How to Not end up in an Apartment that Sucks

So, you’re moving out. You’ve decided that living with your parents isn’t for you anymore, and it’s high time you graduated from stupid university housing. You pull open your computer and begin searching for apartments near where you want to live, and your screen fills with host sites full of listings with everything from swimming pools to scenic vistas. The more you search, though, the more you realize that finding your first apartment can be a daunting task. Should you go full utilities? Garage? W/D hookups? Pets okay? Patio, one bedroom, studio, 2 ½ bath? Well, take it from someone who has experience searching for not one, not two, but more than three apartments in the past few years to help you avoid some common problems when you first rent!

The first step is to decide what kind of apartment you want. Studio apartments are one room plus a bathroom. This is fine if you live alone or don’t mind sharing all your living space all the time, but if you plan on having much company, it can get cramped. The fewer bedrooms a place has, the cheaper it usually is, so unless you’re looking on getting a roommate, you’ll probably want to stick to one bedroom places at largest. These models will generally come with a full kitchen, living room, and of course, a bathroom. Sizes and configurations may vary.

Your standard apartment will come with garbage and water fees already calculated into the bill, since these are generally set fees. Other utility costs, such as electricity, heat, cable, or WiFi can either fluctuate or are deemed unnecessary, so are sometimes not included. If all utilities are included, keep in mind that you’ll probably be overpaying some months, but underpaying other months, so the convenience of a consistent fee will most likely be equitable. Garages are nice, but usually add a significant cost. On site washer dryer (W/D) is probably one of the most important things to look for at an apartment, since Laundromats, while functional, are not really fun places to hang out. If a place comes with W/D hookups, you’ll have to bring in your own appliances, but the electrical circuitry is already there. Nothing worse than toting a washing machine up 3 flights of stairs only to find there’s no place to plug it in. Speaking of appliances, it’s pretty standard for an apartment to come with a stove and refrigerator. Some will come equipped with other appliances, but if one isn’t included, the listing should specify. Some come with almost every piece of furniture you could need, at a cost, but you’ll have to be careful to not get them dirty or your security deposit will rapidly disappear.

Speaking of security deposits, you’ll most likely have to put a full month’s rent down in addition to the first month’s rent (translation, move in costs rent x2) as insurance in case you trash the place. I generally advise not trashing anything that doesn’t belong to you, but if you have the money and don’t care that you won’t be able to use this place as a reference as you search for future apartments, you’re free to do as you will. Most landlords will find some way to weasel you out of at least half your deposit whether by cleaning, small repairs, or miscellaneous fees, but if you leave the apartment in reasonably good condition, you should walk away with at least some of the deposit when you move out. To avoid maintenance fees upon move out, be sure to alert your landlord immediately when something breaks, since they’re legally obligated to fix it without charging you while you’re under lease. Unless it’s ridiculous. Most of them will charge you if you’re unreasonably clumsy or destructive.

Now that you know how to read the listings and how much it‘ll cost you to move in, it’s time to pick out a few that meet your high expectations. You don’t want to pay a ton for this place, but you don’t want to end up with garbage either, right? High price doesn’t guarantee high quality, but be wary of too good to be true prices. Never commit to a place without thoroughly investigating it first. While you’ll never know all the pitfalls of a place until you’ve actually lived there for a month or so, there are some basic things that you should be entitled to wherever you are living. Test to see if all the faucets work, and how long it takes for the hot water to actually get hot. Make sure all the light switches work. Note if the doors stick or the windows don’t open easily, or if the windows don’t lock airtight. Make note of any chores such as lawn mowing or show shoveling you’ll be responsible for (usually standard in a free-standing unit).

If you’re having trouble sorting through online listings such as Craigslist (which doesn’t have a standard format, so you never know what kind of information will be available) or Apartments.com, you can always call a real-estate agency. They’ll take a fee, of course, but such places are generally organized and specific, even while they try to swindle you. If you’ve looked at several places and still can’t make a decision, try testing it against Sirah’s spectacular Pro tips, seen below!

Pro tip #1. If the apartment looks like a dump when you visit it, it’s probably because the landlord is really slow about fixing things. Since you’re renting, you have only minimal responsibility for fixing the place up, so the landlord should be checking in regularly to make sure everything is in working order. If he/she can’t even spruce things up for an open house, you should probably look elsewhere. Admittedly, some places are just old, so they might not look haut fashion or modern, but if paint is peeling, wiring is exposed, flooring is cracked, or windows are broken (common problems that would require minimal effort to repair), go with your gut and pass on that place. Never take a landlord’s word that the place will be fixed up by the time you move in. If you want a second opinion, try asking some neighbours, as they’ll usually be able to point out some common problems.

Pro tip #2. It’s common knowledge that heat rises. If you like being warm all year around without paying a ton in heating costs, move into a place above an old lady. Not to stereotype or anything, but the heat she puts into her apartment will rise into yours which will help defer heating costs. Just make sure to thank her sometimes. Upstairs apartments have the wonderful benefit of reduced chances of peeping toms, fewer people tromping around above you late at night, and provide exercise as you walk up that flight of stairs every day. Of course, carrying furniture up and down stairs can be difficult unless you get one of those high-end pre-furnished apartments, and your escape routes in an emergency are significantly more time consuming.

Pro tip #3. Having roommates can be a great way to offset the costs of your apartment and utilities. Sometimes you even become friends with your roommates and live happily with only the occasional argument. Make sure you set up regular times to talk as roommates, though, and don’t be surprised if you learn more about your roommate than
you ever wanted to know. Fred doesn’t like wearing pants after he comes home from work? Julie is scared of cleaning her hair out of the shower drain? Bill doesn’t get the concept of rinsing his dishes before leaving them in the sink for a week? Ah well, you’ll figure it out. If you’re lucky, you won’t end up hating each other by the time your lease expires. If you skip out on rent, though, there is no pit of hell deep enough… Don’t be that guy.

Pro tip #4. You can often live with a lot less than you thought you could. If the idea of moving all your stuff, buying tons of furniture, and paying for all utilities seems daunting, make a list of what you’d absolutely need if you were to live in a specific place. Then go back through the list and make a list of the stuff you’d actually need. Theoretically, this second list should be shorter ;) Personally, I find it necessary to have on-site parking, a bathtub, and a large countertop, but you certainly have other needs, so don’t be afraid to figure out what you couldn’t live without; there’s no shame in wanting a south-facing window or a living room with three outlets.

All in all, there’s no such thing as a perfect apartment. You can find places that qualify as pretty good or good enough, but there will always be downsides to every place, even if they’re not apparent at move-in. That said, there are some things you shouldn’t have to put up with. If things are broken or living conditions are hazardous, you can get help via city ordinances and lease agreements to help make your living situation better. However, hopefully you can just avoid these kinds of situations in the first place. Spend some time thinking over a place before you agree to any sort of lease, pre-lease or contract. Make sure the place is somewhere you can feel comfortable coming home to because why pay for something you don’t want?

