I would say that it's bewildering in many ways. I find that I have to be very deliberate in my communication. It feels rather like explaining color to the blind - I can understand a concept clearly and intuitively, and work with it as a building block of other concepts, but to communicate with others, I must start by breaking down the building blocks that I work with as entire units. I find myself second guessing how far to break things down - can I give an example, or will it take longer to explain the example than the concept? Can I describe a pen, for instance, as an ink-based writing implement, or do I need to break down the concepts of writing, tools, ink, and derivation? Do I need to further break down writing to explain what language is? Am I going too far in the other direction, and getting lost in explaining the theory behind linguistics when "like a pencil but with ink" would have sufficed? Or would that just be gibberish without a decent explanation? And all this is going through my head in the split second before I ask somebody to pass me a pen, and they look at me quizzically, as though I'm speaking a foreign language. So I make the appropriate noises for the people around me, stick to the surface of whatever topic we're discussing, and if they ask me for my thoughts, I lie and say something simple.

It is incredibly isolating. Oh, I can keep friends, as long as I don't share too much of what I really think or feel. To be actually alone is a condition of great hope - it is a condition easily cured by the addition of other people. What is far worse is the realization that I am surrounded by people with whom I cannot truly converse. I see people of various levels of intelligence find comrades who can move at the same pace, and I see them able to flow together it a way that I truly envy. Yes, I envy a room full of drunk college kids the ability to experience shared amusement at one of their number falling on their backside. I envy those around me the the ability to share with others what they are thinking and simply assume that their friends can simply follow along.

I know that I am not the smartest person out there. I hold that knowledge as an article of faith. When my intelligence was tested as a child, I achieved the highest possible score on the test. In other words, I only know the lower bound of what my IQ might be. I have never had it tested again, because I do not want to know the answer. It is, perhaps, a failing that I lie to myself in this manner, but to me it is a mercy. Being a little smarter than those around you is a point of pride; being much smarter, a point of separation. There is much wisdom in the saying that if you're the smartest person in the room, you're in the wrong room. Sometimes heaven is just the idea that the right room exists.

Sometimes the most depressing thought is the idea that maybe there are a few people around me just as smart as I am - and just as weary of trying to express anything remotely meaningful. That we could meet, and not realize it, because neither of us has the energy to explain a passing thought for three hours, not realizing that the other really would understand. And sometimes that's the most glorious thought, because at least it means they're out there.

But that's enough maudlin rambling for today.