[center]It [i]always[/i] happens. Some sort of altercation, a misunderstanding, a long-standing rivalry or annoyance coming to a head - whatever it is, it culminates in a singular phrase:

[heading][big]"What the hell is [i]wrong[/i] with you?"[/big][/heading]
She mulls it over for a few moments, going through a couple of different reasons in her head as her mismatched eyes drift across the room aimlessly, unwilling (or maybe unable) to make eye contact. "It could be the pent-up frustration of living in the lower class in a society that exists to benefit the upper class? Maybe it could be tireless hours working menial shifts at a dead-end job I hate for enough money to keep me afloat but not enough to propel me out of my current financial and social situation? Maybe my lack of a formal education that gives me a lack of firm on-paper experience with many subjects, given that I never finished high school and I'm too busy working hard enough to afford to live to go back and finish it or go to college. It could be my detachment from much of my immediate family because half of them are angry that the other half is of a different race. It's probably just my Asperger's making me totally socially inept and restricting my desire to do much of anything - and what I [b]do[/b] I don't have access to because of the slew of different problems I listed earlier."

Of course, she doesn't say any of that. She opens her mouth to speak but trails off, her regular flat expression reclaiming control of her face. She shrugs her scrawny little shoulders a bit and speaks in a flat monotone.

[heading][big]"I don't know."[/big][/heading]
Indirectly, she just succinctly answered the question. That lack of ability (or desire) to answer - [i]that's[/i] her problem.

[b]In sum: Mixed-race low-class introvert, living day to day, paycheck to paycheck, without really existing, finding refuge in hedonistic no-class exploits and hapless incidental occurrences.[/b]
[/center]