Two Steps From Hell

"What do you weigh? Like 110? Yeah, there's no way. They're gonna beat you up. The kids in Secure beat up the guards. You don't stand a chance."
"I'm gonna just stay in my cell. Not even come out for meals and stuff. They can stick my cake through the little flap in the door."
"Damn, they have cake at Secure?"
"Yeah, every day. Sometimes twice a day."
"How do I get in?"
Said the fourteen year old to the twelve year old on the day he got convicted for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. In a way I guess he had it coming. When your friend says, "let's go rob a house," riding along in the getaway car will probably get you convicted even if you don't steal anything. Having a rap sheet for drug possession, fistfights, and petty theft doesn't help your case either. I can't help wonder where he'll go after his 8 months of prison are over. There isn't much future for a twelve year old with several felonies.

That's not how I grew up, you know. I lived in a town where it was shocking if someone had sex when they were 17, and if a kid had drugs, it was probably because their parents were trying to stash their goods during a police search. It's not like children never committed crimes, but no one ever knew about it, and most of the kids were good.

I was sitting in a courthouse one day taking notes on legal procedure, when this fifteen year old was escorted in. He was there on charges of posting, "I've got a bomb" on an anonymous social media page, which lead to the evacuation of his school. He was also sent to juvie and assigned quite a bit of community service. I don't know where this one came from; whether he was serious, or just playing a joke, whether he had a history of shaky decisions, or if he had just made one mistake.

I think that's always been the scary part of law: you never know if your future will be thrown in jail over one mistake.

I don't have fond memories of police officers. I've never been in a real jail. I've never been accused of a serious crime. But I've been stopped too many times. "Have you been drinking? You seem high. Another suicide attempt? You almost ran me into the median. How fast were you going when your car rolled off the road? What were you doing at the site of the vandalism?"

I don't think a cop has ever treated me as human. I don't think I've ever met a cop who doesn't suspect me of something I should be fined for. Even my friend who used to be fun became suspicious and accusatory after a few years as a cop. I don't like it.

But my point isn't to rag on cops. The stupidity and slime they deal with doesn't come with a handbook. There's no official book of right words to say when you see a kid sitting naked on a street corner smoking. There's no right way to tell a child that they're making stupid decisions and you want them to stop endangering themselves and people around them. There's no good way to break it to a mother that her child will begin his adult life with thousands of dollars in debt for spending a week at a detention center.

Sometimes you wanna just slap these guys who make their kid's lives so hard that they'd go to jail just to get cake twice a day. It seems like a hopeless situation; these kids didn't ask to be born, didn't ask to have the whole world against them. While they're allowed to make their own choices, what twelve year old admits, "smoking is gross, but I've got an addiction; deal with it"?

I wonder how any of us make it. Why do any of us have dreams and futures? Why wasn't I the one born in the middle of a civil war, or to a homeless person as a result of rape, or to a rich lifeless politician who ODs within a few years of my birth?

I also want to know if there's a way to actually help these kids.

Disabled Dreams

I met a boy named Logan. Logan is 10. He is about 3 and a half feet tall and weighs less than 50 pounds because he lacks the mental capacity to eat food and must therefore receive all his nutrients through a tube in his stomach. Logan is severely disabled. He can walk, but not far. He can make sounds, but none of them recognizable as speech. He understands simple instructions, but doesn't always follow them. He is often upset, which he expresses by crying, rocking, or curling up into a ball and humming to himself. He needs active help to maintain daily existence, and because his family is poor, he's often left in the care of poorly paid government employees. This isn't to say that Logan isn't cared for or loved, but I wonder if he can tell how unwanted he is.

Of the thousands of children born every day, most have the physical and mental capacity to grow into independent functioning adults. A few need help to overcome some disabling feature, but only a few are born with such a situation as Logan, wherein they will never be able to live independently.

Some have said that every child is a gift, and every ability is special. The truth that we all know somewhere, though, is that disabilities are not something "special" about a certain child. Disabilities are problems, imperfections, brokenness, that can at times give us enlightening perspectives, but are most often burdensome. No one wants to have a disability; no parent is thrilled to receive a diagnosis of autism or cerebral palsy. No matter how sunny an outlook on the topic, a disability is always a setback, not a blessing.

The differentiation must be made, then, that the person with the disability is not the disability. It is the autism, not the autistic person, which is the burden. But how can we separate the two when the disability is only present when the disabled person is present? How can we include someone, but not their disability? In some cases it is possible, but Logan will never be seen as a person rather than a person with a disability.

There is a common feeling that the world would be a better place without people like Logan. That we should be able to do away with disability forever. Life is hard enough when one is able to live and be successful at basic life skills, but to be totally reliant upon others for daily existence is counter to survival of the fittest philosophy. We of course dream of the day when modern medicine will advance to the extent that we won't have disease or disability anymore. So many advances have been made that we've neatly doubled the predictable lifespan of most first world citizens, but we have not escaped death and pain altogether. We can take endless bottles of Tylenol, but the pain still comes back; sometimes it had only faded dully. And while we can say that at the end of the day, at least I'm not like Logan, the pain of living in a broken body is difficult to bear.

I had a dream last night. I dreamed that I was hanging out at an incredibly well-lit school filled with cheerful Christmas crafts and letters to Santa. I walked outside on one of the last warm days of autumn before the rain and the snow hit, and I dreamed that Logan was on the playground healthy and playing kickball with the other third graders on a huge grassy lawn. No one was sick; no one was crying; no one was unwanted. It's an impossible dream, really. But I hope that that is what heaven looks like, because I'd love to play kickball with Logan there.

The Lever Dilemma

I suppose it could happen to anyone. It’s unlikely, but not impossible. Anyone could happen by a lever by chance. Some people are more likely to than others, naturally, but it could happen.

In natural existence, I generally recommend not pulling the lever. If you don’t know what it does, at least. Even if you do know, there might be repercussions if you are not in ownership of the lever, or if you haven’t obtained permission to change the geotemporal location of most of the lever.

If it is your lever and you know what it does and you intend for it to do what it is meant to do, by all means, pull it whenever you wish.

But that’s not the sort of lever that I happened upon in this tale. I don’t really know who the rightful owner of the Lever was. I might be able to research the name, but I don’t think it really matters. The important factor regarding this lever is not its owner or even really its purpose. The important bit about this lever is whether or not I should have pulled it. I still don’t know.

