My manicure is wrecked and it’s only Tuesday.
I don’t know what to think. I’m becoming used to myself, my gender, and now it’s a grind. Day after day, whoever I am. There were some students flirting awkwardly on the quad and it all seems so normal, everything.
Leia called me ‘she’ at the dinner table with her family and nobody blinked. Maybe I blinked. The deli guy called me ma’am when my back was turned. Neither of us really seemed to register this, but we looked at each other over a cheap turkey-egg-and-cheese sandwich with a sort of confused understanding.
It’s cold again. My iPhone shuffles songs and some of them remind me of when all this started. The Bird and The Bee, Spoon, the scary-beautiful winter when I told Leia that I’m a woman. Everything changed. I remember listening to Gimmie Fiction on vinyl, staring at the wall, not thinking everything.
I had never been so lost and I remember it so fondly. And there’s no going back. I’m used to being myself, in all of my incompleteness and complexity. The contradictions, a strange understanding of other women and men, a strange separateness from them.
I realize that I’ve felt this all my life. It’s better now that I know.