Since I’m typing this on a computer, odds are it’s legible. I’m fairly confident it makes sense, too, so that’s a plus, but whether or not it expresses my thoughts accurately is another thing entirely.

And that, as they say, is the rub.

When I was in my twenties I first started hearing from people that I didn’t talk like everyone else, and I took some pride in that. Maybe even too much. Maybe part of it is a family thing since I also heard that my younger sister, who’s still older than me, and I talked alike. But I hoped it was something more than that.

In my schooling I was forced to learn to be specific and clear in my thoughts and how I presented them. That took time and effort, but I ended up thinking that it was something I was good at, unlike many sports, life outside of school, or having any idea what to do with my emotions. I could, when I made the effort, be specfic about things, could replace the way we commonly used speech with less ambiguous words and phrasing, and, I thought, let people know exactly what I was thinking.

I may or may not have been right then, but I’ve I don’t think it’s true any more.

Since that was one of the very few things I’ve ever been proud of, it only makes sense that it’s been removed. I never had much in the way of looks, maybe some boyhood cuteness in my face, but never the type of body that anyone gave more than a first glance at. And, then, only if they had to.

I wasn’t a great student, so I never really thought of myself as all that bright, but I was pretty sure I had a way of thinking that wasn’t ordinary. Just for the sake of argument, I called it “conceptual,” feeling that I was more comfortable thinking in terms of concepts instead of their individual instances, and being far more interested in the ideas of things than their concrete examples.

But that’s not the point, which is good because I doubt it’s very clear. Let’s just say, for example, that I’m more intrigued by talking about the proper role of government (which has no definite answer) than I am about arguing about whether or not our current U.S. president is a dictatorial, tyrannical, socialist Muslim communist or not, at least until they define what the hell it is they mean by all those adjectives.

Anyway, later in life I took up writing the usual kind of things: short stories and tried my hand at a couple novels. I enjoyed it immensely and for awhile, thought I was pretty good at it. When I had something I wanted to say, I thought I had the ability to say it and, more importantly, to let others know what I thinking without getting all confused.

It turns out, if I ever could do that, I can’t any more.

Without much in the way of physical attraction (I liked Edison’s comment along the lines of being concerned with his body only as a way of carrying his brain around), all I had was what was between my ears and behind my eyeballs. I’ve always been eager to be liked and developed a pretty good sense of humor. Sometimes I could actually be really funny, and I enjoyed that. Other times, pretty much no matter the subject, I liked to think that I could add something to the conversation, if only some tangentially related point.

Now, when you think in terms of concepts, you can relate concepts more than what is being talked about so that when people are talking about 1987 Ford pickups, it’s as easy to jump to boats, which also move people around on the planet, as the 1986 pickup. Everyone can do this, and does, but it was very comfortable for me.

None of which matters.

The one thing I was most proud of has been taken, perhaps because of my age and declining mental acuity. Instead of speaking or writing with clarity, everyone gets confused at what I say and this hurts me more than it should. I often have bad dreams where I end up yelling in an effort to be understood, but I feel no one gets what I’m trying to say.

I’m not sure what I should do about this. Yeah, it hurts to see myself as not as capable any more, to be less than I always thought I was. I never prepared for this and am worried that I may never be understood. I still want to be liked, but now I may have lost my best weapon in that fight.

I feel like just giving up. It’s too much to learn all over again, if I ever did know it, and to end up being so completely misunderstood should be a lesson. When all I ever had was words, when those fail me, I’m not sure where to turn.

A year ago today I woke up here in my desert cabin for the first time, and I have no idea how much has changed or was supposed to.

In some ways, of course, my entire life is different but it's also very much the same because, well, I'm still the one living it. The things I do are very much the same, but not what I look at when I can pull my eyes from the computer screen. That's nothing at all like what I saw for the first sixty years of my life and I like the new scenery.

I think the biggest change in me is one of degree, not of kind: I'm just more of what I was. I have less confidence than ever, more insecurity, and an increased sense of not fitting in with the rest of the world. Up here, alone, there's no one to contradict those feelings, so maybe that's why they're growing.

