This weekend initially was to be accompanied by my cousin Thomas, but due to a family occurrence
(we're very distantly related), he had to cancel. These days, I'm typically broke all the time
as I have a ritual of spending all but $40 the instant the direct deposit 'hits', but in preparation
for his acquaintance I kept a little more than typical. Its a small contributor to what embitters me
in the immediate, my drive home after masking as a semi-cordial young man while my odd job boss
harps on about whatever fleeting topic, the muffin of tonight not sprinkled with odd jabs but instead
polite, nearly agreeable expressions of request for my social security number. He poses a question
calling for my appraisal of my own savvyness with 'hooking up' security cameras, a topic we've
actually explored before, conversationally and beyond with a day of a May weekend scored with my
labors to install/configure the software for an imported home security system, which after much
hardship and overcomings, was unsuccessful - be it fault of the broken English bloatware viewer
client or a hardware problem with the extraordinarily cheap camera. The unit was hacked into the
light fixture slot on his front porch and presumably tapping power from the doorbell (its
installation happening prior to my involvement, allegedly having worked at some point before),
so when troubleshooting became an exercise of ad infinitum menu/WiFi devices menu squaredancing
(on an iOS device no less - I hate Apple passionately) I threw in the towel. And this is a somewhat
common occurrence in my world - purportedly simple endeavors are undermined in some critical way
(be it the arrival to the position after the instructions have been lost and screws misplaced, or
similar only with landscapes changing over the temporal chasm that is eight or so years, often
more for me, in the technical realm), seemingly nothing is without difficulty. And when it pertains
to areas affixed to my hobbies, I welcome them - I see hurdles and impasses as playful challenges
which don't have deadlines - I'm hardly in a rush, my primary goals are the accruing of experience
and preservation of enjoyability with the interests. When it pertains to other people, I regain
the sense of urgency, but it isn't as if I'm deathly outcome dependent upon the successful
implementation of an Ollie's-bought suspect Chinese home security camera. The irony presents
when its considered that I've had varying successes with surveillance system installation/utilization
until now - the NVR I inherited from work is something to the tune of 17 years old, and while this
ordinarily would be a deathblow to other perhaps less autistic hobbyists, the age isn't a fatal
exception in itself - I possess computer systems contemporary to it, and yet the Chinese NVR by
Night Owl isn't fully leveragable by humble me (yet). The web interface has refused in prior
attempts to execute on the final toll booth, where it is to handshake with the unit over the wired
network and 'see' its video feeds. Oh well, the other tickboxes are checked, in that I installed the
components, organized them (patchbay is a nice touch), adapted them (BNC to RCA), the aforementioned
readiness with legacy machines, and that I was able to derive use from the yet incomplete system
in the form of a DVR/multiplexed visuals monitor which helped to be attentive of guests' cars in
our towing-enforced parking lot. Back to the subject of Frank, I've discovered that I dislike him.
This sounds how it does; frank, inconsequential maybe - but I believe that throughout my twenty-two
years, I've overridden all impressions or internal suggestions for interaction governance with
adults, my elders/seniors. So to say that I haven't formulated opinions on adults in the same way
that I've been able to with those of my age group or near. With Frank, I am experiencing in real
time the first example of a relationship where I am emerging punitive of the other party, feeling
elevated above him in ways, with some desire to be impolite toward him as a result of the ill
substance of our engagement. I work 'for' him, I'm something inbetween contracted worker and
acquainted shophand who feels morally obligated to continue rendering aid indefinitely - and while
I appreciate the money he's, like with most aspects of anything tethered to him, objectionably 
facilitated the delivery of which to me (reworded: he ran out of checks at a point and I continued
spending money out of my pocket for nearly two months on gas in the interrim limbo of nonpayment -
a situation that would indubitably frustrate at least most people), I find the tedium of so much
as cohabitating with him for the duration of the shift almost offsetting of what the money
compensates (reworded: I've developed a distaste for the way the guy talks to the degree that I'd
consider foregoing money to rid myself of the inconvenience of being socially obligated to respond
to his idiotic queries and attempts at talk- small or subjected. In the past I've mounted distates
for other adult authorities on the same basis - their chattyness; Paul, my heavy-accented Indian
former boss drew my exaspirated attitude with his frequent chatting - so did Joseph Newsome for the
relatively brief time I worked for him (question about Hannibal Lecter, my familiarity with it;
incessant divulgence of family matters and grievances). These seem to indicate that I have in fact
articulated or even acted upon my dislike for adults previously, but they were less so individual
as they were professional. I was Paul's employee - same with Joseph; they both recruited me for
specific and well-defined purposes. My frustrations were mushrooms in the meadow, protesting the
obstacle to my efficiency that was their communication with me. Sure, odd way to euphemize that
I at least began a process of disliking each person, but I believe in the distinction. Frank is a
wobbly car crash survivor (reminds me of Octodad sometimes with how he just eratically slips around)
that engaged in honestly bizzare small talk and roundaboutedly asked if I had agency in various
things, like typography or bookkeeping/accounting, which in hindsight I could've been more direct
in my professment to being not unlike other twenty one year olds and not having used QuickBooks for
even a second. But my pride evidently gets in the way of me being able to admit to ignorance or
uninitiation, that much I do understand. But seeing as we're each imperfect specimens of the human
race, and I could have perhaps contracepted the gestation of the commitment that lines my wallet,
I'm of the mindset that my sins weren't cardinal.