Androgynous

Had to post this quick hit about a funny remark my friend S made at work today. :c)

After an early meeting we went downstairs for coffee, as we often do, and caught up on out-of-office matters. S related details of her weekend first (she had a lot of fun, in case you're wondering), and then asked how mine was.

I told her the story I posted about on Monday, and we shared a good laugh. ("That is so 'totally' you, Cass!" she said.)

Then I mentioned the running tallies I kept during the weekend, including:

Number of times I blushed (when I mentioned that my dreams have been particularly vivid lately, causing J to ask what - or who - I was dreaming about): 1 lol

Number of items I kicked, bumped, tripped on, or knocked over: 4

Number of times I spilled coffee: 2 (once Saturday evening, once Sunday morning; I am equally clumsy on both days)

Number of times I was addressed as one of the following by toll booth attendants - a) Ma'am; b) Miss; c) Hon/Miss: 3

Steph laughed at that last item. Then she asked off-handedly what I was wearing when I was driving to and from T & J's house.

"Oh, I was dressed androgynously, I guess," I said.

She looked at me for a moment.

S: "So you were dressed normally, then?"

(Note: I'm still in boy mode at work.)

Me: "Huh?"

S: "Cass... you always look androgynous now."

(long pause)

C: "Oh."

lol

Thus, I once again demonstrate my remarkable inability to grasp what apparently is blatantly obvious to... well, everyone! :c)

***

This also gives me an excuse to post a great tune from what is, hands-down, one of the best albums of the Eighties -  Let It Be, by The Replacements:

I was too young to get into clubs when Let It Be came out, a matter not helped by the fact that I looked like I was about 12 years old at the time. (I was routinely carded at R-rated movies until I was 31, if you can believe it.)

However, I was lucky enough to see them twice on the Tim tour, in 1986. Both times they were drunken, shambling, barely coherent affairs... and both were absolutely, transcendently glorious. :c)

Long live The Replacements!!!

Well she wrote me a letter...

So, I'm still trying to let yesterday sink in. I saw M, my therapist, yesterday afternoon, and asked what the process was for her to be able to write my letter to start HRT.

As it turns out, that *was* the process. :c) She was just waiting for me to ask.

She said she'd be happy to give me a referral, and had a few suggestions on who I might consider. (There are only a few near where I live - well, sort of near. Nothing is all that close, unfortunately.) Her top choice was highly recommended by several people in my support group, which was reassuring. 

I was driving back home in a bit of a daze - a happy daze, if you will (sorry for the pun!). All I kept thinking was "you're really doing this, you're really doing this…" :c)

It seemed - and still seems - a bit surreal, but I'm excited, a bit nervous, and, more than anything, still amazed that I'm actually doing what I've always tried to convince myself I could never do. I know it's one more step in a long, long process, and not the be all and end all. But if you had told me I'd be here at the beginning of the year, I never, ever would've believed it.

Hmm… is it ethical to bribe a doctor to get an appointment as soon as possible? Theoretically, of course. My friend… uh, Nelly, would like to know… <g>

More to follow!

Not that any reason is ever needed, but this is a good opportunity to listen to some Alex Chilton:

He was 16 when he recorded this!

And while we're at it, some Paul Westerberg too:

Achin' To Be

So strange how desire ebbs and flows.

At times, it almost seems manageable. "This isn't all that bad. I don't *have* to do anything. I can just stay here."

And then... and then... it's back. Stronger and more overwhelming than ever. Triggered by a gesture. A scent. A shape.

And there it is again. That.... pressure. From having a glimpse of a possible future. If you have the courage to make it come true.

But for now, it's still a longing. Just an achin' to be.

Achin' To Be

Well she's kind of like an artist

Sittin' on the floor

Never finishes, she abandons
Never shows a soul

And she's kind of like a movie
Everyone rushes to see

And no one understands it

Sittin' in their seats


She opens her mouth to speak and
What comes out's a mystery
Thought about, not understood

She's achin' to be

Well she dances alone in nightclubs
Every other day of the week

People look right through her
Baby doll, check your cheek



And she's kind of like a poet

Who finds it hard to speak

Poems come so slowly

Like the colors down a sheet

She opens her mouth to speak and
What comes out's a mystery
Thought about, not understood

She's achin' to be