I'm really getting sick and tired of being told who I'm supposed to be and what I'm supposed to be and what I'm supposed to like and what I'm supposed to care about. Even my own head tells me I'm weird a lot of the time, and I'm sick of it. Frustration springs eternal in the human breast, far more readily than hope does. So in a fit of pique, I drew this picture in a single sitting of about three hours tonight, and the more I drew of her, the more I sympathized with her. She's different and she doesn't care. Read it and weep, normal people: Different and weird can be good.
And that's damn well all I intend to say.