Doing the Time Warp at my Desk
Last week, I forced myself back to my desk. Summer is officially over for me; apparently, I have to get through this work I've been professionally procrastinating. There I was, prepping class like a champ, when I'd spent the last few weeks avoiding just that task and thinking--you know if you really liked teaching class, if you really wanted to teach that class you would have started prepping already. Perhaps, for a normal person. Here is what I learned.
When I sat down at my desk, I made a list and started to focus. Now, when I say focus, this is not your run of the mill, 'getting down to business' state, this is hyperfocus. This is the kind of crap that made Homer's slaves have to dump buckets of water on him and force him to eat, and had people cutting Michaelangelo's shoes off his feet. I sat down and became one with the desk, focused so hard I didn't notice I'd been sitting there five hours, hadn't eaten for seven and hadn't gone to the bathroom either--despite needing to go. So...um...yeah...that kind of focus.
Sure, I'm starving and have to pee really bad, but I'm still not going to stop--I might lose my train of thought.
I spent much of my life in that state, acquiring information, kicking ass on others, formulating arguments and proving I was smart and worthwhile--because I could win the debate. Now I look up from this state of constant hyperfocus (to the point that I didn't sleep more than 2 hours a night for at least three years) and say...dude...where's my life? All that knowledge acquisition, all that ass kicking, it comes at a sacrifice and that sacrifice is time. In a sense, I feel like Rip van Winkle. Somehow, I slept the last two decades of my life away accomplishing goals that--now that I have yawned, stretched and had some non-perseverative awake time--look like complete and utter nonsense. Dude...where is my life?
The last couple years have been about me coming to terms with that--why I lost myself concentrating, how I got down that rabbit hole in the first place and why I have felt so empty now my lifelong special interest has terminated itself on me. (School was always my special interest, so I just kept collecting letters and degrees to put after my name until I finally finished a 'terminal' degree. In some sense, it feels to me how it sounds. Terminal. It's like someone just took a trainspotter and said...okay, you mastered all the schedules, you reached the very pinnacle of trainspotting achievement...now...go work in train administration, no more schedules for you. Ever. Terminal. You have arrived.)
What I learned last week, though, is part of the puzzle of what keeps me away from my desk for too long at a time. I know very well I should be perseverating on research, like any good academic should. Oh, perseverating, for those of you not up to speed on the autism shit is defined as taking something too far for too long--even after it ceases to be pleasurable or healthy or even fun--sort of mentally being stuck in a one-track groove. It's rather like an obsession, but the genius part of autism is that high-functioning individuals, like me, have historically turned that one-track mind into something astounding...need I remind you: Homer, Michelangelo, Einstein, da Vinci (I'm certain). Hyperfocus is where the genius be, baby, it's just that simple.
Here's the thing, though. My desk ate me the other day. Literally took my head and bent it to the task at hand and pinned me there for hours without my knowledge or consent. Sure, I know I was working, I'm not as crazy as it sounds, but I didn't intend to work to the point of missing meals and potty breaks, that hadn't been in the plan at all--nor was it necessary. Yet, I know I need to find that again on a daily basis to succeed at what I'm doing--to have a job after next year. It frightens me.
I lost my life to it once. I know I could easily lose the next 20 years--or more--to it as well. I just need to start down the rabbit hole and the perseveration will take me down--hard, fast and deep. The bike will gather dust. The kids will grow and have kids. And I will have my nose in someplace that is not real life; I will sleep my time away to 'get the work done'--and be mean as hell if interrupted from task.
Suppose if I had a talent like da Vinci or Michaelangelo or Homer or an intellect like Einstein's, I could see the merit in this. But my field...we are not curing cancer and I'm not producing masterpieces or even laying the groundwork for space travel. Is mediocrity worth the sacrifice of any life? And, please don't get me wrong here, I'm not the type who claims they are only a success if they end up being the best of the best of the best (heh, "Sir!"). I think my obsession with the bicycle or my unpublished writing is proof enough of that. What I am saying is that sacrificing dinner time, time for happiness or rest, time for...nothing...with people you love, these are very high prices for anyone to pay for anything. If you're going to do that, even for a mediocre product, I guess I'm saying that it better at least be an important mediocre product.
So my behavioral therapist is helping turn over a new leaf by setting a timer every 30 minutes and forcing me to take breaks. My guess is, this will result in me being even more scattered than usual, because the perseveration happens when I can't stand the thought of losing my train of thought--when I'm on a roll, so to speak and fear the interruption will evaporate my planned destination. But, I'll give it an honest go, see if it helps my productivity and eases the fear I have of...disappearing down the rabbit hole again with little to show for my sacrifices.
I really believe life is about the journey, not the destination. Process, not product. But it's hard for my Aspie wiring to live daily life that way, it wants to set its sites on The Illiad and hunker down without food, water or washing until it's all just so. Bat shit fucking crazy. Given the choice, I'd rather have a life than leave that kind of indelible, inhuman legacy in the world. I would rather have an epitaph that reads, 'she was weird, but we kinda liked having her around' rather than one that says, 'a true genius who left a wonderful mark on the world--too bad she was such an insufferable asshole (what a relief the old bitch is finally GONE).'
Now, true, my Aspie way of thinking has laid out a world here where it's one or the other, and life isn't that much of a binary, is it? Problem is, getting sucked in that world of perseveration, I also can't do that scene halfway either--it's all or nothing, and unless the timer saves me, starting down the path to ultra-concentration means less and less real life, one day at a time, until I wake up decades later wondering where the hell everyone went and stymied as to why I have no real friends and my family seems to have forgotten me. No. I most definitely do not want that.
