mazel tov

I write because I write.  Seemingly, there is not much left to say – not much that I can gracefully share.  Still a woman, which is about the triteest thing I can think of saying.  But that’s what it boils down to.  That and a belief that whatever gender you are, that’s the gender you’re gonna be, when you’re ready, or die trying.  No one is going to like it, but you’ll meet new people who like you the way you’ve become.  They may even take you behind the brunch joint and all intervene on you like It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia about how you have no self esteem and need to cut that shit out.  I was touched, really.

When I got home, I reprised a mental exercise, think a happy thought.  I can always think of something.  Tonight it just doesn’t matter; nothing does.  And that makes me very, very happy.

 

future proof

wolf parade – language city – at mount zoomer

doves – firesuite – lost souls

doves – here it comes – lost souls

massive attack – future proof – 100th window

phantogram – you’re mine – three

phantogram – you don’t get me high anymore – three

hot chip – boy from school – the warning

 

dana ansari vs. the world

The instant woman, like instant coffee; necessary, familiar, wanting.

Every day I do the best that I can to fulfill the needs and expectations of those I’ve included in my circle.  The people I’m codependent upon.  I balance a spectrum of needs and desires, trading values for time, dreams for security, meaning for lust, energy for capital.  Back and forth it goes.  If I ever stopped, I’d be soulrupt or something, but this is my reality.  Whatever I traded for my body, for my life – whatever it was I did, it cost.

It’s all I can do not to think or feel too much.

 

Meanwhile, I’ve fallen in love with someone I don’t even know.  I guess that happens.  This is maybe the eighth time for me.  It gets jaded, I’m like, ‘yeah, there’s this person and she’s perfect, and I’m like nothing, and it feels like my life is over.’

My roommate tells me to stop being so angsty and adolescent.  I gave her the double finger.

 

untitled day 362

tumblr_n6z8biiWxI1te9jsdo1_500.gif

 

 

When you close your eyes on the subway.  Because you don’t want them to look into your eyes.  To see what you’ve become last night – and cast off yet again.  That your only hope and desire is for your next hit of unconditional acceptance.

 

As the world speeds around you.  Your saving grace, these others.  The people and their smells and ways, their clothing and polite attitudes.  An occasional smile, or moment of understanding.  Chaos of thoughtless purpose.  Save my soul.

 

I try, desperately to forget who I was.  The information in my head, steampunk equations of science.  Things, which in wartimes would have me working in a national laboratory.  I should hate myself for succeeding, but no one believes me.

 

Thank you to GoodnightNina for the pic from her blog and constant inspiration.

 

abd in the new world

Days turn to weeks, as I sit in a sunny domicile, writing.  Water on the stove for instant coffee.  News on the wire of new world order.

I update a to-do list in my head; update birth certificate, renew passport, check the job postings of corporations offering excellent health insurance.  Because war is coming.

That’s one thing about having lived as male, there are certain instincts.  Like now I feel in my skin, and with every breath that I will give birth, even though I won’t.  When you’re a man you know that war is coming – as it has for the past 200,000 years.  Well, war is coming now.

 

We’re not going to earn our rights anytime soon, not by executive fiat, or supreme court decision, or ENDA legislation.  It’s status quo for the foreseeable future.  So if you were holding out for sunny skies to transition – and know that I’ve been there – there’s no time like the present.

There’s also a good chance that ‘preexisting conditions’ will become a thing again in the insurance world, though they definitely won’t call it that and you might not hear about it until you get an insurance bill or statement.  Meaning, the only way to fund a transition through insurance will be through employer-paid group insurance plans, I’m assuming.  So ima get on that.

And abortion might eventually be made illegal.  Though this doesn’t necessarily affect trans women, except from an ethical standpoint, legally forcing rape victims to carry a fetus to term – through the trauma of rape – is an unthinkably brutal affront to all women.

 

Watching Hillary concede, I realized that she loves the system more than she loves us – all of us.  That’s commendable, but I think it’s why she lost.  She stands there telling me what I owe Donald Trump, waxing sarcastic about her own campaign slogan, and generally baffling me with her personal strength in the face of a textbook crash-and-burn political loss.  My mind reels and strains as a different future appears; but some things you just know.