It was the sort of lever that one doesn’t normally have access to. It was located in the middle of a crowded boulevard, but surrounded by a chunky iron and wire fence and elevated above the average person’s eye level by a set of 8 steep metal stairs. The stairs were the sort with little spikes surrounding gaping holes in the mesh so as to prevent slipping of a utility worker in inclement weather. I’d walked past it many times, but had never been tempted to ascend the stairs and so much as touch the handle. That day was different, of course.

It was the first really fair day in spring, and the streets were stuffed on that Sunday afternoon with cheerful running children, peppy horses pulling carriages, dapper fellows tossing melting slush balls, and grinning ladies testing out their spring jackets. I suppose there were other people too, but the sort that I remember best were the grim police officers, some on foot, and some on staunch horses, all shouting gruffly to make way as somewhere there had been a bit of tomfoolery and suspicious activity. I can’t really blame them though for my curiosity and hesitance to be crushed by the throng of prospective spectators. Besides, I wasn’t the only one to climb those crusty steps that day to get a view of the new trolley car. I was simply the only one there at the wrong time. Or perhaps it was the right time, depending on how you look at it.

Perhaps one could say that I actually saved a life rather than that I killed those people. It doesn’t really matter though. One way or the other, someone most likely would have died at the expense of someone else. And no matter which it was, I would have felt at fault.

Helpful Language Links

I've decided to go out of my way to publish something actually useful here. Unless you have no intention of ever speaking French. Moi, je parle français. I'm sometimes a French teacher. So I've compiled a list of the sites that I use the most when teaching and practicing my own French.

Tex's French Grammar
If you find yourself wanting to study French grammar, or if you're struggling to figure out how to conjugate, or if you're not really sure what conjugate even means, the best site in the world is Tex's French Grammar. There are awesome explanations of all those confusing grammar concepts and a helpful practice tool for conjugating verbs. Plus you get to read all about le conte epique romantique of Tex and Tami and their scheming amis.

Conjuguemos
Another helpful tool for French conjugation is conjuguemos, which is stuffed full of interactive games, graded verb drills, and of course, helpful hints on how to conjugate French verbs. Recent updates require learners to create an admin account with limited activities for free, but it's still a fun way to enjoy practicing conjugation.

Word Reference
Who doesn't know about Word reference? If you don't, you should! This is basically the ultimate online French dictionary with millions of references for words and phrases. I constantly use word reference while doing translations because it has great examples of word usage and everything a French student could want.

Alt Codes
First, for writing, you'll need some accent marks. You can write them with either 4-key alt-codes, or 3-key alt codes. Or another way that I never use because I have most of the 3-key memorized.The following website lists all the Alt Key Codes you could possibly want :)

Pronunciation
If you're ever struggling to remember how to pronounce a French word or phrase, try typing it into Oddcast's free text to speech. Native French speaker approved! If this link fails, you can also search for words at forvo.com. Forvo is like a dictionary, so you might not be able to listen to whole sentences, but there is a vast collection of words with pronunciation and definitions.

Polly Lingual

Games and vocabulary are put together in Polly Lingual, which includes a number of free beginner activities and reasonably priced lessons for more advanced learners. The activities give you a short lesson on how to use various vocabulary words and you can pick from several activities including hangman, whack-a-word, and others.

Lawless French
The Subjunctivisor is probably one of the best tools available for testing to see if you need to use the subjunctive tense or not. Cuz let's face it, subjunctive tense is hard, mostly because it isn't noticeable in English.

Free Rice
For a fun vocabulary tool, check out Free rice. This quiz tool is set up to test your knowledge while offering humanitarian aid to hungry people. Check out their about section for more information, or just keep testing your French vocabulary skills.

Duolingo
I suppose no list of language websites would be complete without duolingo. This free site (and ap) has taken most paid language programs hostage partly due to its fun games and helpful feedback. Personally, I do not endorse this as a language-learning app because it doesn't have the breadth to teach full fluency skills, but it's great as a supplementary app or to refresh your memory on a few French concepts you may have forgotten because it's been 3 years since you spoke any serious French to anyone besides your dog.

Nouvelles en francais facile
A helpful tool for listening and discerning French words is Nouvelles en francais facile. The hosts of this podcast talk about real news stories in French slow enough for a learner to understand most of what they're saying. The interview natural French people and discuss important topics. While there are many French podcasts out there, this one is my favorite so far. The site that hosts this podcast is not in French or English, so unfortunately, I haven't been able to make use of the "quiz" tool, but there are PDF files of the quizes and transcriptions of all the podcasts available on the site, which are very useful.

News in Slow French
Similarly, there exists News in Slow French, which is a regularly broadcast French news program that listeners can subscribe to for all the latest French news. It is leveled beginner, intermediate, and advanced, with French transcripts, including hidden translation tips, and varying pace depending on which level you choose. For the full audio, you have to purchase a subscription, but there is still a lot of great content on the site for free.

Karaoké FLE
This is a fun site where you can listen to French songs and test your listening skills by typing in the French word after they've sung it in the song. In my experience, the program is confused by apostrophes, so it's difficult to get a good score since you have to skip any words which would have included them, but it's still a great listening exercise. There are several difficulty levels and a variety of songs to choose from Karaoké FLE. This is a system brought to you by http://www.bonjourdefrance.com/ which is a cool site with many helpful French language activities.

NRJ
If you like to know what music French people are listening to, check out NRJ Radio. You can get news in French as well as music. French people listen to quite a bit of American music, but if you pick the right station, you can get mostly French music. This link will take you to the "made in France" station, but there are dozens of others.

Il était une histoire
For a bit of a fresh take on learning vocabulary and grammar, check out these fairy tales and legends. The site is full of short stories in various genres that are free to read. If you create a free account, you get access to audio for most of the books, games, research links, and sometimes videos. The stories are from many cultures, European, African, and Asian, so there's a diverse mix of stories to read and interact with.

The French Experiment
For a bit of extra practice in listening and pronouncing French, the French Experiment has a number of lessons and stories that you can read along with. While there isn't much content on this site, if you subscribe to the newsletter, you'll receive weekly website recommendations for great sites in a variety of topics. What content is available on the site is clear and helpful, and definitely a resource for listening practice. The stories available are also pronounced slowly and clearly, and include hidden translations just a click away in the transcript.

French Together
French together offers a friendly course you can pay to participate in, but I'm always after the free stuff, which is what you'll get in their extensive French Vocabulary section. While the vocabulary available focuses pretty heavily on travel French, the format is easy to follow and includes great explanations and cultural hints on how to use various phrases and terms. This is a great resource for augmenting your pronunciation skills.

Memrise
I honestly don't use flashcards much, but if you're a fan of them, Memrise might be the app for you. With beginning and advanced options, this app will help you review reading, listening, and spelling of a set of classically problematic French words and phrases. It also has fun leaderboards and daily goals to help motivate you. Also available as a mobile app.

