a quick note

Getting over yesterday, back in the old town.  Spires upon spires in an abandoned cityscape.  Like a bad dream, driven home in a hybrid Honda Fit.

Insurance claims and cyberstalkers, rocking out in the real world.  Nothing like a university at all.

I tell my mom that I give zero fucks, because I’m a millennial and that’s what we do.  Please don’t send me a passive aggressive gift this Easter, send me something I’d like to have, like Cryptonomicon.

A breakthrough with us.  Maybe there is hope in life.

 

A beautiful woman, finally.  Like an out of body experience.  The most beautiful person some stranger has ever seen.  What am I supposed to think?

When a man I don’t know tells me they love me?  Call BS loudly, and often.

I submit my dissertation soon, I’ll get a job I swear.  Learning to be happy, speaking to a kindred spirit.  About how there’s no plan.

 

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an uncanny girl

Writing letters to my health insurer, preparing to sue my old landlords, writing cover letters, hustling.  I think I’m probably an adult now.  I look in the mirror, “Brave girl.  Very brave girl.”  And there’s not much else I can do.

I walk everywhere.  People whistle at me, stare, look away, but no one gives me any actual problems.  Maybe it’s because I’m tall.  Maybe it’s my 1000 yard stare.  Maybe it’s because I only own work clothes, no short skirts, no heels.  All-in-all I’d rather be left alone.

Except when I’m alone.  But I still don’t want to be touched, by anyone.  It’s worrying.  Maybe there’s nothing I can do.  My blind hope is that surgery will clear this up.  And the surgery clock is ticking, which doesn’t help my peace of mind, particularly since I’ll need a job to go through with it.  I never rest.

 

When I decided to transition I spent 64 hours in my mom’s studio apartment, alone.  I remember this as the 64 hour war.  It was a freefall of confusion and blind fear.  I wrote a lot.  Toward the end of it, I remembered that I never wanted to be male, never wanted a male sexuality.  That when I was a child, this was the last thing I ever wanted, although I didn’t understand at the time.

But I understand now, and I decided to transition.  I knew I would be sacrificing my sexuality, that my body and my life would make no sense for a long time, and I would need to be okay with that.  I thought this sacrifice would make the journey easier, less confusing, and it has.  My transition is characterized by an outward steadiness and uncanny efficiency.  Cisgendered people look askance, “Your transition has gone so smoothly.”  Powerful people protest, “Your transition can’t be perfect.”  And I don’t know what to say.

 

But I walk on eggshells, and I pray.

I curse myself in the bathroom mirror.

I don’t know what to think or feel; but please, please let this be over.