I've done far less to make this place my home than I'd planned to, and I have no idea if that's a good or bad thing. One thing I've noticed is that this first year was spent pretty much putting off doing anything with the excuse being that I wanted to see what the weather was like and to make it through the first year discovering what it would be like to live here. That was an excellent way to procrastinate, and I just about wore that excuse to the bone.

Maybe it was there all along and I'm just using it as an excuse, but I've really taken a hands off approach to life and living. I love it up here and do want to make it my home, but I don't want to be responsible for changing any of it. The bushes, plants, and wildlife were all here before me and I don't want to get in their way. I'm not planning on making any of this the way I want it to be, I want to let it all be and mostly watch and respect it.

I've taken a lot of this, of course, to extremes, but I think that's because one of the things I brought with me from the civilized world was me.

I haven't met very many people up here and haven't yet met anyone I want to spend a great deal of time with. I'm frankly scared of many of them, not of what they might do but that I won't fit in and that they won't like me, anyway. That sort of fear has pretty much ruled my life and, once again, I brought it with me.

Living in the desert isn't very close at all to what I expected, but I came up here with very few ideas about what to expect or what it would be like. It was a place I knew about, had visited and could afford, and that's really the only reason I came up here. I think I'd only seen this area at night before being driven around to look at properties by my real estate agent, so the whole scenery thing was a total surprise. It's not a view of much, I admit, but it's a great place to view the desert and what people have done to it.

The desert, like the world and everything else, is what it is (to be profound), and I don't feel comfortable judging it. It's harsh, except for those of us who live in homes, and I like that. It's patient and minimal, and I like that, too. It's very much different from the city, and I like that best of all.

Sure, I make a lot of problems for myself, but I want to get things right. This bad habit shows up whenever I take one of those surveys that attempt to determine what I'm qualified for, how I think, or how I respond to whatever it is they're checking.

I, frankly, just don't know how to answer many of the questions, and since I'm determined to be truthful in all of my responses, I'm rarely happy with my answers.

The questions, themselves, are simplicity itself and are written to determine my feelings. They often ask me to decide how I feel about something and give me the chance to strongly agree, strongly disagree, or take some less dramatic stance or, by using some similar scale, to mark down how important something is to me.

Like I said, the thing is, I just don't know.

My problem stems from my uncertainty. I may think I'm strongly opposed to something, but I worry that my strong opposition may, in fact, only be a moderate dislike. I think I strongly support some pronouncement, but since I only have my own mind to judge these things by and no true absolute, I'm hesitant to mark an answer that may, in fact, be incorrect.

This sort of thing comes up all the time when I talk to doctors or dentists, too. "How much pain are you in?" seems like a pretty straightforward question, but I have no independent scale upon which to base my answer. I worry, a lot, about if what I consider a lot of pain is something everyone else just shrugs off, so I usually limit my answer to the truthful "I notice it."

This answer, of course, helps the attending doctor and myself not at all, but at least I don't worry if I'm misleading him or her, blowing things out of proportion, or acting like some macho asshole.

It's no surprise that I've lived my life wrong. If we consider getting better things, having better things, eating the best food, and having a manageable life success, I've failed on all counts. If I were a Sim or a character in a video game, I'd finish the game just about exactly where I started.

I'm not complaining, mind you. It's just that it took me beyond halfway through my life to see all the attitudes I should have adopted early on.

Like being sentimental, for instance.

I'm not sure how to change that, and at first blush it would seem to be a pretty rewarding thing. Looking at pictures or copies of old cards and correspondence invariably causes my heart to pause, get a wee bit warmer, and cause me to either sigh or wince. The trouble is, I tend to save everything that causes these reactions, which means I have tons of stuff that has no practical value.

I think the truly happy people maintain their possessions at a decent number. They have memories they can pull up without the need for any sort of physical prompt, and, while I guess I do, too, maybe I don't rely on my ability to do that as much as I should.

Maybe it's like most other things and comes with practice.

