Those deemed Other constantly, incessantly, self-consciously think:
Do I let people treat me this way or do people treat me this way because of some sort of bias? Do I feel different because of myself or because of something someone else has done? Do I act different because it is my character or because it is what is expected of me?
These rhetoricals hang in the mind-closet of the self-aware and disenfranchised other. These age-old garments passed down from generation to generation defy moths and dry-rot. They are shadows that distract those of us that are self-aware and self-conscious from living and interacting wholly with the world around. These garments, these shadows, these performances are exactly the opposite of a woman or man with way too much clothes in their closet but still nothing suitable to wear. They are a mind-fuck and an energy-suck; a timeless muck like the dog-shit one accidentally steps on while being a tourist in some brilliant city like Seattle.
These rhetoricals are what causes one to drown their sorrows on any given Thursday afternoon in three bowls of cereal, a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, and/or (depending on the day or the week) uncounted ounces of box wine.
 I added an “s” which defies prescriptive grammar. On this page, I do it twice. I am, after all, only living up to what is expected of Others like me.