Though it may seem I am responding more quickly and thinking more coherently, it's because I have learned to callous certain distractions that veer me out of focus, breaking some associations in my mind. As a child, my father often sent me on errands with vague descriptions, possibly to enhance my observational skills and attention to detail. When my autism flared, I would say an object's name aloud and focus on it, and for my ADHD, I would do something and take 3-10 seconds just doing that thing, akin to slow-motion calisthenics at the gym. These exercises conditioned me to stay present. However, these mental callouses also bandaid thoughts I've been trying to recover from over the past year. Hearing names like Marina, or its variants (Arty, Marty, Artemis), renders me silent. In conversations, I refrain from speaking about those not present out of respect, not from a lack of empathy or interest. Certain names and events have mental callouses, tough layers formed from repetitive actions or stress, but these are not permanent. I reassess what I hold dear, and the thoughts that drive me forward. I haven't forgotten or ignored anyone; I am figuring out how to best utilize these conditions, seeing them not as weaknesses but as strengths, demonstrating restraint.
0536: I almost discarded my recent annual performance report but realized, after reflecting on the year, that it was essential to retain as it highlighted significant events and realizations. I don't eliminate problems; I work to correct them. This report, despite overlooking some errors and specialty codes, documents contributions that persist through automated processes from my foundational work in previous and current assignments. Projects assigned to me have now started to flourish, much like the indoor plants, and these projects aimed to secure against adversarial threats. This year pushed me out of my comfort zone and marked my recovery from trauma. Despite "life happening" and numerous challenges, I believe I should still be graded on my performance due to my position and grade. My answer is that I was graded fairly, considering my role and responsibilities. Though I separated work and personal life, I remained dedicated to my trajectory, often serving as a bridge between industry and service. My technical expertise suffered due to my circumstances, but I relied on developed fail-safes and my tactile memory for passwords and code, akin to a musician's rhythm. Despite expectations, I don't anticipate a promotion. I earn everything through hard work and take pride in serving others. I will carry on your projects as if you never left, improving the processes while honoring your contributions. Always from above, y'all. Semper supra!
0507: I may need to take a step back regarding my Yubetous content, as the demographic has shifted this year. My sleepy content no longer appeals to my audience, leading to a loss of 177 subscribers after posting three videos, putting me below the 2.2K milestone I reached last year. This resulted in the removal of my accreditation, disqualifying me from receiving free swag, including Starfield, which I had requested for a giveaway nearly a year ago but failed to respond to in a timely manner (haha). Given that my hardware cannot support the latest games, I am considering focusing on real-life content or troubleshooting tech—areas I can speak to without merely replicating my work tasks. I aim to keep my work and hobbies distinct yet complementary, so I have something to look forward to rather than dread. In the past, my most popular content included fitness, DIY, and tech support videos, which were often used as guides by viewers. This is likely the roadmap I will follow, scheduling new content every third day.
0437: They discovered the man who had been using my identity for years. The first incident was in 2001 when my fingerprints were taken before an organic chemistry exam; the machine had trouble reading them, so they resorted to ink. I remember the detective's name and have a copy of the report on a floppy disk in my old home. Subsequent instances of identity theft coincided with bad news from my ex, possibly linking me to these incidents as they often occurred during my absences for training or work. The perpetrator, always distant from me, timed his activity when I was hospitalized or in remote environments. My instinctive checks for our safety, perhaps due to my autism, were a fail-safe for my family. My ex's counterpart periodically ran background checks on me, noticing these suspicious activities. The identity thief opened apartments near my ex, committed criminal acts, and created a false profile that misrepresented my character. My ex's apprehension about Marina communicating with me might stem from this. The perpetrator has now been found deceased, but it's unclear if it's the same person from the past incidents. This news brings some relief, knowing these negative efforts were aimed at me and not my loved ones. Marina once asked who looks after me, and I explained that those who guard the Guardians are people with the ideals and capacity to protect and adapt. As we safeguard the future, we must navigate a cyber storm with others who can operate within its eye.
