You can call it the p’verse (pronounced \(ˌ)pər-ˈvərs\) if you like.

I just wanted to give you some idea of the dreadful burden it is for me, invariably perceiving things “wrong,” so I’m going to stick my little pinkie fingers into the membrane here and open up a teensy little hole so you can peer into my universe.

What? you say, isn’t that the point of your whole damn blog?
Yes, I respond, but I’ve been heroically, indomitably restraining it so as not to drive people away in fear (not that you can tell by the paltry amount of views it gets).

So here we go, a single, simple example. The Bloomingdale’s bag. As far as I can tell, everyone pretty much agrees as to what this is all about. You go to the store, you buy some stuff, and they put it one of these. Simple. So far so good. I’m with you.

But here’s the problem: everyone seems to know that this bag is part of a set that goes like this:

Unfortunately, it has never worked that way for me. I have to make a concerted effort to remember the way it’s “supposed” to be. Left on my own, I will complete the set this way:

Honest. Brownie’s honor. And this is just one, small, single, tiny, eensy, infinitesimal instance. All day, every day, I must consciously adjust and correct my thinking and perception so as to be able to interact with society. Dear reader(s), this is not the commonplace conforming that everyone must do to get along, this is a task of Herculean proportions!

But, no, don’t pity me. The onus is mine. I have struggled against this mighty handicap for all my life, and shall continue to do so, as diligently and valiantly as I can, for as long as my meek little cells can hold out. Nunquam tarditum!