 

flight

I stepped out of the sodium street lights of a random night.  Onto a train, into that antiseptic train smell.  I thought to myself, ‘I’m leaving.’  I realized it then, staring down the aisle of well-to-dos.

Ten years after I stepped off of this train into the same street lights; I know in my soul that I will never return here.

 

Leia met me sometime later, at a random bar of well-to-dos.  Fresh from her office, I presented her with the wine she instructed me to purchase in her text message, “Make sure you taste it first.”

She regarded me with the relieved exasperation that only she could provide.

 

I was fresh from the depths of despair, a loss and malaise that made the Great Depression look like Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

I pleaded with her to save me.  We chatted about the election.

I asked her for purpose and place.  She caught the server’s eye – someone she had gone to high school with apparently.

 

She asked if I could set up a cloud server for her work.  I don’t remember much else.

 

It’s been several weeks now.  Removed from the place where I took on a new gender, I feel like a new person.  Perhaps I am.  Completely stealth now, I’ve fallen into a normal life, jarringly familiar from the time before I took hormones and dyed my hair.  I have obligations and new friends, disposable-ish income.  I don’t really wear makeup anymore, and that’s okay.  No one wears makeup every day.

 

Nightmares come and go.  Leia says I cry out in my sleep sometimes.

My pupils have returned to their normal size from antidepressants, which I take with my keys and my phone.  And I’m tempted to thank God that there’s nothing in life that can’t be solved by sex with the right strangers.

I am infinitely fortunate.  I was able to transition and didn’t lose all of my family, or all of my friends.  I didn’t die.  I’m attractive and have skills, I look forward to my life.  My sex change operation was a success.

 

But no one should have to do this.

 

free coffee

ben folds – free coffee (live at providence 9/25/08) – the sound of last night this morning #1

kings of convenience – i don’t know what i can save you from (röyksopp remix) – versus

hole – violet – live through this

emilie autumn – thank god i’m pretty – opheliac

 

the castle at the edge of the world

Every day I’m more invisible, every week is quieter.  I forgot what it was like to be no one, unextraordinary, a blink of someone’s eye.  It’s comfortable.

But for a handful of people, I’m family.  And family is different now.  Among a handful of people I am unconditionally loved; as long as I’m a brilliant, incorruptible badass.

Flat-out, I don’t feel like I’ve experienced this before.  Friends were circles of people I would visit with and move on.  Parents were people who were always not-quite-sure about me.  Everyone was at arm’s length.  Now most people are, but some aren’t.  I don’t feel the need to have an opinion about it, which is good because I don’t know what to think.

 

Everywhere I go there are memories – of buildings, people.  Signs on walls – I went to a dance here, I kissed my ex-fiancee there.  This is where I snubbed the president of the university.  I hope he doesn’t remember.

I feel like I had a brother and these are his memories, but he’s gone.  We never knew each other, but I have his memories.  Sometimes I feel like I’m writing this for him.

 

I was talking to someone about flaws – things to work on.  I said I think I talk too much.  I feel a compulsion to say what I think should be said.  It’s reckless, and I should learn to be quiet.

 

choosing to forget

Yesterday I wrote a lot.  I erased it.  I wrote again, erased again.  Erased, erased.  I deleted the whole file eventually…  made some checklists.  Walked to the store for some groceries; I think pop tarts look good on me.

I walked and chose to forget, almost everything, except some things I enjoy.  Convinced myself that seriousness is for losers.  I wish I could depend on this feeling.

Because I woke up this morning with tears in my eyes.  I hate that.

So I showered and cleaned myself and chose to forget, again.  Apparently it’s an iterative thing.

 

I wish I could have slept, but it seems worthwhile in my crisp shirt and comfy thrift store skirt.

 

Also, the hardware on my face draws my attention away from my facial hair, because I’m the only one who cares about my facial hair.

I told the piercer I’ve had worse.