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Lesbian Artists of the Desert

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We are the walking wounded navigating the salt flats of each other’s judgments. Lately I’ve been wondering if, in some way, all of us are neurodivergent. Not necessarily clinically, not always diagnostically, but humanly. The statistical definition of normal is simply the average of variance, yet we treat “normal” like some holy grail shimmering out on the horizon. If only I were normal. If only I checked all the right boxes. Then no one could reject me, judge me, hurt me. Normal becomes an emotional safety blanket stitched together from conformity. Say the right things. Wear the right clothes. Echo the correct narratives. Learn the choreography of belonging and never miss a step