dclarion: (Default)
I have been going over things I have written over the years, notably my LJ account upon which the sun is setting, seeking pieces that I might include in my web site.  I was specifically looking for things I might have written in regard to my gender, my transgendered state.  I was quite surprised at what I have so far found; or shall I say, what I have not found so far.  In the two-year period of 2005-2006 that I have so far covered, I have found a single piece concerned with gender or gender expression.  Compare that to this journal, most of its entries in the six weeks of its existence concerned in some way with my transsexuality.  Granted, I opened this journal at a gender-related crossroads; perhaps the gender-related:non-gender-related ratio will decrease as time passes.

What I'm after is this: It seems that, as definitely transgendered as I am, concerns of gender have not dominated my life, as they have the lives of many transgendered folk I know.  Whether this means that I am not a Good Little Transie or that I am a pretty good transie after all, remains to be seen.
dclarion: (Default)
After a couple slices of bread with jelly, I did lay back down, and had about an hour's nap.  I even had another dream.  I was back in school, in the present day.  I loved school that second time around; it just pains me that I ended up in the booby hatch instead of the PhD program I had originally wanted.  In my dream, I met a young lady, a Peppermint Patty type.  I was quite enamored of her, and she kind of liked me as well.  It was kind of cute that she was afraid that I wouldn't like dancing, meaning ballroom dancing.  Imagine her surprise when I replied that I dearly loved ballroom dancing.  I do, by the way, in my waking hours; it's been too many years since I've been able to engage in the activity.  Her jaw dropped when I told her that I was 54 years of age; I guess that it wasn't obvious, but as this was another first-person dream, I couldn't see my own face to know.  "What the hell," she commented, "maybe this can work, anyway."  The damned thing is that I was Edward again!

Back in the waking world, I poured myself the first cup of what will be today's gallon of coffee, and did some thinking about that dream.  I thought about that representation of myself.  In my mind, a sentence flashed into existence: "It's not that I don't like him, I just don't want to be him."

As imperfect as that sentence may be, I'd never thought about it that way before.

May 2013

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