nobody but I am someone

There are a few things I think folks in the rest of the world don't fully grasp about the United States.

1) The USA is BIG. Bigger than that. No, even bigger. Huge. Many of our population centers are separated from each other by hundreds of miles of completely empty space in all directions. I am not exaggerating. We have no effective transportation system to connect us on a national scale. We are a collection of isolated regions with their own cultures, values, and needs that more resembles the EU in some ways than a unified country.

2) Our police and military WILL FIRE ON US WITH LIVE ROUNDS. They've done so before and will do it again, often with few to no consequences. Under current circumstances, mass demonstrations are increasingly likely to end in a spray of gunfire, no matter how peaceful or lawful they are. The police in particular have literally been trained to regard common citizens as the enemy.

3) Our social support network is full of holes. We don't know our neighbors. The state's safety net is thin and made of red tape. Our ability to access healthcare is tied to our employment. On top of it all, everyone has debt. Everyone. If we act up and lose our jobs, that's it for us. Home gone, food gone, prescriptions gone. For ourselves, our children, and everyone else who relies on us. Our whole economy is owned by a dozen huge corporations that see their employees as worthless drones and will not hesitate to fire anyone who might make their stock price tremble.

4) Our opposition party is a useless, toothless, gutless paper dragon. They whine about breaking the rules and send letters while the Constitution they swore to uphold is being used as toilet paper. If the current regime were overthrown, there is no strong, driven, trustworthy leadership to take over and make things right.

This is what America has allowed itself to become, through decades of hubris, complacency, and blind faith. Many of us are only now realizing the trap we have fallen into. It would take ALL of us to effect meaningful change, and there's a forest of barriers in our way, even if we weren't as ideologically divided as we are.

Last week I spent some time doing a company volunteer activity: packing snack bags and school supplies for kids in need. When I was a kid, I was a recipient of programs like these. I sometimes wondered about the anonymous figures who assembled the charity packages I received. Now I'm one of them. It's a strange feeling.

I am, largely, the future that these programs want for the children they serve. I'm a college graduate with a well-paying corporate job. I'm a homeowner and a taxpayer. I am a success story. Today I wonder if what I've become is good enough. I could certainly be doing more with the opportunities that were given to me. I'm one of the lucky ones. Am I wasting that good fortune?

We were supposed to write uplifting messages on cards to be included in the school supply kits. I tried to imagine what a poor kid like I was would want to hear. While others laughed and wrote down whatever came to mind, I tried to think of something that would be meaningful to a kid who had to be grateful for a bag of generic pencils, even if it was embarrassing. I can still put myself in those worn-out shoes.

It's an odd thing, being someone who's escaped poverty. I will never fit in with my corporate co-workers who chat about new boats and weekend trips to the cabin. I still feel at home in thrift shops, but I don't really belong there either. Is it wrong for me to take things that might be the best someone else can afford? I spend money on fun things with hardly a moment's hesitation, but I still think twice before buying a new pair of pants.

Regardless, I did it. I escaped. None of that would have been possible without the government programs that are under threat today. I received a state grant and a scholarship from my college, but I also got the Pell grant and federal student loans. The good kind of loans, which I paid in full as scheduled. Without those programs, I couldn't have gone to college. I'd probably be receiving public assistance today, instead of paying taxes that help to fund it.

I'm a season ticket holder for the PWHL, the women's pro hockey league. Today was the first home game for my team, the Minnesota Frost, since things started to get ugly between the U.S. and Canada. The recent men's 4 Nations Face-Off has been all over the news, not only because Canada won after a lot of trash talk from the USA, but because of what happened with the national anthems.

Over the past few weeks, there's been a growing trend of Canadian audiences booing the American anthem at men's hockey games. I honestly can't say I blame them. The Trump administration has been absolutely horrible to our neighbors up north. Economic threats, blatant disrespect to their leaders, talk of flat-out taking over their country... This is no way to treat a nation that's been a friend to us for generations. We're such siblings that our sports teams play against each other in the same leagues, for God's sake. Canadians have plenty of reason to be angry at us, or at least, at the concept of our government as represented by our flag and anthem. In fact, one of the few things that gives me hope in this world is that our horrendous example might save Canada from following its own right-wing extremists.

