So, I just found out that RBG died via tumblr, and I just feel really numb. She was a huge role model for our house during my second year of grad school.
She just seemed so invincible, and I seem so mortal. Like, it’s weird. I feel like there are those people that we always assume are going to outlive us no matter how old they are.
Losing RBG, is like losing a mother or an aunt that you now live far away from. I may not have said much about her. I may have “forgotten to call” most of the time. But, her absence is felt deeply for me.
I was planning on working on my novel tonight. I have plans to publish the first dystopian novel series in which every narrator is on the autism spectrum. The cast of characters, across the 3 novels, is deliberately diverse in neurotype, race, physical ability, and gender expression while still recognizing the unique differences in the desires and experiences of my LGBT characters in particular.
I realize that maybe it was a little omen that I should write tonight. Because that story is my resistance. My existence is resistance.