This year I didn't watch the Oscars, but it's not like I missed them by accident. It was easy to give the annual award ceremony a pass this year because of a few reasons, not the least of which is that I hadn't seen any of the films that were up for best picture.

Added to that is my increasing annoyance with most things Hollywood. Now I know that's blasphemy, especially considering where I live, but to be honest if all the Access shows fell off the air I wouldn't even notice. I do watch some late night shows, especially Craig Ferguson's, but I also routinely fast forward through them once the monologue or skits are over and the famous people show up to plug their latest. Whatever movie stars or celebrities think about anything doesn't matter to me one bit.

This year lots of people applauded the return of political speech to the Oscars, and, again, whatever value movie starts have, for me it's not their political persuasion. I happen to agree with them on most of the issues, but it's one of the agreements that makes me cringe when I hear them mention them, sometimes even to the extent of making me wish I held the opposing view.

Anyway, everyone involved in the entertainment industry (the "business") already gets plenty of rewards. From what I've seen, they spend nearly as much time congratulating and fawning over each other as they do actually performing, so they can certainly live a day or two without me. Yeah, a lot of it might be envy, but I performed my job for years and years without having Jon Stewart give me a high five or having those around me break into applause when I completed a program or developed an addressing scheme.

So, I didn't see the Oscars, but was able to see the results the next day and they were as un-exciting as I expected. I did, however, watch Obama and Jindal's speeches, and felt buoyed and annoyed, respectively. It was sorta fun seeing the followers of various websites take credit for the Jindal-Kenneth association, but not as satisfying as it could have been.

I need to get to work and stop this drifting.

About an hour ago I couldn't remember the product of nine times nine. Worse, even after backing into it through arithmetic, the answer I got didn't feel "right." Eighty-one, the answer I arrived at, didn't give me any sense of relief or satisfaction, such as I usually get when I remember the name of the submarine on the TV show Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea.

I don't have any more need for multiplication than most people, and I have plenty of calculators and websites that could either figure it out or display the results for me, so getting the answer wasn't the problem. The reason I was so scared is this is something I should know, inside out, whenever I need to.

I'm convinced my mind is going, is developing holes, and I see that as further evidence that I'm reaching the end.

If it took me a moment to recall the answer, or especially I reacted to the right answer with a sigh of relief, I wouldn't be feeling so bad. But when I eventually figured it out, or remembered it, the void that met that answer disturbed me. The answer should have filled me with glee and joy, and it felt, instead, like foreign territory.

I'm struggling with remembering words, too, which doesn't bode well for my attempts to actually finish some writing again. I'm scared because I know there isn't simple solution, there isn't any magic pill I can take to get my mind back, and I'm afraid that it's going to grow worse and worse.

I can't expect, and probably won't seek, any medical help, because I'd feel foolish. Whatever is causing this is no doubt a result of my past, and I should have known better all along. I don't want to burden anyone, and I won't be happy watching myself deteriorate.

Maybe it was just a blip, a "one off," and it's silly for me to be concerned at all. Maybe that's it.

It's neither profound nor particularly insightful to realize that attitude is everything in life, but that's unlikely to stop me from posting about it.

Some time ago I took one of those personality tests, and if it was on the Internet than it must have been in the past fifteen years. That would be even more frightening, not because I was seeking wisdom from some website, but because by that time in life I'd already gone through my marriage, risen to middle-management, and had successfully "completed" more than one program designed to treat my ills. Still, if that's when it happened, that may explain why I call myself a slow learner.

But none of that matters.

The only question I remember from the test wasn't particulary hard: it was about my favorite color. Answering that was a snap, but the explanation disturbed me. Picking gray as my favorite color, according to them, meant that I was indecisive, and that answer has disturbed me ever since.

I don't like to think of myself as indecisive, but there you have it. I'm wishy-washy, unable to resolve things or commit, and very likely to end up as road kill. The worst thing about it is that I had a hunch it was true.

When I was in high school I ran across some psych book that talked about inferiority complexes, and I was pleased and eager to claim that label. It gave me something to be, something others would understand, and by doing so, solved all my problems.

