Special interest, my marriage

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Here's a little fable about me, my special interests and my dysfunctional attempts to find a mate.

It started off promisingly. She really likes getting boys, almost always her lovers (and she burns through them fast), to be her jukebox. She likes singing, usually her current favorite songs, and having some good looking guy follow her around with a guitar, cranking out a custom playlist for her karaoke kicks. She's done well for herself, thanks to an inordinate amount of pheromones, genetic cheap effects.

Anyway, seems it came my time. I was a handy score since I am a postpunk legend, a former professional, with a fancy reissue currently in the works. Along with that event, she rekindled my interest by showing me the communal music room with its decent assortment of equipment and instruments. I proposed we learn some New Order tunes, since that's the band I'm interested in at the time. She agreed, making evident she had her agenda, covering a lot of material I cannot actually abide.

I could have accessed the music room any time in the last 5 years I lived here at Twin Oaks. But, no, I'm autistic, completely stuck in my routines and unable to work up the courage to explore the tiny town in which I reside. So it really required incentive to get me there. She's a master class kisser, so that worked.

Anyway, our relationship lasted a grand total of 5 days. The same experience I usually have. I expect too much and give too little. At least that's what I'm told, in admonishing terms. This always comes to me as a complete surprise. It always seems to me the woman in question expects too much and gives too little. Impasse every time. Misdirection, miscommunication. That unmistakable wrong planet sensation.

So. Now I'm in the music room every night after everyone goes to bed. I've worked up original arrangements of my 6 favorite New Order songs. New bass counterpoints, singing strongly, with groovy drum patterns propelling them along. I haven't played in years but this project has really blossomed. Just tonight I nailed the 6th arrangement, and had to admit . . .

Wow, the wife is sure content tonight.

If the (other) relationship had actually worked out, of course, I never would have found the time to make my latest accomplishment happen. There's one road, there's another, and it doesn't really matter which one is "best," when you are autistic, you simply get a road to travel. The other road doesn't even exist. People say they admire my "hobby," and I have to smile, "hobby, no, it's a really marriage, you have no idea and I don't have the time to explain."