I would rather say "would you like fries with that" until I drop dead (or get imprisoned for shoving some pimply-ass kid's smart mouth into the fryer for bullying me) than lose my life again. Is that an answer? Not yet. But next time I'll be sure and tell you how I really feel about it.
When I sat down at my desk, I made a list and started to focus. Now, when I say focus, this is not your run of the mill, 'getting down to business' state, this is hyperfocus. This is the kind of crap that made Homer's slaves have to dump buckets of water on him and force him to eat, and had people cutting Michaelangelo's shoes off his feet. I sat down and became one with the desk, focused so hard I didn't notice I'd been sitting there five hours, hadn't eaten for seven and hadn't gone to the bathroom either--despite needing to go. So...um...yeah...that kind of focus.
Sure, I'm starving and have to pee really bad, but I'm still not going to stop--I might lose my train of thought.
I spent much of my life in that state, acquiring information, kicking ass on others, formulating arguments and proving I was smart and worthwhile--because I could win the debate. Now I look up from this state of constant hyperfocus (to the point that I didn't sleep more than 2 hours a night for at least three years) and say...dude...where's my life? All that knowledge acquisition, all that ass kicking, it comes at a sacrifice and that sacrifice is time. In a sense, I feel like Rip van Winkle. Somehow, I slept the last two decades of my life away accomplishing goals that--now that I have yawned, stretched and had some non-perseverative awake time--look like complete and utter nonsense. Dude...where is my life?
The last couple years have been about me coming to terms with that--why I lost myself concentrating, how I got down that rabbit hole in the first place and why I have felt so empty now my lifelong special interest has terminated itself on me. (School was always my special interest, so I just kept collecting letters and degrees to put after my name until I finally finished a 'terminal' degree. In some sense, it feels to me how it sounds. Terminal. It's like someone just took a trainspotter and said...okay, you mastered all the schedules, you reached the very pinnacle of trainspotting achievement...now...go work in train administration, no more schedules for you. Ever. Terminal. You have arrived.)
What I learned last week, though, is part of the puzzle of what keeps me away from my desk for too long at a time. I know very well I should be perseverating on research, like any good academic should. Oh, perseverating, for those of you not up to speed on the autism shit is defined as taking something too far for too long--even after it ceases to be pleasurable or healthy or even fun--sort of mentally being stuck in a one-track groove. It's rather like an obsession, but the genius part of autism is that high-functioning individuals, like me, have historically turned that one-track mind into something astounding...need I remind you: Homer, Michelangelo, Einstein, da Vinci (I'm certain). Hyperfocus is where the genius be, baby, it's just that simple.
Here's the thing, though. My desk ate me the other day. Literally took my head and bent it to the task at hand and pinned me there for hours without my knowledge or consent. Sure, I know I was working, I'm not as crazy as it sounds, but I didn't intend to work to the point of missing meals and potty breaks, that hadn't been in the plan at all--nor was it necessary. Yet, I know I need to find that again on a daily basis to succeed at what I'm doing--to have a job after next year. It frightens me.
I lost my life to it once. I know I could easily lose the next 20 years--or more--to it as well. I just need to start down the rabbit hole and the perseveration will take me down--hard, fast and deep. The bike will gather dust. The kids will grow and have kids. And I will have my nose in someplace that is not real life; I will sleep my time away to 'get the work done'--and be mean as hell if interrupted from task.
Suppose if I had a talent like da Vinci or Michaelangelo or Homer or an intellect like Einstein's, I could see the merit in this. But my field...we are not curing cancer and I'm not producing masterpieces or even laying the groundwork for space travel. Is mediocrity worth the sacrifice of any life? And, please don't get me wrong here, I'm not the type who claims they are only a success if they end up being the best of the best of the best (heh, "Sir!"). I think my obsession with the bicycle or my unpublished writing is proof enough of that. What I am saying is that sacrificing dinner time, time for happiness or rest, time for...nothing...with people you love, these are very high prices for anyone to pay for anything. If you're going to do that, even for a mediocre product, I guess I'm saying that it better at least be an important mediocre product.
So my behavioral therapist is helping turn over a new leaf by setting a timer every 30 minutes and forcing me to take breaks. My guess is, this will result in me being even more scattered than usual, because the perseveration happens when I can't stand the thought of losing my train of thought--when I'm on a roll, so to speak and fear the interruption will evaporate my planned destination. But, I'll give it an honest go, see if it helps my productivity and eases the fear I have of...disappearing down the rabbit hole again with little to show for my sacrifices.
I really believe life is about the journey, not the destination. Process, not product. But it's hard for my Aspie wiring to live daily life that way, it wants to set its sites on The Illiad and hunker down without food, water or washing until it's all just so. Bat shit fucking crazy. Given the choice, I'd rather have a life than leave that kind of indelible, inhuman legacy in the world. I would rather have an epitaph that reads, 'she was weird, but we kinda liked having her around' rather than one that says, 'a true genius who left a wonderful mark on the world--too bad she was such an insufferable asshole (what a relief the old bitch is finally GONE).'
Now, true, my Aspie way of thinking has laid out a world here where it's one or the other, and life isn't that much of a binary, is it? Problem is, getting sucked in that world of perseveration, I also can't do that scene halfway either--it's all or nothing, and unless the timer saves me, starting down the path to ultra-concentration means less and less real life, one day at a time, until I wake up decades later wondering where the hell everyone went and stymied as to why I have no real friends and my family seems to have forgotten me. No. I most definitely do not want that.
I would rather say "would you like fries with that" until I drop dead (or get imprisoned for shoving some pimply-ass kid's smart mouth into the fryer for bullying me) than lose my life again. Is that an answer? Not yet. But next time I'll be sure and tell you how I really feel about it.