I was less encouraged to find out, years later, that I was incapable of making timely decisions, or any at all, and that's been a private shame for years. The more I experienced, the more I could see it, though, and I spent not a little time trying to be decisive. The results weren't encouraging, but I'd be damned if I wanted to go through life not making up my mind about anything.

Then, yesterday, it struck me. I was watching Michael Schumacher's last race and my company was seeing every event unfold and immediately explaining it. No matter what happened, the event was seen as justification for pre-conceived opinions, was viewed only as an example for previously held beliefs, and I was enlightened.

Some people, it seems, have this world all figured out. When they see something new, they strive for an answer and compare the new experience to what they've already decided. They're looking for answers, and use the fodder of existence as it were to prop up their beliefs.

I don't do that, not so much.

As I mulled this over I realized that, instead of answers, I take things in for the purpose of asking questions. I don't particularly care what the answer is, nor am I in any hurry to resolve them, but I just love answering the question in as many ways as possible. I'm happiest when asking questions and not all that concerned with the outcome.

When there are multiple answers to a question, and I think that's almost always the case, I quickly think no one answer is better than the others. Any one of them works to support a world view, but I'm not as convinced that any particular world view is inherently better than another. You can describe the beauty of a sunrise in religious terms or scientific ones, as a model for art or symbolic of some human condition, such as renewal, and every one of the answers is as good as the next. It just depends.

While I'm still less than happy with being indecisive, I can take solace in seeing it as just saying that I like asking questions more than answering them. Sure, we can come up with answers, but I'm not sure that's the point.

Years ago a place I worked had one of those inspirational-type posters near the supply room, the kind that printing companies give away. This one struck me, though, and I'm sure it's because I could rationalize the saying on it to put myself in the best possible light.

It was more vertical than horizontal and read from top to bottom. What it said was something like this:

Small minds focus on people
Medium minds consider events
Large minds deal with ideas

Of course, I took to that like a wolphin to water.

I rarely think of myself as having a large mind, but I've come to realize that most people are much more literal than I am. I didn't notice it until I was past my twenties and was associating with people outside my picked circle of friends. Now I see it everywhere, people who see only trees and who, frankly, think I'm weird. I don't see myself as any sort of genius, but I'm far more comfortable thinking of things as specific examples of greater ideas rather than taking them at face value as the things themselves. The things themselves usually bore me.

But, this isn't all about me. I have no idea who said it, but one other thing has stuck with me through the years. "Some things we remember for utilitarian purposes, some out of desire, and some are just random." I like that. It's true, too, that I remember things like how to tie my shoes because that's necessary for the well-dressed man, I remember kisses because I refuse to let them go, but a great number of my memories are fresh, are vibrant, and I have no idea why they, and not some other, have stuck with me all these years.

Maybe the juices and electrons all line up just right, and -- wham! -- instant memory, and something of no more intrinsic value than ten million other occurences on that particular day becomes part of my story.

Odd, that.

Sometimes I consider myself clever because I can figure some things out. Today the cable guy came to clear up dropping channels, and I think it was his first day on the job. His first remark was he'd never seen a TiVo, and I figured that must be what he's taught to say, since it's not Comcast-supplied equipment. To his credit, he didn't blame it for the problem.

The channels that had been dropping, of course, were all coming in fine once he showed up. Still, he had something to do since NBC was coming in with all sorts of pale diagonal lines and ghosts. That, he blamed on the TV.

I objected.

The TV, I reasoned, is on channel three and gets all it's information from the cable box (after being run through the TiVo). I don't think it knows, or cares, if the signal it's receiving is HBO or the Food Network, and this talk of the picture tube crapping out sounded like a reach. If that were the case, I'd figure it to show up on all of the channels, at least occasionally, and not only and always on NBC.

He made some calls, climbed a ladder, and another guy showed up who had to climb the pole out back. In the end, the first guy said they replaced a ground block, the second guy said that wasn't it, but the picture's fine now.

Still, there's less on NBC than there is on Fox News.

But that's not the point.

