He was reared to give respect


June 10, 2020 :: 8:46 PM

one, two, ready, fence

“I am deeply sorry for the pain these comments have caused you. I really hope that you don’t entirely lose what was valuable in these stories to you. If these books taught you that love is the strongest force in the universe, capable of overcoming anything; if they taught you that strength is found in diversity, and that dogmatic ideas of pureness lead to the oppression of vulnerable groups; if you believe that a particular character is trans, nonbinary, or gender fluid, or that they are gay or bisexual; if you found anything in these stories that resonated with you and helped you at any time in your life — then that is between you and the book that you read, and it is sacred.” - Daniel Radcliffe

- - - - -

There once was a little girl who grew up desperately wanting to be a little boy.

It was “just a phase” when she took scissors to all the pink, feminine, clothing her mother used to buy.

It was “just a phase” when she decided she had to learn how to do boy things. Like pee standing up.

It was “just a phase” when she asked her father to call her Tom. (He thought it was short for tomboy. Yeah. no.)

It was “just a phase” when she got her period and felt suicidal.

It was “just a phase” when she realised that she preferred being a tomboy because it was as close as she could get to the real thing.

It was “just a phase” when she stopped buying women’s clothing.

It’s funny… out of all the things in the DSM-V that’ve I’ve been diagnosed with, gender dysphoria hasn’t been one of them.

My pronouns remain she/her.

My body remains as is.

My brain remains as is.

I’ve come to a kind of internal compromise in the war between my body and brain.

Had I known that being transgender was a real thing and not “in my head”, I might have pursued treatment and had my gender changed.

Now that I know that it’s OK to have my brain and body not match, I actually feel better. The dysphoria has actually lessened, just from knowing that I could actually get the penis I’ve always wanted. (Yeah, the one I was left in the Band Senior Wills, I think ‘96 or ‘97, doesn’t count.)

When I started fencing, I’d already studied gender reassignment and tossed around the “what ifs”...

And then I met Phil.

He had kids my age and we became fast friends. It was hard not to notice that he had longer nails, was growing out his hair, and spelled his name “Phyl”. He wore a female chest protector and had pronounced (but tiny) breasts. I kept my questions to myself. It was none of my business.

Until she made it mine.

She came out to me one night before we took the piste for a match.

I nodded, said “Cool”, shook her hand, and proceeded to win the match. When we were off to the side waiting for our next match, she told me she was surprised I was so calm about it. All I could say was that I knew. It was obvious to me. I was surprised she hadn’t said anything sooner.

Her wife had always known something was off, and it was’t until she died that he started to take how he felt into consideration. He realised that it was more than cross dressing, more than… well, just more.

She made me reconsider my options even more. Here was a biological male, 60 years old, and beginning to transition.

What a fucking inspiration.

Maybe, one day, I can be as brave as she is and finally live in the right body.

The only TERF I like is astro…


June 07, 2020 :: 6:58 PM

words are weapons, sharper than knives

FUCK. YOU. JK ROWLING.

I just can’t with this woman.

I really wish she’d just shut the fuck up and quit tarnishing one of the best things that ever happened to me.

As the bombshells of my daily fears explode…


May 30, 2020 :: 6:33 PM

it’s hard to write an AU when everything in canon is basically an AU

A couple of weeks ago, the Indigo Girls performed Rites of Passage in it’s entirely.

OMMFG

That album.

That motherfucking album.

R.E.M. might be the soundtrack of my life, but that album?

That album was my life for several years.

It was so weird to sit and listen to it performed live.

All those memories.

Fuck, man, the 1992 version of me was so fucking young. So fucking raw. So fucking hurt and angry.

And there’s not enough room in this world for my pain.
Signals cross, and love gets lost…

Forget about your ego.
Forget about your pride.
And you will never have to compromise

I left my anger in a river running Highway 5.
New Hampshire, Vermont, bordered by college farms, hubcaps, and falling rocks.
Voices in the woods and the mountaintops.

I’m not ready for the dead to show it’s face…

It’s so weird - that’s the year my mother died, that year was nothing but shitty experience after shitty experience - but this fucking album.

It’s still one of my favourites.

Which is odd considering my relationship with Bowie is much the same as my relationship with this album in it’s own kind of way.

 

Dopey In Training!


May 25, 2020 :: 3:08 PM

If I’m flipping the bird 15 miles in, I think I’m in trouble…

I’m very amused that 42.2km is a marathon.

Who knew running 26 miles was the answer to life, the universe, and everything?

Happy Towel Day, hoopty froods.

 

Reignited passion


May 16, 2020 :: 10:31 AM

writing fan fiction in a nutshell

I mentioned my interest in re-focussing on Ukrainian a couple of entries ago. I think - I remember talking about how much I hate Spanish, but I’m too lazy to go back into the archives.

Anyhoo.

I picked up Duolingo again. I don’t understand the point of using it as a type of formal language instruction. If you’re on the mobile version, it doesn’t seem to show you anything of value.I already had Ukrainian and Polish… and Spanish on there. I had used it to keep myself busy at BU hockey games and added Spanish for when I was super bored after we moved here.

The Ukrainian is easy, despite the fact that I haven’t seriously studied it in a long time. The Polish is OK, except for the fact that I can’t spell worth a damn. All those accents on the letters! Dangly bits! Lines through the L - which totally look like a T! It’s near impossible for someone with a shit memory like me.

But because I don’t torture myself enough, I added Russian. FUCKING RUSSIAN. Now, I have a complicated family history with Russian. Back in Ohio, after my dad died, when I was still speaking to THAT aunt, I’d mentioned wanting to learn Ukrainian, but I couldn’t find anything to use. The internet wasn’t what is is now, remember. This was 2001/2002. Napster was still around a little bit, and other file sharing services were popping up, but there wasn’t a Facebook. MySpace didn’t exist. There was literally nothing except Barnes and Noble. (I don’t even think Amazon was around then, but I’m too lazy to check.)

So, I casually said I was thinking about learning Russian because they’re similar.

Jesus Christ, did she tear into me. It was disrespectful. Did I know what the Russians put Ukrainians through? Did I know what they did to my family? (No. No I didn’t, I would find out years later. Long after we last spoke. Holodomor. Forced labor in Germany. Chornobyl.)  So. Yeah. Fuck Russia and the language.

But, you know, fan fic demands that I learn some Russian in order to write about a Russian teenager, his Russian coach, and his Kazakh boyfriend (who also speaks Russian). I’d go as far as to play with Kazakh, but Duolingo doesn’t offer it.

All that to say, a few years ago, I bought a book titled “Get Started in Polish.” I have had this burning desire to actually crack it open and focus on Polish for a while.

So… I think that’s what I’m going to do.

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