I’m back to talk more about labels. I know they’re needed and useful, but I would prefer to do away with them. Here is the post from yesterday in which I veered hard into talking about horror games for a bit. Why? Why not. Because it was spooky season, and while I enjoy it, I don’t get scared by most pop media.
I have said this many times before, and I don’t quite no why. I want to emphasize that I don’t count jumpscares in that my body jerking involuntarily is not fear; it’s a startle response. Also, it’s the cheapest way to get a ‘scare’, and I don’t approve. Making my body jump is not the same as scaring me; I will die on that hill. I will also add that I don’t recoil; I don’t screech; and I don’t freak out in any way. In fact, sometimes, I don’t even externally jump.
It’s not a flex; I swear. I’m just born different. I always have had weird responses to things (again, probably a neurospicy thing) so I just don’t process things the same way other people do. I used to wonder why, and it wasn’t until I was in my thirties that I realized it was something with my brain. Not that it was broken, but maybe ADHD?
Side note: I’m glad we’re moving away from just citing the stereotypical symptoms that happen to white boys when talking about neurodiversity. I’m bitter that I might have clocked onto it sooner if I had known that the oft recited symptoms weren’t the only ones, by any mean.
I think that’s one of the reasons I’m chary about labels, too. They put you in a box, and they don’t allow for any wiggle room. It’s one of the reasons I want to opt out of all the usual labels. I’ve said this in terms of ‘woman’. It’s like wearing an ill-fitting raincoat when it’s pouring out. Sure, it’ll keep much of the water out, but I’m still going to get wet. And I’m not going to feel good about it, either. I can’t wait to get out of it and dry off.
In other word, it’ll do in a pinch, but I don’t love it.
That’s how I feel about most labels. They’yll do in a pinch, but I don’t love them. Even the ones I choose.
When I was in college, I loved having tests that had essay questions. I can bullshit my way out of anything because I am good with words. It’s a gift, and it’s something I’m grateful for. If it’s a multiple choice quiz, though, I do horribly. Why? Because I overthink it. I can see situations in which each of the answers would be correct. That’s because most multiple choice quizzes/tests are poorly written, but that’s neither here nor there.
I had two starkly different experiences in college that demonstrate my point. The first is an Intro to Psych class. Ironically, that was my worst grade in my major. Why? Because my teacher gave shitty multiple choice quizzes, graded on a curve, and refused to change my grade when I would argue with her about the answers. She would say, “I agree with you, but I’m not changing your grade.”
It drove me fucking crazy. Either agree with me and change my grade or don’t agree with me and leave my grade the same. Do NOT agree with me and not change my grade. I got a B in that class, and it was the worst feeling ever.
On the flip side, I took a Neuro Psych class when I was a senior. It was a great class, and the professor was really weird (in a good way). I vibed with her in a way I hadn’t with many profs. She really liked me as well.
I’ve told this tale many times, but there was a test mid-semester that was going to be a good chunk of our grade. I had a classmate who insisted we study together. I don’t study with other people. Ever. I just don’t. This classmate would not be deterred, so I waved her off and hoped I could wiggle out of it later.
As I walked around the campus, she would hurl out questions at me. I would shrug and say I didn’t know because I hadn’t studied yet. She set a time to study for the night before, and I reluctantly went. Nowadays, I would have just told her I didn’t study with others, but I was a pushover back then. I still hadn’t studied, so she was pretty frustrated with me. I went back to my dorm and then studied my ass off until three in the morning. That’s when I did my best work, honestly. Did it stick in the long run? Of course not. Did I care? Also of course not.
The test was essay questions, and I wrote a lot. I bullshitted my way around all the questions, fluffing things out to make them acceptable. I jest, sort of. I knew most of it, but there was one question I did not get at all. I could dimly see what my prof was asking for, but not quite. I did the best I could, but I didn’t feel great about it. I figured I would get a B+ and be grateful for it.
The next class, my professor said that in all her years teaching, she had never given a hundred. This was the first time, but she was so impressed by this person, she had to do it. She handed me my test, and there was 100% across the top of it. I flipped it over so it was face down on the table as my psuhy classmate came over to me.
She was buzzing as she tried to figure out who got the 100. She said said she got a 79 and started scanning the room to guess who had gotten the perfect score. It was hilarious to me that she didn’t even consider I was the one who got the hundred and that she didn’t ask what I got. I kept shaking my head and saying I had no idea who it could be and finally wandered off.
I did not deserve a 100 on that test, but I surely took it. Just as I did not deserve a B on the multiple choice test. It all came down to the way I was tested, which doesn’t say much for our education system, I’ll tell you what. This is not a post about that, though, so I’ll leave that there.
I have one more post in me. I’m done for now.