The guy knows his stuff, sure, and talked about readings and had a great bag filled with tools that made me drool, but he never listened to me. I've been noticing that a lot, lately, that I've lost my charisma or charm or some such thing, and most people when I talk to them cut me off and tell me what they want me to hear instead of hearing me out.

It can be a gracious thing, just a total disregarding of what I was saying, with the other person picking up her end of the conversation as if I hadn't said a thing, or, more likely, I start a anecdote and am met with a look that says "Is there a point to this?" or "Does this story have an end?"

Man, that hurts. I used to be entertaining, or thought I was, and people would come and visit or welcome me and beg me to talk and tell them things. I have a different way of talking or something, I guess, and they'd hang on my every word, enjoying hearing the tale as much as I'd enjoy telling it.

Now, not so much. I must have lost somewhere a connection with the world and what it finds interesting. I'm missing a quart or two of relevance but what's worse is that what I say is no longer of interest, almost as if I've outgrown my welcome.

Maybe I just need to buck it up, drop the cute diversions and personal insights, and act as if I'm talking to Sgt Joe Friday. Maybe that's all people want now, in these hurried times.

About fifteen years ago I received some excellent advice about how to live my life. It's not so much an answer as a question I should ask, but invariably forget. I'm usually too quick in reacting to remember to ask myself "What would a normal person do in this situation?"

It's no surprise that I'm not a picket fence, salt of the earth, square, at least not to me. The thing is, no matter how I feel about those people, simply put they're right, and always have been. Those are the people who are happiest, who succeed in achieving their goals, and who instinctively know how to act in situations that I fumble. Part of it, sure, is having a strong sense of self-worth, but another part is not having all the flawed baggage I carry.

If I act the way a "normal" person would, the results are invariably better than what first comes to my mind. I don't mind that, I accept it, but it's rare that I remember to rein in my reactions and to question my motives.

I'm in a situation now where every fiber (fibre?) of my being is telling to respond in a certain way, but I'm equally certain that no normal person would do what I want to. No, I'm never sure how someone normal would react, but I can ask or sometimes think it through or out. Usually it requires a course of action diametrically opposed to my gut instinct.

I don't know how to act, but I think the best thing to do is nothing at all. Just accept reality and not try to change or manipulate it.

About fifteen years ago I received some excellent advice about how to live my life. It's not so much an answer as a question I should ask, but invariably forget. I'm usually too quick in reacting to remember to ask myself "What would a normal person do in this situation?"

It's no surprise that I'm not a picket fence, salt of the earth, square, at least not to me. The thing is, no matter how I feel about those people, simply put they're right, and always have been. Those are the people who are happiest, who succeed in achieving their goals, and who instinctively know how to act in situations that I fumble. Part of it, sure, is having a strong sense of self-worth, but another part is not having all the flawed baggage I carry.

If I act the way a "normal" person would, the results are invariably better than what first comes to my mind. I don't mind that, I accept it, but it's rare that I remember to rein in my reactions and to question my motives.

I'm in a situation now where every fiber (fibre?) of my being is telling to respond in a certain way, but I'm equally certain that no normal person would do what I want to. No, I'm never sure how someone normal would react, but I can ask or sometimes think it through or out. Usually it requires a course of action diametrically opposed to my gut instinct.

I don't know how to act, but I think the best thing to do is nothing at all. Just accept reality and not try to change or manipulate it.

Most people tire of me quickly, and I have a good excuse why that is. It's not what you would think, the fact that I whine all the time and am rarely happy, that's just what they say, but I think they're just trying to be kind. To let me down easy. To assuage their own guilt.

The thing that drives most people around me crazy is that I'm very much at home thinking conceptually.

Let's say I'm with a woman and there's a pause in the conversation. She says something about the chair she's in, and I start thinking about chairs. Then, about different chairs and what it is they all have in common. I've gone from the brocade chair she's in to the idea of a chair, and she has no idea.

