homelessness yesterday; real lovely). True self-exploration kind of deal. I’m also getting triple pay this month due to the holidays’ extra and unspent vacation time. So things could be far worse.

However, things haven’t gone well for people who are technically attached to me. My brother’s dog had to be put down, which caused him to kick a curb and break his big toe. Three or so weeks of medical leave. Just yesterday, my sister’s boyfriend got into a serious car accident and somehow got sent home despite having head trauma, his car having gotten totalled. My parents are old and progressively getting more unhinged. That sort of thing. I’m a detached sort of fellow so I can’t say I take any of it to heart too much. However, my two remaining cats are quite old, and whenever they die, it’s going to fucking devastate me as the previous deaths did; that’s mainly why I’ve decided to never own pets again. I just can’t take the heartbreak. On a fundamental level, I think it’s wrong to raise some creature that you know won’t outlast you; it’s like a perversion of the child-rearing instinct or something.

That’s all for today, it seems.