Talk in French
For some fun entertainment options, check out Talk in French blog. The blogger has some great suggestions for practicing your French. If you're feeling like dropping $10, Frederic also offers a number of audiobooks to help you learn the French language. I personally preferred the free stories available from Il était une histoire. This article has some great film suggestions.

Last FM
Also, search for fantastic French music at Last FM. You can search by artist or style.

Courrier Picard 
Or maybe you'd like to check out this selection of French comics

Poems
Perhaps you'd like to read some classic Quebecoise poetry Or these Children's Poems

Discord
While not strictly educational, I've been able to meet and chat with a number of native French speakers and French language learners on discord. You can join the Franglish server or French Discord Server to get in touch with a random assortment of French-inclined people. There are text and vocal channels in each server. The conversations can get adult-themed, silly, or may be found to have trolls, but are pretty well moderated. If you don't already have a discord account, you will need one to access these chatrooms.

Well, that's all for today. I'd be happy to add more, so let me know if there are any great French sites you've used as a French student or teacher. Thanks for reading!

Three Simple Syllables (Another Asexual Rant)

Am I a relationship nightmare?

They tell me that men hate commitment but love sex.

What do I want? I want your soul, but you can keep your pants on.

“You know you’ll never get a date if you keep up with this whole ‘asexual’ thing.” Yeah, I know, that’s kinda the point.

It’s strange, though, letting go of the idea that I’ll fall in love, get married, buy a home, have 2.5 kids, raise them, and retire with the man of my dreams. I’m not the first one who has done it, and I won’t be the last, but somewhere it feels like letting go of a piece of my soul every time I say, “no, I don’t really care if I get married or not.”

I don’t think I’m sad about losing this bit of me though. It seems like a superfluous bit. Something that I never asked to be a part of me, but somehow it found its way in there; an expectation that I would eventually get married. Little girls in grandma’s attic, playing dress-up with her old veils and hoop skirts: “aww, what a beautiful bride,” they told me as I clattered down the stairs wearing curtains and lace and shoes too large for a girl of 5. I wanted to be beautiful too. Being beautiful was a good thing then.

I walk past wedding shops and craft stores still and think, “If I ever had a wedding, that would be at the reception.” I try on dresses, but no one tells me “aww;” they just nod knowingly as if a prince might sweep through the doors and carry me off then and there. As if a dress could make me beautiful enough for him to forget that carrying off girls is socially awkward these days.

I stare at myself in the mirror sometimes and think, “damn, that girl is gorgeous. Too bad I’m the only one who has the courage to say so out loud.” Later at the club, though, they whistle at me and call me hot and sexy. Congratulations on coming up with two syllables to sum up my appearance. Somehow, hearing it out loud doesn’t make me feel cherished. It makes me feel exposed and accosted. Too bad I can’t be gorgeous without being sexually objectified.

It’s not that I don’t want to be wanted. I know some people don’t find themselves in need of relationships, but I don’t mind romance. I think it’s stupid, but I still like it. But it’s weird to think that people wouldn’t want me because I don’t want sex. I get it; sex is a big deal, but I’m a lot better at conversation, massages, eating, and cuddling than I am at sex. Can’t you appreciate what I am?

“No one will want you because you won’t have sex. They’ll dump you eventually. You’re not good enough unless you’re willing to have sex.”

No one says it. But it hides in the depths of my brain waiting for my lonely days and my depression to forget how absurd it is. Because it could be true.

“You could just stop. You could just give up on this asexual thing. Why keep labeling yourself if it hurts this much? I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

It’s not about the label. I could have no label, but I still wouldn’t want sex. So I wonder. I think that is my biggest fear (here, exposed in my blog for everyone to see. Classy). I’ve lost friends before because I’ve told them I’m not interested in them romantically. I’ve even lost friends because even though they knew I wasn’t interested in sex, they couldn’t stay “just friends.” Power to you, man, but just because I have a female body doesn’t mean I’m just a potential sexual partner/girlfriend. I’ve lost friends because they’re sexual and I’m not. Could I lose a partner for the same reason?

No. I’m not going to be like that. I’ll tell you right away. I’ll make sure you know. I won’t even start something. I can’t deal with being rejected before you even know me. I’m amazing. I just don’t like sex. If you like sex more than you like me, then let’s not date. I can deal with that. But I also don’t want to be alone. So, now what?

Man-Eating Vegetarians

I already wrote a piece about yoga. Hopefully I’ll publish it before I post this so no one is confused, but I’m going to write this bit anyway.

I found a photo of a clipping from a book today that said, “Beloved, do not take part in any of these components of Satan’s Spiritual Structure! They are doorways to demonic possession.” What followed was a list of classic satanic activities such as Astrology, Wicca, Necromancy, and Marijuana, as well as a few items that might not normally be on such a list. These included cyberpunk culture, vegetarianism, heavy metal, Lord of the Rings, and Twilight films.

Let me start by saying I’m not surprised that these items made it onto the list. If nothing else, I’m surprised Star Wars isn’t on the list as well. There is so much in this world that we have reason to be afraid of. Let’s face it, enough heavy metal can kill a person. Take lead or mercury for example.

Oh, Christians. How is it that the same group of people can contain some of the most caring, grounded, sensible people in the world as well as some of the rudest, most superstitious nuts in modern times? I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure that I’m not going to go to face eternal condemnation for failing to share that “like if you love Jesus, ignore for hell” post.

Well, I don’t think you really worry about going to hell for not sharing a facebook post either. Not when you think about it. All those good luck charms? You might have them hanging around just in case, but you know they don’t actually mean much. When you hit the cold floor, all the luck in the world deserts you and means nothing. Then where can you turn? Suddenly the religion you held to for comfort seems less feasible than anything else. Suddenly it doesn’t matter if you follow tribalism, Catholicism, Pastafarianism, Rastafarianism, Judaism, or vegetarianism.

Here we are at the end of all things (gratuitous LOTR quote). Where can we turn? There is evil in this world. There are things that will attack us and steal our hope. What can we hold onto? There is despair and brokenness and evil. But there’s also good, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for.

See, I’m less afraid of bad luck, demons, or unknown things than I am of what I know exists: depression, illness, heartbreak, loneliness, failure, or poverty. What’s the point of fearing the unknown? There’s enough within the known to be afraid of (according to that one fellow who vanished into the crowd in Beyond the Deepwoods).

As Mme Ba indicates, why should we strive for the impossible; to achieve the possible is already a victory. This isn’t to say there isn’t anything beyond what we can physically see and feel. This isn’t to say we mustn’t have dreams. This isn’t to say we can’t seek comfort when we can’t understand what’s going on. It is to say, though, that we can find hope in the fact that there is One who is greater than demonic possession. Avoiding Yoga and punk culture can never guarantee that we’ll be safe. Why are we so afraid?

