A friend asked if I enjoyed the Memorial Day picnic at church. It’s strange that anybody would suspect me of being able to enjoy any collective pastime. I am almost physiologically incapable of enjoying something like that. I’m very glad I went because Klara loved it. I do these things for her. I enact normalcy for her benefit. But I myself will never comprehend what people get out of it. I used to wish I could but at this stage of my life I have accepted that I am weird and that I experience things weirdly.
I used to feel a lot of shame about my weirdness but, again, you get jaded even on the shame. I brought my notebook to a church lunch a while ago and sat there decorating it as other women discussed how strange I was. I know because one of them told me. “We were sitting over there,” she said, “discussing what a strange person you are.”
At the Memorial Day picnic I heroically engaged in small talk with four different people. Three of them looked slightly terrified of me. But Klara saw me engage with other people so my goal was accomplished in full.
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