0321: Marina's voice whispers over these recollections, now lost to me. Despite my ability to heal and navigate stressors that would halt others, and to traverse a world demanding the mental agility of a free runner, I face something degenerative. The only thing sustaining me are the voices of the past, now beyond my grasp, intertwined with words I can no longer see or hear. I feel this as I feel time—a flow that belongs to the blurred reality of what was, stepping into the gaps like patches of ice on frozen ground, challenging the surface of our lives. My treatment has been adjusted to speech therapy and alternative communication. While I can continue as I have, with the constructs that uphold my foundation, I have come to accept a truth. My thoughts are my own, and my focus determines my reality. The voices of the past fill in what should be, and I am grateful for them. Though they are augmentations, they have never led me astray. I have always perceived them as lights, perhaps the part of the mind that recognizes warmth—the signal meant for sincerity, something genuine, true, and pure.
0314: Her death anniversary this year brought a somber shadow over my day. I often ponder if these feelings are my own or echoes of the lives she touched, those whose steps still resonate in the paths she once walked. Her funeral's location remains unknown to me, yet all who knew her have likely offered their prayers and respects through whispers and silent reflections. As the sun rose and set, I heard a familiar resonance: her favorite songs we used to play together on her grandmaster piano, a cherished instrument we painstakingly refurbished. My rudimentary musical training from a school for the "Gifted" now harmonized with her innate intelligence, and she always valued my presence. On this day, we often contemplated what to gift her mother, seeking items of both utility and sentiment to share with others. My life partner, my kid, once called me with sincere and eloquent words. The term's definition may vary in others' minds, but today, it resonated deeply with me. For the rest of my life, my thoughts and support will be with my kid. I will remember her years, along with others, and continue making our marks on these hallowed grounds. These are the steps Marina would have taken if she were still here. Happy birthday, kid. I'm still proud of you.
0311: The former spacefarers and colleagues from that joint assignment have been inquiring lately, "Are you applying for the NASA internship?" It's a pilot program I first encountered in Key West, supported by a recommendation from a colleague now stationed at Cape Canaveral as a NASA engineer. Despite being deemed "disqualified but globally qualified," a jest I appreciate, or perhaps "celestially disqualified," as some might jest further. With a sigh, drawing a deep breath akin to those of practitioners like Wim Hoff and Tumo, I resolve to draft an application. Much of it was prepared a few years ago, coinciding with my proximity to a skilled engineer, whom I fondly dub Mr. F, needing AutoCad. With systems all nominal, I say, "Let's go," anticipating the launch countdown: T-00:04:30:00 and counting.
0243: Before the time was due, a list for career advancement had prematurely surfaced. In the days preceding this revelation, a dream had visited me—a premonition of sorts, whispering "well deserved" upon my waking. When the list finally reached me, its contents aligned perfectly with my innermost thoughts. This peculiar "machine," querying me incessantly, seemed to broadcast my dreams to knowledgeable parties. A reciprocal wavelength responded, entranced, turning these musings into actionable intelligence. It informed me of training in defensive and offensive arts, charged with safeguarding leaders in proximity. A residual effect of the supra soldier program, it altered my genetic code to enhance healing and concentration under duress. Yet, I approached its revelations cautiously, aware of past experiences with hyper-focus-induced sleeplessness. The consequences—double vision, migraines, and a perceptual haze—forced me to navigate a world where senses melded, relying on sound mapping, resonant vibrations, and attenuated signals for guidance. Still, amid this fusion of senses, the machine reminded me of my humanity, its terminal occasionally clearing itself as if wiping the slate clean. Concerned friends urged medical attention, noting my calculated yet enigmatic behavior, yet I reassured them with a deepened voice, offering help rather than harm, though my comforting words sometimes struck discordant notes. In my musings on lexical anomia and empathy, I speculated how my synaptic gaps might influence room dynamics, tactically pausing to consider my next steps. Embedded within a lengthy agenda, self-care surfaced repeatedly, balancing obligations to others with nurturing myself.