What concerns me is that during the 4 Nations Face-Off, Americans started booing the Canadian anthem in retaliation. Make no mistake here. WE are the aggressors. Canada never did anything to us. We SHOULD be ashamed of how our country is treating them. We have no right to pound our chests and grandstand in their direction. They are standing up against a hostile foreign power, and as someone who actually understands what America was supposed to be, I am PROUD of them for that.

Now we come to today's women's game. I'm uncomfortable hearing our anthem these days for my own reasons, but now the entire thing was making me nervous. Was my fan community also the type to boo the Canadian anthem? The PWHL was founded on inclusivity and equal opportunity. I would hope that the people who support it would share values more similar to mine. Or would the dark side of my fellow Americans seep into this space, too?

I went prepared to speak up if anyone disrespected Canada's anthem, but I hoped with all my heart that I wouldn't have to.

Today's anthems were prerecorded instrumentals. No vocals. The PWHL has ALWAYS had live performers to sing the anthem. Always, at every game I've been to over its two seasons. Not today. I suspect they were also prepared for the worst, and didn't want a real person to have to bear the brunt of whatever might happen.

The Canada anthem was first. I braced myself... and there came only silence. Everyone stood quietly through the song, the silence only broken by a few people here and there singing the anthem themselves. More people than the Canadians who had made the trip to support their team. I saw and heard several Americans who knew the lyrics adding their voices in support. There wasn't a single negative sound.

I haven't had anything bring a genuine warm smile to my face like that in weeks.

The icing on the cake is that the PWHL was also celebrating Black History Month today, with a special logo and ceremonial puck drop, plus videos and demonstrations by hockey organizations that uplift young players of color. With our government leaning so heavily into white supremacy, it was refreshing to see the PWHL not using Black History Month as a token gimmick, but actually putting in effort to bring meaning and real representation to the ice.

A few years ago, a friend of mine was employed by Target Corporation at their downtown HQ. They got very involved in the company's DEI initiatives, and were proud to work for a company so committed to progressive values. It was a highlight of their employment there.

Of course, that was all smoke and mirrors.

"Rainbow capitalism" has been an increasing topic of contention in recent years. Corporate involvement in LGBTQ+ Pride activities has always been a double-edged sword. The funding that comes from corporate sponsorships is an incredible boost for any organization, but at the same time, seeing logos and floats everywhere with big business names can make events with sincere moralistic goals feel impersonal and superficial.

Over a decade ago, I participated in a Relay for Life fundraising event for cancer research. The idea was for people to form teams, solicit donations, and then participate in an all-night relay walk on the day of the event. When I got there, I was impressed to see a lot of tents for big teams sent by area businesses. They all proudly participated in the start of the relay. Then they started packing up. They were there for the photo op, and then they were gone. By the wee hours of the morning, only a few teams were left on the track. A volunteer even thanked me for walking. You know, the thing that the whole event was meant to be about. I was so disappointed, I never went back. The money raised is, of course, the most important thing. But it's not the only important thing. The spirit and motivation behind your participation matters.

I've had sympathy for the rising irritation about the ingress of corporations at Pride. It's been somewhat mediated by the fact that often, it's the company's LGBTQ+ employees that are sent to represent them, and to show their employer supports diverse hiring practices and equal rights for its employees. But it is also, always, a photo op. There is always the question of whether a business really holds those values or if they're just there for the optics and to drive sales, and those doubts taint the atmosphere of the event.

This is yet another inevitable consequence of capitalism. Companies will do whatever makes them the most money, with increasingly few exceptions. Until recently, the wind was blowing in a progressive direction. Despite the annoyances of "rainbow capitalism," where companies would cover themselves in flags for 30 days and immediately rip them all down at the stroke of midnight on June 30th, their widespread participation meant that progressive ideals were in the majority. Queer people and their allies were where the money was. It was a good indicator that we were winning.

Target always seemed to be one of the "good ones," whose efforts may have actually been sincere. They stocked Pride merch earlier than a lot of other retailers, and my friend's experiences as an employee made me think they actually had real values. Cracks started to show last year, when they capitulated to pressure from the right wing in some regions and scaled back their Pride displays. Now, with DEI initiatives being declared an enemy of the state, they have thrown out their entire program at the corporate level - a program that included mentoring, focus groups, and guest speakers who encouraged queer people, people of color, and other diverse employees to dream big and succeed. In the end, as with most of the American economy, it was all about the mighty dollar and playing nice with whoever controls most of it. I'm sure they'll still sell merch in June, but as a blatant cash grab. There will be no real meaning behind it.