Another Silent Revolution

“Why did you change your name? Do you have a legitimate reason, or are you doing it just to be different?”

I guess I was sort of caught off guard by this question. It offended me. Of course I did it to be different, but not just to be different. But I didn't know what to say, so I just said, “that's how I think of myself.” To which he responded, “why?” and I didn't answer because I didn't know.

I didn't change my name a lot. Just one letter. The first vowel. When I introduce myself, most people don't even notice, and sometimes I have to repeat myself a few times before they realize it's different. But I think it's just like a nickname. Just a more permanent one. I've had a lot of self-inflicted nicknames over the years, but this one has stuck with me for most of my adult life, and I have a plastic card that says it's my real name now. But why?

At first I guess I thought it was because I didn't want to be the same as everyone else. This is a legitimate reason. There are healthy ways to be like everyone else and there are healthy ways to be different from everyone else. Having a new name is not an unhealthy way to be different from everyone else.

According to my brother, most people name their babies something different because they don't want to attach the association of a negative experience to their child. That's why there are so few girls named Hillary these days. Not that that was ever a really common name, but still. I can't say I ever had a lot of very negative connotation with my former name. I knew lots of people who had the same name as me, and 9/10 were pretty cool. But I didn't ever really like having the same name as something else. I'm different from other people; shouldn't I be called something different too?

So that's got me thinking. There are a lot of things about me that are different. I do my hair differently than most people. I have a few interesting exhibitions of body art. I have some unique jewelry. I don't always prescribe to conventional beauty procedures. I wear clothing that has been described as “the sort of thing only you wear.” Why do I do this? Am I that desperate to be different? Am I doing it just to get attention? Am I trying to make a statement, to get people to notice me and think, “oh, she's weird.”

No.

I am trying to make a statement, but it's not that I'm different. I am different, but that's mostly just a side effect of my choice to do what I enjoy. I wear my hair the way I do because I enjoy it. The fact that it's different from most people's is irrelevant. I wear strange clothes because I think they're beautiful. And if a few heads turn as I walk down the sidewalk, I don't really care. I am who I am and I love what I love, and I refuse to apologize for it.

There have been a lot of movements that have had power. Mobs and protests, petitions, viral videos, speeches and expositions. That's not what I'm about. I don't want to make a statement of revolution or rebellion; my statement is that this is normal. My goal is to normalize uniqueness. I want children to be able to wear clothes that aren't exactly like what everyone else is wearing without being ashamed. I want looking like yourself to be normal instead of having to dress to fit a mold. I want women to feel free to go unshaven without feeling like monsters. I want humanness to be normal. Because there's nothing wrong with being comfortable as yourself. Unless you're evil, which I guess we all are at least a little bit. The power of normalization is greater than most people seem to realize. Bikinis are a great example of this.

To those of you who balk at the idea of calling someone a different name than the one their parents gave them at birth or who consider it strange that someone would want to be called by a different pronoun than the one you're used to, I give you the right to feel how you want, but realize that you'll never be my friend. Names change all the time. Women change their last name when they get married. People assume nicknames in various circumstances. Celebrities trademark specific pseudonyms. Sure, it's comfortable to have something reliable like gender to be able to fall back on, but regardless of your stance on transgenderism, if your goal is to stay comfortable, you may miss out on many thrilling friendships.

I changed my name for a different reason than to be different or to normalize name changes. I can have a classic name or a unique nickname. Either is fine under the standard of normalcy. It's normal to have the name your parents gave you and it's normal to go by a nickname. But I want to be who I am. I want to have a unique name so that I am just myself, not just another girl with the same name as your cousin. Because we can't always help comparing those we meet to someone with the same name. I want to be unprecedented, and I want to be my own category. I think everyone is their own category, really. Sure we all have things in common, but none of us are really the same.

So, to be precise, I didn't change my name just to be different. I already am different. I wanted my name to reflect that.

Life on Hiatus

I don't know if it's possible to define what it means to really live. At least, not in the sense that colloquial Americanism puts it. Obviously we have medical definitions of what it means to be alive versus otherwise, though even that is somewhat contentious since with modern medicine, we can revive people even after they have been declared legally dead. Additionally, if the presence of a heartbeat and breathing along with brain waves are the hallmarks of being alive, what are we to make of that ever-present issue of when life begins in the womb? Yet if we cannot even decide on a medical definition of being alive, how are we to define that feeling of freedom and purpose that each of us seek in our most whimsical tempers?

The matter is further complicated by the broadness of what causes people to feel alive. Some feel alive at the top of a mountain or in the midst of some other breathtaking swell of nature. Others feel this purpose and thrill in dark alleys in desperate situations. Still others find life and purpose in cathedrals or prayer closets, and some find that lavish spending and ownership of expensive items brings them that rush that seems bespoken of life. While there seems to be great variation in what it means to be alive, like so many other slippery definitions, it remains fairly easy to describe what it means to feel dead.

If you are reading this, I find it unlikely that you have ever been dead in the medial sense of the term, though I suppose I have met several self-proclaimed phoenixes in my lifetime thus far, so it's not impossible. But despite this lack of literal deadness, I find it unlikely that you have not experienced an emotional state that resonates with the word “dead.” Perhaps you were listless, tired, bored, stressed, unhappy, or distinctly uncomfortable. Your emotional state was similar to that of a skeleton in a pineboard box, and you felt that you couldn't get out of it for whatever reason. You found yourself with a lack of purpose and your dreams seemed impossibly far away. If you've felt that way for more than 5 days in a row, you may have clinical depression like me.

I bring this up because I have just recently found myself relieved of the shackles of a constricting job, and now that I have time to think, I realize just how dead I have been feeling for the past 3 months. You know it's bad when you are counting down the days until school starts just so you don't have to deal with summer anymore. It's frustrating, of course, because all the things I wanted to do, including writing in this blog, were just shoved aside for the sake of something that I realize I don't even know why I wanted it. No amount of paychecks are worth the many sleepless nights and anxiety medications that I went through for the sake of this job. Yet I needed a job.

Isn't this the crux of it though? My dear free-spirited friend with the camera and the unique clothing choices sends me instagram photos with captions like, “travel while you're young and don't worry about the money,” or, “You were meant for more than just paying the bills.” But most problematically, I find that while my life thus far is not life giving and full of purpose, I find my stressful workload and lack of artistic outlet preferable to that summer I spent homeless. I guess it was nice for a while to have all the time in the world to pursue whatever I wanted (as long as it was free); I painted a lot, and I spent a lot of time driving around just to look at things, but I was also pretty hungry. I appreciate people like YouTuber Homeward Bound who packs up her whole life and drives around in an SUV. It sounds amazing. But the reason most people live in houses and work 9-5 jobs is that we as humans require stability as well as freedom. But how can we keep from being dead while living in a safe place?

