Lilly Lylat

Consider for a moment those children you've known who prefer books to people, daydreams to reality and creative projects to rest and relaxation; the kids whose implacable strangeness makes them an alien to their peers and a concern to their caregivers, whose naivety to the fanciful allows them to believe in even things they dreamed up themselves and whose giddy curiosity suggests to others a future in scholarship, science or the arts. I suppose I would best be described as what happens when such a child makes it to adulthood without forgetting themselves.

In my first year of university I also came out as, forgive me the euphemism, "one of those boys who grows up to be a woman;" A long and intricate saga I assure you, but one very tedious to relate. Recently I graduated with a degree in "History, Classics and Religion with a Minor in Japanese," and as you might expect I have been unable to obtain any kind of employment despite of my being a Dean's List student with highest honours.

For the moment I'm taking the opportunity that poverty affords me to work on my writing and art, keeping up the hope that one day I might be able to make a meager living off of my favorite preoccupations. I've had some luck, at least on the artistic side of things, but feel that my efforts to grow as a professional have been consistently thwarted by my social ineptitude.