Maybe I’m not autistic and was completely misdiagnosed.
Maybe I don’t fully understand autism.
Maybe autism is a broad church, like the Labour Party was supposed to be before the purges.
Maybe I shouldn’t worry about it.
Love and sex are the catalyst.
Without them a lot of other things seem pointless.
What’s the point of toiling for money unless you have someone to do it for.
Of course, maybe this same sense of purpose can be found in many other things.
That’s one thing that seems to happen sometimes; say I like comic books. I can either enjoy reading comic books, and mention it from time to time, but I have other interests and it’s not my main passion, or I can like comic books, and be wholly invested in them to contextualise my life, or be my main passion. In both of these scenarios, I can say “I like comic books” truthfully, but in one instance, it won’t convey the depth of my passion.