I’m spending time alone, hoping that meaning is one of those things you find when you’re not looking.
I’m catching up with work. I’m thinking about reading books. I’ve reached level 21 in my seventh-ish attempt at dead-is-dead Skyrim.
Exciting stuff. Really.
In this quiet, when I’m not paying attention, I can almost hear myself railing, “you are more than the sum of your parts”
You know you’ve been gone for a long time when your stationary smells like toothpaste. But I’m back home now, surrounded by familiar stuff that I’d forgotten about.
This first week has been weird, in a good way. I feel like my gender-dysphoric issues, things that I awkwardly speak about, are a weight that has been set down. I feel like myself, I like myself, life is fun. I can breathe.
It started when I considered auditioning for The Vagina Monologues, which my department is putting on for V-day. It’s that time of year. The idea of auditioning was in the back of my mind and I mentioned it to Leia, who basically dared me to do it. So I read the book. Surprisingly, I never read The Vagina Monologues. I vaguely remember picking it up and finding it painful to read. But reading it now, I really enjoyed it. There’s even a trans women’s monologue that Eve Ensler added in 2004 (she published the original version in 1998). It’s the only passage I could really relate to or envision performing in front of people, so I prepared to audition for that part.
I was really nervous. So I was greatly relieved and disappointed when I found out that the script, the official 2014 V-day version of The Vagina Monologues, does not include the trans women’s monologue They Beat the Girl out of My Boy… or so They Tried.
Why? I have no idea. I know it’s been performed for V-day before. The passage does seem like an anachronism in a classic work of nonfiction – to tack the contemporary experiences of trans women onto a work that ushered in acceptability of the word vagina.
‘You mean grown-ups couldn’t say vagina either??’
Yet, I couldn’t help feeling left out. Could this just be another instance of transphobia?
Then a couple of days passed and I got over it.
I’ve been home for two weeks now, and I don’t know where to begin.
I’m talking with my Mom and she thinks that I’m a healthier person than I was a year ago, and that no one will relate to me as a woman. This is uplifting and annoying – but I was expecting the worst, so I didn’t immediately absorb the impact of her words.
I’m walking down the street and for a second I could have sworn I was dreaming. I spend the rest of the day wishing I was, and that I would wake up.
I’m hanging out with my Dad and I can’t tell him anything about myself, anything new. He asks what’s on my mind and I tell him nothing, just some random memory. It’s all I can do to keep from bursting into tears.
I see those Macy’s posters that just say ‘believe’ with their oddly beautiful cover girl and I wonder if she’s a real person.
When I get home and throw my pocket debris on the table, I notice this pack of gum. It reads, “Neither just sweet nor just peppermint, sweet peppermint is suffering from a delicious identity crisis… but he’s a little sensitive about it, so we’ll leave it at that.” The inside is covered with graf-style Queen of Hearts and King of Hearts scenes of chaos. And a strangely anthropomorphic pair of scissors cutting a playing card in half. If you turn the pack upside down, there’s a manish queen with a Jay Leno chin, more chaos. I was dumbstruck.