In college, I took an honors course about the Holocaust. I'm rereading one of the books I kept from that class. One of the things striking me is that Hitler sincerely wanted to elevate "his people" - white Germans. He genuinely blamed all the misfortunes of society on the Jews and wanted to make a better world for the "Aryan race." He was a socialist.

Trump, however, is a capitalist. Who does he want to elevate? Only himself, and his wealthy friends. Trans people and immigrants are getting the blame this time around, but that's just to distract the populace by giving them a target for hate and blame. Trump doesn't really care about any of that. He's using a lot of the same tactics employed by the Nazis, but they're just tools to bolster his own power. This is the kind of dictator built by capitalism. One who's only out for his own personal gain.

This sign popped up along I-35 during the COVID lockdowns. It's quite weathered now, but it still catches my attention when I drive north, and I still wonder often about whoever painted it.

I've been absent lately. Partly due to the holidays, but partly because my mental health has been all over the place. I struggle to get a grasp of the uncertainty and unease that currently colors my world. It was nice to have a partial respite from this feeling over the past four years, but we're about to head back into the fire. Being an American right now is just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I found myself using productivity as a coping mechanism. My house is now in better order than it's ever been. I hit a bit of a wall after my annual holiday party, and I never really did any Christmas shopping, but I finished all the home projects I had outlined for the end of the year. The whole world may be a mess, but at least my piece of it can be a comfort.

When I was in college, a young singer/songwriter came to perform. I found her talent impressive and her music enchanting. I bought her CDs. My first popular fanfic was based on one of her songs.

That was more than twenty years ago. I still have her music on the iPod I use in my car. For the past couple of days, I've had one of her songs in my head. It just spontaneously popped in there. It's lovely to listen to, so I'm fully enjoying having it on loop in the back of my mind.

On the way to work today, I started thinking I should look her up. Not only to see where things ended up going for her, but to send her a message. I thought it might be nice for her to hear that even after all this time, someone was still listening to and appreciating her music, especially if she was no longer in the business.

I was happy to find she's still making music on occasion. But there seems to be no way to contact her. She doesn't appear to have a website, and her YouTube videos have comments turned off. I was sad to see her subscriber count is a single digit.

I wish I could tell her that her music has stayed with at least one rando who saw her perform when we were both young and new to the world. It's rare to find out you've had a lasting impact on someone.

It's easy to think that once you've passed out of someone's life, your imprint on them ends. We're all constantly marking each other in ways that can last a lifetime. We just don't get to hear about it. If you ever think you don't matter, I promise you, you do. If you've ever interacted with anyone, you've made an impact on the world.

We have failed our youth. Completely and utterly.

When I was younger, I remember the pervasive belief that society was becoming more progressive over time. The generation in power was trying to restrict advances like same-sex marriage, but it was easy to believe that ultimately, to be blunt, they would die off and leave the world in the hands of the progressives. Young people would always be more left-leaning than the generation before them. That was normal human progress. It was only a matter of time.

We took that for granted. While we weren't paying attention, we lost our children.

Gen Z is coming of age now. And while everyone assumed younger people were more likely to vote blue, a lot of them chose Trump. A LOT of them. Boys are shouting "your body, my choice" at girls in school hallways. What happened?

I can't say there weren't warning signs. Over the past several years I was becoming aware that the ugly beliefs of the wing nuts among us were sticking around, even among young adults. People younger than me, who you'd expect to know better. I mean, hell, J.D. Vance is a Millennial, as much as I hate to say it.

I even found out recently that a friend's son was leaning Trump. That he had a problem with trans rights. I was horrified. He was a good person. I had no idea he held beliefs like that. Where did we go wrong??

My fellow Millennials. We have failed our children.

We've had a rough go of things, friends. Everyone knows how angry we are at the older generations who pulled the ladder up behind them, and we have every right to be. We were sold dreams that were made impossible for us by the very people who preached them. But I think we've focused so much on our own struggle that we've neglected the even more severe plight of the next generation. Or maybe we just didn't know what to say to them.

Millennials were promised a future that had evaporated by the time we reached it. Gen Z has always been painfully aware that there is no future for them. Always. I've noted for years now that you could literally see the despair weighing on them. They have no dreams, no ambition. Because what's the point? They've seen us have to accept the housing market, wealth inequality, and dying planet that's been handed to us and none of that is getting any better, so what have they got to hope for? At least at their age, we had hope.