A wise man once said that freedom isn't safe; that we can't experience true freedom without giving up a lot of safety, stability, and comfort. But truly, we can't have a great deal of safety and comfort without abandoning a certain amount of freedom. According to the idea cliodynmics, history repeats itself on a generational basis because generation 1 becomes restless and wars and catastrophes break out, and generation 2 grows up in this unrest and insecurity and therefore takes extensive pains to avoid it in their lifetimes. Unfortunately, the grandchildren or perhaps even the children of generation 2 grow up in the relative safety and comfort of this counter-movement and become restless as their ancestors a few generations ago did, and the cycle repeats itself. That is to say, we don't realize how awful war is unless we've lived in it, yet without war to contrast against, we become bored and dream of something more exciting than a peaceful life.

There are those who say that we are currently on the cusp of World War III. This, in my opinion, while a frightening possibility, is less likely than civil war based on the many factions of social and political causes at work in the United States today. I'm no political commentator. Those who know me wouldn't hesitate to say that my political beliefs are rapidly brushed aside in favor of individualism; if you want social change, don't get involved in politics: be that change yourself. But in whatever case, there is the possibility that dramatic civil unrest will rock the country I live in at any time. Will we feel more alive then? Will we find more purpose in vendettas and tactics and affiliations than we do in economics? Could that fix the many cases of purposeless young people that fill up our corporate world? Isn't there anything else that would do this more kindly?

I can only pray that my little brother wouldn't be drafted if it came to that.

So, what is freedom worth? What would I do to rid myself of this feeling of deadness inside me that caused so much lack of blog updating in the past 3 months? Relatively speaking, this has been the worst summer of my adult life, and that compared to a stretch of ridiculous jobs and lack of jobs and uncertainty about my future. I have more than once compared my job this summer to hell. But as a certain fictional military personnel once said on M*A*S*H*, “War isn't hell. War is war, and Hell is Hell. And of the two, war is a lot worse.”

I think we can all agree that the definition of really living does not include war. Meditations Minis says that we can find purpose and life in even the most mundane of activities if we take a moment to love and dream. But while I agree that we need dreams and we need to feel alive and full of purpose, there's also something to be said for finding a place to dream that isn't built on boredom, supposed victimization, or social positions.

(Why is there a picture of a colorful crochet blanket at the end of this post?

Obviously because I crochet when I'm anxious and this seemed like a pleasant photo to put up to trick strangers into reading my article that has nothing to do with crochet or hiatus. But it's pretty <3)

Advice to Me

I don't think I planned on that one summer being the launch point for my adult life. Who knew that first job my aunt got me the week after my 18^th birthday would keep coming back to me as it has? I had no interest in working as a disability aide, and I guess I still don't, but this is what I find myself doing. I didn't realize disability is so prevalent or that it can pop up anywhere.

I don't think I'm qualified to give “advice to 20 somethings” as is a popular trend floating around blogs these days. I have stories, of course, but what I take away from them is not what you might need. Life tends to keep going in a direction you aren't quite sure you like. I don't know why there's so much disability and violence in life. I guess I was surprised to find it in me too.

I'd give advice to my former self, but even I don't know the end of this story. Life isn't an Adventure in Odyssey; you can't usually make a half hour show with exposition, climax, and resolution. You know in a book it'll eventually be alright, because there's always an ending. Life isn't like that. I can't say for sure which parts will factor into the climax and which parts are just needless exposition.

Someone slapped me in the face yesterday (figuratively), telling me that no matter what my circumstances, I don't have to be miserable. I guess that's true, in a sense. Misery is a state of mind as much as it is a sort of thing that just falls on you, or perhaps that you fall into. I don't say this to downplay mental illness. If you don't know, I have depression and anxiety. People joke that “falling in love” is sort of a misnomer because you don't fall in love the same way you fall into a hole. But you fall into depression similarly to how you fall in a hole; you might be walking along not worrying too much about where you're going and suddenly you're 6 feet under and have no way to get out. Is it possible to not be miserable at the bottom of this hole though? I think that's where the metaphor falls apart. Depression isn't something you can see, like a hole. It's so intangible there isn't usually a clear direction you need to go. That's not to say I have to stay depressed, just that it's not really clear how to not be depressed.

I don't know that I have advice for my former self. That 18 year old girl that spent 4 hours a day watching a low-functioning 10 year old alternately tremble and drool in some ways is a lifetime away. That girl didn't have insomnia, a college degree, close friends, artistic aspirations, concrete plans, a political agenda, a liberal arts perspective, or a sexual orientation. She'd never had to pay bills, manage a budget, repair a car, stay up late studying, or weave through the intricacies of trying to date and not date at the same time. She'd also never really been on the internet. I wonder if the current me would do things differently if put back in that place. If she'd still stock up on snacks in her trunk and spend weekends thinking about doing something besides driving and playing freecell. But no matter how much I wonder, the truth is that I'm never going back.

I think that's one thing I would tell myself. I mean, I'd tell me “you're asexual. It's cool.” But I would also say that it's not worth having all those regrets. Of course, I believe in living life in such a way that I won't have regrets, but sometimes everyone does things that shouldn't have been done. But you can't undo them. I think I'd also tell myself that agnosticism isn't for me.

Maybe I'd tell myself to get as much training on disability as possible. How was I to know that abnormal psychology exists everywhere (to the point that it's not really abnormal)? But that field of knowledge is vast and unpredictable. I think one could study for a thousand years and not really understand it. I don't even understand my own depression and anxiety despite living with it every day.

But you know, 18 year old me knew something that I may have forgotten. She used to dream of a day when disability would be no more. There would be a day when that trembling, drooling child would no longer be autistic. He would have words and be able to walk and run and read and sing and create without assistance. He would be free. And I think that it's sometimes easy to stay in a place where disability is crippling and seems like it'll last forever and that there will never be any hope of freedom from it. But I wonder if this isn't just a cry for redemption?

When the World of Men Falls

There are so many problems. Human trafficking, world hunger, war, suicide, pornography, poverty, global warming, child soldiers, hopelessness, decomposition of family, education cuts, truancy, child abuse, hate crimes, mental illness, racism, terminal illness, chronic illness, rape culture, ignorance, slave labor, loneliness, vegetarianism...

Some couples I know refuse to have children who would grow up in this dark world fraught with danger and heartache. Some parents wish they hadn't had children for that reason. Although of course there are others who don't care much about their children, and many who couldn't imagine not having the children they have (or wish for, depending on the circumstances).

