I believe in Harvey Dent

Allow me to introduce myself; I am the Harvey Dent of the west side. That may seem like a peculiar identity but I have always had a connection with Two-Face. I just got asked if I thought it was worrisome that I connect with a villain but it is much easier to connect to the villain than the hero. The villains usually have the best intentions. The issue with Harvey Dent is that the world wanted to see him a specific way but, at a certain point, how the world wants to see you and how you truly are become incompatible. You become two-faced, but is it due to your own actions or the actions of others? Everyone has a dark side; some people just hide that darkness better than others. It isn’t the injury that creates Two-Face. That is just an easy explanation to appease the masses that thrive off of the concrete divide of good and evil. Why do so many people cling to that world of good and evil? I tend to think it’s because, as soon as that slope gets slippery, we start to slide. It isn’t that the world is made up of corrupt individuals; the fact is that the world is made up of individuals and, with that ability to make choices, some of those choices will inevitably be wrong. Where does that line get drawn between making the wrong choice and being evil? Hell if I know. Harvey Dent flips a coin to make his decisions. What do you do? I would like to think that I carefully weigh my options and make the choice based on careful consideration. I am not supposed to drink alcohol, but this does not always stop me. When it comes down to deciding if I should get a drink, I must weigh two conflicting options. I know that, for a moment that drink will make me feel normal and healthy again, but I must weigh that against the fact that for the entirety of the following day I will be sick and miserable. My doctors have told me not to drink, and in that moment, when the bartender asks me what I want, it all comes down to a flip of the coin. So how was that for an introduction? Perhaps I should include my name somewhere in this debate on good and evil. My name is Karen.

Now you know me. Karens are usually so pleasant. I don’t think I’ve ever met an unpleasant Karen. I, however, am not your typical Karen. I have disliked my name since I was able to spell it. People decide to nickname you things like “Karebear” and just assume that you will be as pleasant as every other Karen in the world. I am not exactly a “peachy keen” kind of girl. I am a “sharp objects” kind of gal. My idea of home decoration includes crossed swords and throwing stars. People come in to my apartment and immediately commend my boyfriend for his weapons collection. To these comments my boyfriend nods his head at me, his machismo injured in the process. He has a broad sword that attends his wall because I refuse to let it associate with my weapons. It is of shoddy workmanship but has some sentimental value. I constantly ridicule his weapon which causes many metaphorical sword fights. There are no pants in our relationship. Yes, you read that correctly. When you are metaphorically sword fighting with your boyfriend and he cooks and cleans the apartment every night (he is OCD, to my delight) the only way to avoid the gender conflict is to make sure that, when we enter the apartment, the pants come off.