We also had an education. Everybody went to college. A lot of us regret it now, but college is where we got out of our small communities and away from our parents and met people who were different than us. We got exposed to different beliefs and different ideas in an environment where we could freely decide what kind of people we wanted to be. For those who came from deeply conservative families, college challenged the beliefs they'd been raised in and freed them to change their minds. Even now, statistics still show that states with more college-educated citizens lean blue. Research shows that people who actually meet members of the groups they dislike and get to know them as people often change their views.

Higher education is GOOD for society. The problem is the debt. The vast number of us that ended up with useless degrees wouldn't be nearly as much of an issue if we didn't have hundreds of thousands of dollars of debt to go with it. Debt that many of us will never, ever pay off. It's no wonder that Gen Z is turning more toward trade and tech schools or going straight into the workforce after high school. There's nothing wrong with that. The trades are great careers. But that means more young people staying at home, in their little bubble of people who look and think just like their parents and grandparents. Those values are passed on with nothing to challenge them.

There is, of course, the internet. Ideally, that would be the place for young folks to learn about the greater world outside their neighborhood. But we all know what a cesspool of hate and manipulation the digital space has become. I don't have to go into the details of how terrible social media, online misinformation, and constant stimuli are for our mental health and attention spans. Our children have grown up with a nonstop barrage of that garbage. It's not helped by the ease of keeping kids happy with endless screens filling up every waking moment. In our childhood, they'd say television would rot our brains, but at least everything on the airwaves was vetted by someone. Online, who knows what some random wingnut might be pouring into your kid's ear? And we let it happen. We're so caught up in keeping our own heads above water, both practically and mentally, that we haven't invested enough time in keeping our children on the right path. We've all seen those memes about how glad we are that we grew up playing outside instead of hunched over a tablet, etc. But what have we actually done to preserve that way of life?

I've already felt we were failing our children by not fighting harder for climate preservation, or beyond that, not preparing them properly for the damaged world they'll have to survive in. Now on top of that, we've failed them morally, and we've lost a terrifying number of them to the techbros, fascists, and "alpha male" scumbags on the right. Without hope, without goals, without role models and diverse experiences, they were vulnerable. And now we're seeing the results.

As the polls started to close, I began to hear bits and pieces of the news being muttered among the other people in the coffee shop. At first I thought they were joking. There are those moments people talk about, where you remember exactly where you were when a tragedy occurred. Frozen in my mind is an exact image of my surroundings when I checked my phone and saw the impossible. I remember staring at the screen in shock and disbelief. It couldn't be.

I think that moment was a wake-up call for America. A cold bucket of water to the face. Up until then, it was easy to think voting wasn't all that important. Individual votes didn't matter. The majority would keep the country rolling in a generally decent direction. We had plenty of problems, of course, but overall there wasn't much to worry about. The American populace was mostly decent people and our rights were secure.

2016 opened our eyes to the fact that many of our neighbors, our friends, our family members, held absolutely horrific ideals. Far more than we expected. In the years since then we've become increasingly aware of how fragile our democracy is. For a long time, that awareness circled the drain of despair. Recently, I found a shred of hope in the darkness that is helping me get through today.

I have hope that the polls we've been seeing are skewed. Whether it's been AI-generated or intentionally tampered with, there are signs that the data we've been fed over the past several months has been meaningless garbage. Just on a logical level, it doesn't make sense. What are the odds that every single battleground state is firmly stuck at 50/50 in every single poll? Trump's rally crowds are shrinking. He struggles to fill arenas and people are getting bored and walking out, while Harris is packing them in. Who are all these people voting for Trump? There are a lot out there, certainly, but I have hope that the percentage isn't as high as we've been led to believe.

I have hope that there is a bright side to all of this. That we've realized how vulnerable our society is, and how awful certain members of it are, and how important it is to stand up for the ideals and values that we believe in. Our dark side is out in the open, which means we can face it. We know who they are, and what their plans are. We can find ways to foil them. The threats that have been lurking in the shadows have revealed themselves, and we can fight back. This is our chance for America to take a stand against the return of fascism, and the other repulsive "values" that come with it. I have hope, however feeble, that we will.

When I was in high school, I got my first taste of what that meant. I was in a summer program for smart kids from disadvantaged families. We were all the outcasts in our regular lives, but for those six weeks every summer, we were the majority. The cool kids. Normal people were the weird ones. It was magic.

