Together, we diverge. Photo by Spencer Cooper on Pixels Well, well, well. It turns out, us neurodivergent writers — who spent our whole lives being forced to adhere to a norm and mimic the masses — were secretly sleeper agents all along who’ve been activated by the emergence of disingenuous AI and the sudden demand for fallible authenticity. Our mission is clear — articulate sensation, process slowly, and be unapologetically human. Unapologetically human, to me, means not bei

Breaking and shattering with purpose. Photo by k 🦔🌿🌹🎶 on Unsplash The first time I soldered, I grabbed the soldering iron by the iron, not the handle. Yes, it was plugged in and turned on. Whatever version of autism I have — which has now been officially diagnosed, but may soon categorize itself into some other neurodivergence due to its apparent relatability — impacts my processing speed. This was noted by the psychiatrist in my recent assessment, and it echoes years of

What it's like to be an American immigrant, watching and worrying from abroad. Photo by Liubov Shramko on Pexels I have a dedicated phone booth in my living room. It's a 3D-printed miniature replica of a bright red British telephone box with a hole in the bottom for charging cables to push through. My boyfriend Richard printed it a few months ago to keep us honest about our daily phone usage. He's English, I'm American, and we live in Spain. I judge my mental health and the p

Being creative in the face of AI and impending joblessness. "Skirnir" by Minya Diéz-Dührkoop, 1924. Image sourced from the Public Domain Image Archive/MKG Collection Online. It's been a while, friends. Time flies when you're broke. The last thing I wrote here was an article about feeling stuck in a perpetual state of statue stillness while caring for my sick grandmother, living the same day over and over again in my parents' house, wondering how much of my early life story I