“Like most women, I currently live in a society where violence, harassment and scary shit can break out at any moment, just because I told some random asshole “no” without bothering to be nice about it. Doing that is so dangerous that most women don’t dare; after a few scary incidents, they learn to make up excuses, to smile, to be sweet and welcoming, to act as if every single random asshole on the street is a precious new friend that they would just LOVE to stand outside of the Chipotle and chat with FOR HOURS, if only cruel fate had not intervened. That’s what it’s actually like, being a woman: Playing nice with every random asshole, because this random asshole might be the one who hurts you. And then, if he hurts you anyway, they’ll tell you that you led him on.”—
I came out to my mother today, and because hers is really the only opinion I care about, I figured I’d write something about it. I have never hidden who I am, but given the current social and political climate I feel like I cannot keep silent or be vague any longer. I have no intention of ever getting married, nor do I want to join the military, but I should be able to if I so chose. These aren’t gay rights or civil rights. These are HUMAN rights. I REFUSE to let anyone make me feel like less of a person because of how I am, because, frankly, I am fucking fantastic.
Lots of things might happen. That’s the thing about writers. They’re unpredictable. They might bring you eggs in bed for breakfast, or they might all but ignore you for days. They might bring you eggs in bed at three in the morning. Or they might wake you up for sex at three in the morning. Or…
“If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.”