In my early 20s, I spent most of my time in online fandom. I'm sure I don't have to explain to anyone on Tumblr that although it was online, it was real. I made great friends, some of whom I'm still in touch with today. I wrote fanfiction and participated in discussions and casual chats and belonged to a society. After being a loner for most of my childhood, those connections were golden.

In my 30s, my soul belonged to the convention community. I poured all my energy into creating real-life events for local anime fans. It was exhausting, but it paid off by bringing me into a wide network of fandom volunteers who would go to the ends of the earth for each other. I wouldn't have survived my darkest years without those people.

Those connections have faded now. Drama and burnout were already pushing me out the door, but COVID was the final nail in the coffin. My social life evaporated overnight, and my introvert nature has resurged with a vengeance. Overall, I've been okay with that. I have plenty of time to myself and much less to worry about. People are difficult.

Yesterday I dreamed I was reconnecting with the outside world and building something new. I don't remember exactly what we were doing, but it was community. I woke up with the sharp realization that I miss it. Solitude is simpler, but sadder.

Someone's gotta be that person. But you never expect it to be you.

Failures don't make good stories, so we don't see the tales of these sad sacks portrayed in media - unless it's a prequel, where we know the eventual satisfying triumph is coming. Often there's an implied shame cast on these characters for giving up and choosing whatever measure of personal comfort they can salvage. Unlike fictional characters, real people have limits. Insurmountable physical and mental limits that you don't always know are there until you crash headlong into them. Limits that can't be overcome by effort or willpower.

There are stories where the jaded burnout gets enough of a boost from the new hero to give it one more try. This is portrayed as the noble and proper course of action. But what happens to that character upon doing so? Often, their role is to die. To make the ultimate sacrifice for the cause after all, despite escaping with their life the first time. It's worth it, because this time around the fight was successful, right?

Unlike stories, real crises don't always have happy endings. What if you muster what little you have left, the scraps of sanity and health you managed to keep for yourself and you pour it in again and you still lose? What do you do then? Especially when it's not an actual life-or-death situation. No martyrs. No noble sacrifices, just an empty shell of a loser who's now left with not even a threadbare framework to rebuild a life on. Health and energy are not infinite. You gotta go on, and now you have to do it with even less than the nothing you had left the first time. What happens after the ending, if there is no triumph, and also no end to it?

I lived in a suburb for a few years. Lovely townhouse. Sterile environment. There was an HOA, of course, so everything was perfectly manicured and neutral. I don't remember ever seeing my neighbors, off the top of my head. On my way home from work one morning I did help someone jumpstart their car, but I think that's the only interaction I ever had with anyone else who lived there. I was renting, fortunately, so I wasn't stuck.

Now I live in a regular neighborhood in town. Normal blocks, on straight roads that make sense. It's Sunday evening. I hear power tools somewhere. I regularly do. There are a lot of renovations being done this spring. That tells me that most of the people on my street, like me, own their own homes. A young couple just strolled past my window. There's usually someone out walking their dog. I often hear children playing, lawn mowers running, people working on and enjoying their property. I've had friendly conversations with both of my neighbors. Someone up the block has chickens in the backyard. All the houses are different, all the lawns are different, all reflections of the families who live there. It's so much more alive than anywhere else I've ever lived.

I feel so lucky to be here, in a real neighborhood. For most Americans, it's an increasingly distant dream. Maybe it's being relatively close to what's widely considered a "bad" area that's protected us from being a target for the landlords and investors that are buying up everything else. My neighborhood is a hidden island of community that nobody expects to be where it is.

This was the first season for the PWHL - the Professional Women's Hockey League.

Of course, as soon as I learned it was being formed I bought season tickets. Not only because I'm Minnesotan, although I was thrilled we got one of the league's first six teams. I wanted to show support, because I want the league to succeed. And hockey is pretty much the only sport I genuinely enjoy watching, if it's live.

Attendance at Minnesota's home games has been a mixed bag. Our team just won their first home games in the playoffs, so they've been getting some more media attention, and of course there are a lot of disparaging comments about the rows of empty seats. It's easy to look at the pictures and assume the league is a failure. It may even be easy for the team itself to look into the stands and feel they themselves are a failure, although I certainly hope not. There are a lot of factors that aren't obvious at a glance.

