I forgot how to people. Or rather, the NTs forgot how to people, or miss doing so, because they threw off my scripts today.
Here in the U.S., “how are you doing?” is a greeting that requires no more than “fine.” Sometimes people get more specific, like “how was your weekend?” or “what do you have planned for the day?” but I can usually get away with some noncommittal response (“Same as always.” “Not much.”).
The doctor asked how my weekend was. Every day has pretty much been the same as any other day since the start of 2020, so I’d forgotten Memorial Day had just passed and he was looking for something specific. I said something about homeschool and all days being the same. Thankfully he stopped the small talk and got down to business.
The lab tech for my blood draw did not, however.
“What do you have planned for today?”
“This.”
“Oh come on, you must have something fun planned.”
(It’s a Wednesday, wtf would I have planned?) “I’m, uh, working.”
“What do you do?”
(Dying inside) “I’m an author. I’ll be working on my second book.”
“You have a book out?”
“Yes.”
“Is it on Amazon?”
“Yes”
“What’s it about?”
My brain bluescreened at this point, and I just kinda looked at him with the nervous, deer-in-headlights smile of death/leave-me-the-fuck-alone.
“Come on, what’s it about?”
. . .
“Is it explicit or something?”
“No! Oh, no no no, nothing like that. It’s just that you’re putting me on the spot and this”—motions to lab area—“makes me nervous.”
“That’s why I’m trying to get you to talk. To take your mind off of things.”
Like I don’t need to talk. Talking takes brain cells, but especially so when I’m stressed. I just want to get it over with and gtfo. I have somewhat of a needle phobia, but I have my coping mechanisms and being forced to socialize wasn’t helping. For the love of god, please just let me zone out.
I rambled about how my second novel was a bitch to finish because I had to split it in two, and that doing the research had been extremely depressing (mental health and racism in the 50s) and that the arrival of 2020 hadn’t helped.
When I left it occurred to me that on the off chance that the guy looked up my book on Amazon, he wouldn’t be able to find it, as he didn’t have the title or my pen name. I don’t know if I feel better or worse about that. Part of me is like, “he’s going to think I’m a liar.” The rational part knows it doesn’t matter.
I’ve done okay so far when interacting with extended family, but I feel like my brain needs a lot more warning/ramp up time than it used to pre-pandemic. These spur of the moment interactions are really throwing me off. Anyone else having issues reacclimating?