Then, I take an even higher, less specific, view and begun wondering about furniture. How did the cave man (one of my favorite things to think about) get from rocks to large rocks, that would serve the place of love seats or sofas? Furniture is fascinating, but it doesn't take me long to get even more abstract and wonder about things in our homes, possessions, and things in my house and things in houses that I can't have.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks.
"Your breasts," I say, if I'm truthful and need an immediate example.

And, really, there's no way for me possibly explain it. It doesn't matter if she looks at me with confusion, with a cold, dismissive look, or simply makes some sound and leaves the room.

I can see how dealing with me is tiring.

Most people tire of me quickly, and I have a good excuse why that is. It's not what you would think, the fact that I whine all the time and am rarely happy, that's just what they say, but I think they're just trying to be kind. To let me down easy. To assuage their own guilt.

The thing that drives most people around me crazy is that I'm very much at home thinking conceptually.

Let's say I'm with a woman and there's a pause in the conversation. She says something about the chair she's in, and I start thinking about chairs. Then, about different chairs and what it is they all have in common. I've gone from the brocade chair she's in to the idea of a chair, and she has no idea.

Then, I take an even higher, less specific, view and begun wondering about furniture. How did the cave man (one of my favorite things to think about) get from rocks to large rocks, that would serve the place of love seats or sofas? Furniture is fascinating, but it doesn't take me long to get even more abstract and wonder about things in our homes, possessions, and things in my house and things in houses that I can't have.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks.
"Your breasts," I say, if I'm truthful and need an immediate example.

And, really, there's no way for me possibly explain it. It doesn't matter if she looks at me with confusion, with a cold, dismissive look, or simply makes some sound and leaves the room.

I can see how dealing with me is tiring.

Now that it's summer my thoughts can return to things not related to love. This may prove beneficial, since I find it as hard to consider both love and everything else as I would driving while talking on the phone.

Also, love is a touchy subject and one I'm not so good at. I love the thrill of it, but I have a hard time keeping it going. It's not a fault, and I don't look at it that way, but it's annoying.

It keeps getting harder, too. I'm becoming more used to being myself and while I still think I do a good job of making considerations for others I may not be as tolerant as I once was. I don't actively dislike anyone, but I seem to inspire increasing amounts of frustration in those around me. It's not intentional, but I think it's there.

Someone I knew was recently married, and I think that's great. I'm a sucker for weddings and a huge fan of love, but it's summer now and I need to start worrying about my abs, I guess. That and my tan. There's little sense in paying all this money to live in Southern California if I'm going to be fish-belly white.

This year I hope to visit and swim in the ocean more, unless I'm lucky enough to be gainfully employed. I was never a surfer, but I body surf, which I consider natural and healthy. It's also good for one's heart since that typically gets plenty of exercise racing when it seems likely I will drown or become injured.

It's kind of sad to put love back on the shelf, but I hope to dust it off and see it as an old friend next year. By then I might even be reasonable!

Now that it's summer my thoughts can return to things not related to love. This may prove beneficial, since I find it as hard to consider both love and everything else as I would driving while talking on the phone.

Also, love is a touchy subject and one I'm not so good at. I love the thrill of it, but I have a hard time keeping it going. It's not a fault, and I don't look at it that way, but it's annoying.

It keeps getting harder, too. I'm becoming more used to being myself and while I still think I do a good job of making considerations for others I may not be as tolerant as I once was. I don't actively dislike anyone, but I seem to inspire increasing amounts of frustration in those around me. It's not intentional, but I think it's there.

Someone I knew was recently married, and I think that's great. I'm a sucker for weddings and a huge fan of love, but it's summer now and I need to start worrying about my abs, I guess. That and my tan. There's little sense in paying all this money to live in Southern California if I'm going to be fish-belly white.

This year I hope to visit and swim in the ocean more, unless I'm lucky enough to be gainfully employed. I was never a surfer, but I body surf, which I consider natural and healthy. It's also good for one's heart since that typically gets plenty of exercise racing when it seems likely I will drown or become injured.

It's kind of sad to put love back on the shelf, but I hope to dust it off and see it as an old friend next year. By then I might even be reasonable!