No More Boxes
No, the title is not a vagina joke. Still have one. Always will. Lemur likes it, and I like him, so it stays.
I’m tired of being put in a box. You know what I mean. We do it every day. We try to make order from the chaos, and put things where we think they belong. Well, I’m not that easy to categorize, and honestly, I think this is why I don’t have that many friends. I can see both sides of most issues, and I pick and choose what I like, which often makes me difficult to understand. Too often, I don’t stay in the box where people think I fit.
I don’t go in the Catholic box any more. Yes, I used to teach at a Catholic school. I taught English, not religion. I questioned my faith more in those two years of teaching than I had before or have since. How effective can a teacher be at trying to inspire self-love and respect for others when the church says it is the best church in the whole world and all others are beneath it? ( Yes, I’m a rebel for not capitalizing “Church.”) They then state that people are good or evil based on who they love… Love is love. Love is never wrong. I don’t fit in the Catholic box any more, despite the new Pope’s strides toward making it right.
I don’t go in the conservative box. I never have. Some people assume because I taught at a Catholic school that I must be Republican. Not until the party gets its head out of its ass and stops telling me what I should do with my body. No, I wouldn’t personally choose to have an abortion because my current birth control works well enough that I won’t need one. BUT if you take away my birth control and take away my right to say what goes into and comes out of my body, then you take away my choice: the reason I am on this planet, according to the Bible.
I don’t fit in the liberal box, either. I don’t believe in big government. I don’t think Big Brother needs to watch over everything we say and do to keep us safe. Again, free will. If I’m not hurting anyone, why tap my phone? (Let’s be honest, I don’t talk on the phone unless I must–it’s a byproduct of working in a call center. We never want to talk to anyone. Ever. I would rather text or e-mail than talk.) I also think people who like their guns should be able to keep them, as long as they are responsible.
The hardest part of the wifey thing that people don’t understand: Lemur and I don’t want children, and never have. I’m not mother material, and I’m not so far in denial to think that I am. Can I be maternal? Yes. 24/7? Fuck no. Roseanne was a sitcom, but can you imagine someone raising a family that way? I’m not going to subject some poor kid to that. I would be a better mentor for LGBT kids, but I can’t even consider fostering. 24/7 is a big deal. I need alone time. Lots and lots of alone time.
I don’t fit in the wifey box, but people seem to take offense when I freak out about marriage. I take my vows very seriously. No cheating means NO. FUCKING. CHEATING. I don’t care if it’s a boy, a girl, an elf, or a fucking robot clone. Cheating is a deal-breaker for me. I love my Lemur and I want him all to myself. People who choose to stay together for the kids, and cheat with other people to be happy–WHAT THE EVERLIVING FUCK?! Do you know what that does to your kids? My family is crazy because we’re born with it. Your family is going to be crazy because you’re teaching them crazy.
I don’t fit in the girly box. I don’t wear makeup. I’m terrible at fashion: I wear dress clothes to work and hear snickers behind my back about how my blacks don’t match, or I’m wearing too many shades of brown. Most dresses don’t fit me right. I need a skirt that covers my disgusting knees. Mid-calf length when it’s supposed to be knee-length isn’t exactly flattering. I need to wear heels so I don’t walk on every pair of pants I own, except the one pair of skinny jeans I can tuck into my boots. I buy the biggest chunk heels I can find–I like to be able to run in them, if needed. I’m prepared for the zombie apocalypse at all times. I pass for a girl with my long hair, but people still mistake me for a boy from the front when my hair is pulled back. The most recent, “OMG THAT’S A GIRL!” happened to me at Good Guys car show this summer. I was wearing my most padded bra, too. Is makeup really that fucking important? I’m sickly pale and nobody accuses me of being a ghost…watch–next I’m going to be ghost boy. Let me know if you have any ghost boy sightings.
So where do I fit? I’m a writer. I love writing fantasy, but I also enjoyed writing contemporary romance, more than I expected. I love helping others through clear direction and feedback. My dream day-job is finally available, and I’m going to sell myself based on my writing talent and my efficiency. I’m a producer. I get shit done, and I will gladly do it without being asked. I’m no social butterfly inconvenienced by *eyeroll* work.
I don’t mind being categorized by my fandoms. I probably don’t fit in the hard-core gamer box, but I am a fan of Gears of War. I am a fan of cheesy CW shows like Supernatural and The Originals, and shows of geek past like Buffy and Firefly. I’m the biggest Queen fan under 40 in the state of Iowa–I dare you to challenge me on it. I’m a Green Bay Packer fan, but not to the point that I know every player’s name. I was a Dale Earnhardt fan, to the point that I no longer watch NASCAR since he’s gone. I love music. I’m into jazz and classical when I write, and British pop when I want something edgy and fun that they don’t play on the radio every five minutes here in the States. I can’t tell you the difference between one jazz composer and another, but I like brass more than the saxophone.
I also love to read. I am widely read, but I think I’ve been waiting for LGBT fiction all my life (the forbidden texts! oooOOOOooo). I’ve been searching for, and waiting for, gay characters in everything I read. I’m a fan of well-written, well-edited LGBT fiction. Maybe it’s because I don’t fit in all the boxes that everyone thinks I should. I can relate to LGBT characters because it’s so fucking hard to prove to people that you’re not who they think you are once they’ve stuck you in your designated box.
I’m breaking out of their boxes. I don’t have to be who they think I am any more. From now on, I’m going to be a fan of the things I like. I will keep an open mind about trying new things, but I refuse to like something just because someone thinks I should. I will be a better cheerleader for the people I like and respect. I will ask the hard questions and find a better way to work together with people who have been doing it their way for far too long. Maybe they need to break out of their boxes, too.