"What can man do against such reckless hate?" (J.R.R. Tolkien, the Two Towers). The world sometimes leaves us hopeless. How can there be a good god when so much Evil is in the world? What can anyone do that could possibly hope to make a difference?

I pose a question I do not pretend to have an answer for. I've been reading too many articles (and watching too much YouTube) with a definite call to action: "Don't buy your children smart phones", "Send your charitable gift now", "Pray", "Eat these 10 things and lose weight fast!" But the reality is that the world is too big for me. I take a stand against human trafficking one day, and the next day everything else I care about is demanding my attention too. The horror of all the wrong in the world bombards me whenever I choose to look at it, sometimes leaving me shivering with nightmares. Sometimes you just have to turn off the news. But then what about her--that girl you could have helped? What about him--the man who just needs a lunch? What about them--the ones who just need a hand to hold? Can we do nothing? Can we let them fall?

Yes, I did watch the Lord of the Rings in a one-day marathon last weekend, but I hope no one gets on my case for plagiarism. (sorry for not giving you the credit you deserve, Peter Jackson). 

Truth is, I care. Caring is hard sometimes. Okay, a lot of the times. It requires effort--to notice the wrong and choose to keep looking at it. To really feel it. To feel the wrongness of it and want it to stop. And then doing something. Doing something is hardest. But only if you choose to care. 

But I can't care for everything. God may have a heart big enough for the whole universe, but mine seems only big enough for one thing at a time. So I care for my family. I care for my neighbors. I care for my friends. I care for my coworkers and clients. And that just about fills up my quota, but I find that I can still care more. For the strangers I meet on the street. 

If you want to make a difference, get off the internet.

Having the Cake (but not eating it)

I told myself I would never publish an update like this, but after publishing the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, I feel like I should explain myself, even if no one ever reads this.

Why have I decided to call myself Asexual?

No one has ever explicitly asked me this. As of yet, I haven’t come out to many people in my life, although I have a whole other identity on the internet. Note that I love having the ability to be anonymous on the internet because it gives me the chance to explore what I really think without worrying that someone is going to be shocked at how I’m ruining my reputation. Or something. Basically, the internet is helpful to me. It’s where I first heard the term “asexual.”

Actually, I guess I’d heard it from a school counselor who asked me what I identified as. We talked about a lot of stuff that day, and he wasn’t very helpful, but I had written on the screening questionnaire that I identified as anti-sexual. When asked to explain that, I said, “I just don’t want sex. I don’t really like the term ‘asexual’ because like moss is asexual, but I just feel uncomfortable about sex and would rather it not happen to me.” A short time later I found the documentary (A)Sexual on hulu, and it resonated with me so strongly that I gave up calling myself antisexual and went with asexual instead, even though I cannot reproduce by budding.

Asexuality, for those that don’t know, is simply the lack of sexual attraction. I personally don’t have experience with much disbelief about it, but when I first realized I might be asexual, in my euphoria, I told a few people, “I think I might be asexual.” They seemed confused and told me, “I used to be like that, but now I have a boyfriend, and the longer we’re together, the harder it is to not have sex.”

To me, this business of desiring sex during a relationship was a novel idea. I had had a boyfriend for about 7 months, and I cannot recall actually wanting to have sex with him a single time. I remember wanting him to hold me. I remember thinking that kissing was about the silliest activity one could spend an hour doing. I remember teasing him to see if he could turn me on. The more I think about it, though, the more I realize I just wanted to be close to him. I wanted someone who would be willing to put his hand on my back and just stroke my hair. That was the extent of what I wanted in our relationship. He informed me some time after we’d broken up that he could feel a lust coming from me, and that it was hard to say no to having sex sometimes, but I never felt that way. I was a bit confused by it, actually, because even though I knew that sexual attraction factored into our relationship somewhere, I had no desire to experience anything involving genitals. (sorry if that’s too much information. Talking about sex is tough when you’re trying to stay PG)

So, the label fits. I’ve thought through it a number of times, and for me, identifying as someone who isn’t interested in sex is a no-brainer. In fact, in the few instances that I’ve talked about my asexuality with people, I usually simply say that I’m not really interested in sex. Most people get that. There seems to be a real hang-up when I go from saying, “I’ve discovered I don’t really want to have sex” to “I’m asexual” though. And this is a mindset that I’m still trying to figure out.

Because of other people‘s confusion with my preference for labeling myself, I’ve grown to appreciate my physical condition of CSS. Because this is not a well-known condition, I shall explain this also. CSS stands for Central Sensitivity Syndrome. It is a condition of unknown cause that makes my nervous system a bit different from other people’s. It’s not life-threatening, by any means, but it results in uncomfortable situations where my skin sometimes believes that clothing is painful, that carrying anything weighing more than a thimble is going to cut me, that there are insects crawling on me, and a number of other things that other people certainly experience, but generally to a lesser extent. I bring this up because it’s a condition I’ve had for a large portion of my life, but it was only diagnosed a year ago. Prior to my diagnosis, I wondered how people could live like strong smells didn’t bother them. When I realized that the difference was that my nervous system exasperated smells to me, it made it easier for me to function in the world.

To me, having CSS and being asexual are similar in one regard. They are both part of who I am. I didn’t choose either, but I have grown up experiencing them, which makes me just a bit different from my peers. Neither is really a problem, but each requires some special provisions on my part, and they request some consideration from people around me. For example, axe body spray? Only use a little. Please.

So, why do I identify as asexual? It’s not a lifestyle choice or a rebellious move, in my mind. Asexuality is simply a word to describe what I was already experiencing. It’s a word that helps me be comfortable as I realize that it’s okay to not be into chick flicks. It’s a word that reminds me that if I don’t want sex, it’s okay. It’s also a word that has helped me find community. Turns out there are a lot of people like me who have half-lives on the internet. These are people who will never tell me, “it’s just a phase. You probably just haven’t met the right person yet. I respect your lifestyle choice.” They’re people who are more like, “so, wanna get some cake?”

I don't honestly expect anyone to argue with me. I guess I could change the phrasing in my last post to reflect that. This concept of “coming out” is sort of weird since most people either don't know or care about asexuality. That's okay I guess. Unless you're dating me or subjecting me to another lecture on the evils of premarital sex. Asexuality is invisible for the most part. No one makes a fuss about asexuality. But no one exactly welcomes it either.

If you've gotten this far, I guess you've done the unexpected. I don't know what that makes you, but it's cool. 

The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Someone asked me once what it’s like to be me.

I’m kidding. Who asks something like that? I actually read it in a book. In context, it was about how we often jump to conclusions about people without really understanding what they’re going through, and if we would just listen, we might not be so upset about our differences.

