What happened to me?
Did I miss the bus?
By all indicators, I should have murdered about 30 people by now, preferably in a flurry of semi-automatic gunfire at [name any geographical embodiment of all my social alienation].
Now there is a subculture of worried moms and worried marshmallowfathers who are succumbing to the overbearing drumbeat of all the posthumous quarterbacking that has issued in the wake of the Lanza one-man show.
We learn Adam was a normal weirdo. That he was odd. Alas, he was Aspie. Blah, blah, and blah and blah, as if any of this explains his killing 25 people.
Look. Killing 25 people has no prerequisites. I know you all fear for your children and grade-schoolers, but you know what? Life is hard and it’s very unpredictable. There are no singular signposts that will inform you when your daughter’s 13-year-old classmate will bring a rifle to school in a fit of cathartic, alien-level perspective and shoot everybody in their path.
It doesn’t work this way.
You can’t predict, and you surely cannot understand.
I was Adam Lanza at that age.
I was weird, alienated, obsessive.
I had strange esoteric interests, borderline fixations, and I hated external stimuli (I still do). I didn’t speak my entire kindergarten year.
I never saw the need for, and still don’t, friends. I have the most incomprehensible dislikes and aversions.
I analyze how the people on my block park their cars.
I fixate on how customers in front of me (and behind me) stand in line at the grocery store.
So I founded this stupid blog in response.
To voice my incomprehensible exasperation.
If the social happy mother engineers of 2014 got their hands on me in 1969 or 1971, I’d be toast, locked up, medicated, transmogrified into a jolly good congenial citizen who would never kill their precious spawn.
But you know what?
They didn’t, and I never killed a person in my entire life.