The Xcel Energy Center is huge. Minnesota is the only team that plays its home games in an NHL arena. It's a great show of support by the venue, but that's a ton of seats to fill. Many of the other teams' home games have been selling out, because their venues are smaller - in some cases too small. Playing at the X was perhaps a bit too optimistic, but we believe in the future of the league. And there have been games when we needed the extra seats.

To start with, the X groups all the sold tickets together on one side of the arena. It keeps the energy and the excitement up rather than having everyone spread out. If enough tickets are sold, they open up more sections. There have been games where we filled the entire lower bowl of the arena and some of the seats above. In particular, weekend games have been very well attended, with loads of families and youth teams in the stands. There are plenty of men, too, in pricey branded gear that keeps selling out. I dare anyone to say our crowd's energy isn't just as high as any other event's. There are signs and props and people in purple wigs and voices as loud as anywhere. And I will never tire of seeing all the young girls in their youth team's jerseys, from kindergarten kids to high schoolers, with PWHL temporary tattoos on their faces and the possibility of a pro career to aspire to.

The attendance at the playoff games has been disappointing, with the games being on weeknights and in conflict with other local sporting events. The ticket prices are higher and not part of the standard season ticket package. And honestly, Minnesota wasn't expected to get this far with the way they've been playing in the latter half of the season. (Their comeback in the playoffs has been amazing!) But the core crowd was still there, still as enthusiastic as ever, just grouped together on one side of the arena where they can't always be seen in photos or video clips. Still loud, still proud, still there to cheer on our ladies in purple, but out of view of the casual eye. It's been frustrating to try to take pictures that truly capture the spirit of the game when you're on the crowded side, in the thick of all the energy, but facing the empty side. It's been sad to see people online judging the team (and the league) based only on photos that happen to be facing the wrong way.

As in many things, it's all a matter of perspective.

Once upon a time, I was a medium-grade fanfic writer. I wrote fanfiction for Sailor Moon, which was already past its golden age but still had a good amount of life in it. I belonged to a few online communities and built a solid following, along with a number of long-lasting friendships with great people.

In the mid-2000s, I faded out of online fandom for two reasons. I burned out on writing after forcing my way to the end of a fanfic that had ended up being way longer than I'd ever intended, and I got involved in offline fandom. Primarily staffing conventions and events. Again, I poured everything I had into a community that meant the world to me.

It was the best and worst thing I've ever done. I grew into a stronger, more capable person, and helped bring cherished experiences and memories to thousands of my fellow nerds. I met amazing people, several of whom were instrumental in keeping me alive when my brain spent a few years trying to kill me. And yet, all human constructs are dumpster fires. Problematic people are everywhere. Whatever beautiful thing you're involved in, eventually it will go wrong. Things will get ugly, and whatever you loved will become unrecognizable. And I burned out again, and had to step back from that world.

So now, here I am. Trying to figure out what kind of life I'm going to have next. I've been indulging in several hobbies I haven't had time for over the past 20 years. But I feel adrift. I've always had trouble dedicating myself to any hobby enough to get good at it, but it's been a long time since I felt real fire for anything that lasted longer than a flash.

I've been struggling with this for several months at this point. I've been painting, I've been writing, I've been streaming, I've been redecorating, but I haven't gotten particularly far with any of them. Today, I'm realizing that as much of an introvert homebody as I am, I need community. I need connection with others doing the same things, and feedback from people who consume what I produce. Creating for others is instrumental to my motivation for doing anything.

It's frustrating, and sad. We should do things for ourselves, and for the pleasure of doing them, not for an audience, right? I don't know if I've ever in my life made anything with no intent to show it to anyone. I need the value found in sharing my efforts with others. So now I'm here on Tumblr, after carrying around an unused journal since last August. And after trying several other social media platforms in an effort to connect with people. I can't be productive in a vacuum.

What now? I've been strongly attracted to the thought of being a content creator lately. What kind of content, I don't know (see aforementioned list of hobbies). But there's another problem, when it comes to that. I'm not a creator. I'm not really a writer, or an artist, or any of those things. Everything I've ever made is either derivative or garbage. Every. Single. Thing. I make things, but I don't actually create anything.

There's an odd agony in wanting so badly to create something, but not actually being a creator. I keep waiting for the perfect hobby to pop up, but I don't have what it takes to seize that opportunity even if it were to arise. So I'm sad, and empty, and idle.