I thought this was a novel idea. Why didn’t anyone care about what it’s like to be me? Surely if they did, they would stop labeling me as a weirdo.

I could tell you what it’s like to be me. I could go into the long explanation. I have many labels I associate with now, although none is strictly accurate. The short story, however, is that I think I’m misunderstood. I can only say that though because everyone is misunderstood. According to an image I surreptitiously stole from the internet this morning, Everyone is fighting a battle I know nothing about. That is to say, humans are really bad at understanding each other, even though we all face pretty much the same thing.

“But you couldn’t possibly understand me! You haven’t been through what I’ve been through!”

Seriously. Human beings have a limited range of emotions. Even if I haven’t been through what you’ve been through, I might be able to get how you’re feeling.

But I didn’t come here to demean your feelings. I personally think that feelings are irritating and misleading, but they’re still real. What I did come to talk about is plastic.

Now, plastic, as a substance, is dangerous to the environment. Plastic is not biodegradable, so it fills up our landfills and kills wildlife. It is also tough, so it kills animals and accumulates in the great Pacific garbage patch. It also uses up valuable petroleum, which drives up gas prices. Plastic has its uses, and they are limited. In general, plastic is bad.

Why on earth would we want plastic in our souls then?

See what I did there?

No?

Okay, I’ll explain.

People are plastic. As in, we are fake. Our whole lives are used up pretending to do things we’d rather not do, or pretending we don’t enjoy stuff we actually like, or pretending we like stuff that we actually despise. Sometimes the overall fakeness of it all is overwhelming, and we’re stuck wondering if there’s actually anything real or worthwhile in this world.

But worse than this is that, even if we realize that we are plastic, we are apathetic. We are comfortable and, while not exactly satisfied, justified in our own minds. We have to be what we are to survive. We have to look out for number one. We have to spend our days doing what is expected of us by ourselves and by society. What other meaning is there to life?

Aside from these distinctly negative associations, it is actually necessary for us to pretend to be people we aren’t. For example, most of us are not law-abiding citizens. We’re just pretending to be. We all have the capacity to break the laws, but due to personal and social constraints, we pretend we would never do those bad things. In this case, it’s okay to be plastic and pretend to be something you might not actually be.

In other instances, however, this can cause problems. See, when we pretend that we have it all together even though we don’t, we make ourselves invulnerable to assistance, and in turn, we view those who reveal they need help as illogical, needy, or sinful.

But somehow I can't admit I need help because I have to keep pretending to be strong, smart, and in control while being funny, friendly, and sincere. But this leaves me stuck in a paradox between the identity that I want to have and the identity that I have to have in order to achieve my goals. I don’t know how to be all those things without compromising who I really am. This is in part because I don’t know who I really am. I don’t know if any of us knows who we really are.

I do know that we’re complicated. I’ve seen movies about high school cliques where you can identify most of what a person is by which group they associate with.

I was home schooled. I was never labeled as a part of any particular group. I was never told I couldn’t like something because it didn’t suit my type. I was allowed to like punk rock, ballet, gardening, and video games. It was like being in kindergarten, except I was actually good at the stuff I tried.

I admit, though, that since I’ve never been to an actual high school, there is a distinct possibility that I am misunderstanding the social structure. All I know is that I don’t fit in. People can label me, but I always deviate from the expected. But everyone does that, even if only a little.

Despite this, you won’t hear me say that we’re all the same. We’re not all the same. If we’re all the same, then what’s the point of being a deviant? What I am saying, though, is that we all have similarities in our core. There are core differences as well, and certainly an abundance of shallow differences, but there is something about being human that no one who claims that label can avoid.

That’s why I’m looking into proof that one or both of my parents have supernatural DNA. I was thinking elvish for a time, but perhaps dragon is more my species type.

Similar to a dragon, I am a hoarder, I like to live alone and will guard my privacy with fire when necessary. I’m clever and popular, but everyone’s just a bit afraid of me. Except my mother. Dangit, mother. How am I supposed to create a broad sweeping generalization if you’re a deviant???

I’m also draconic due to the fact that I’ve been accused of not existing.

Not as in, I’m an apparition or a figment of thousands of people’s imagination. More as in, I don’t experience what most people call normal, and people don’t believe that’s possible.

I’m talking about sex. For the record (intense stressful moment as I brace for objections), I label myself as asexual. Not like the plants. Unfortunately, my attempts to reproduce by budding have all ended in failure. As in, I don’t want to have sex. I think sex is stupid. I don’t get why people want it. You can object all you want, but if you don’t believe me, you can stop reading. It’s okay. You are fully entitled to your own opinion. Even if it’s wrong.

I think this is one of the most misunderstood things about me. You might find it easy to see why. Unless, of course, you’ve never seen me flirting, but trust me, that adds a whole level of confusion that most people aren’t prepared to deal with. People ask me, what’s normal? Is it okay to feel like this?

If you were a computer, I’d tell you that there’s nothing in the original installation that can kill you. But humans and dragons are not computers.

I pretend I’m not asexual though. Especially to people who’ve known me all my life. It’s hard to accept that other people change. I used to be an albeit weird teenager with reasonably normal desire for relationships, and since no one expected anything different, hearing that I am something unexpected is hard to accept. So it is with everyone who defies expectations.

Expectations are cruel. They can help uphold standards. They can also be crushing. For me, at least, I hate going back to where I used to live because the expectations of people who knew me are overwhelming. I can’t be everything you were expecting me to be. You know that, but you’re still disappointed. I’m still disappointed. This is because I have just as much plastic in me as everyone else. I’m just as apathetic as everyone else. I hate it, but not enough to change.

Is this what it means to be human?

Are we destined to lose to the plastic?

Will we always just love that which is meaningless and hate what could change us?

Everyone is fighting a battle, but it’s not always a battle against the plastic.

Sometimes the plastic is too much. Sometimes we have the time to battle our own lack of change, our apathy, and our superficiality. Sometimes, however, we battle to survive. We battle to find our identity. We battle to be understood. We battle to be valued. We fight through days and months and years of invisible battles.

She asked me one day if I even really cared. I was rebelling against the plastic, so I said what she had been hoping I wouldn’t admit: I didn’t care. I couldn’t. I was too worn out to even consider fighting the truth anymore. It was a cruel truth, and not one that I wanted her to know. I wanted to care. But sometimes you just can’t fight anymore.

I was dying, but all of a sudden, the plastic seemed stupid. Why do we waste so much time doing that which doesn’t matter?

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” She asked.

Because what can you say in the face of all that brokenness?

“How can you possibly understand?”

“Because I’m that broken too” she whispered.

We’re all that broken. No one can possibly understand how broken we are. Except that

we’re all that broken.

What’s it like to be me?

Well, what’s it like to be you?