I'm a 23 year old transgender woman from Massachusetts. I plan on using this website for some journaling, and alike. This is not safe for work, please read at your own discretion.
Yesterday, I distracted myself from the inaugeration by going to a couple demonstrations in the city. The first one was small, just a small crowd chanting in front of an empty building. It was nice being surrounded by other queers, at least. I felt a little silly, but I'm probably going to reach out to the org and see what else they have going on. The sisters of perpetual indulgence were there, and I am really becoming convinced that clownery is vital to a good social and political movement. The second event was larger, and it had full speeches and marching along with the chants, and plenty of orgs giving out flyers and pamphlets and alike. It felt much more substantial, and even though it was a cold day, there were people watching, reporters interviewing people, helicopters overhead, and a sense that even if this wasn't doing much in particular, it was making a statement, and it was getting everyone ready and involved for more substantial actions in the future. The speeches were exciting, and I'm sure I'm going to go at least a couple of the events I was told about. I also talked briefly with a small group of early-college aged activists who came up to me near the start when I was standing around, drinking coffee because I didn't know anyone at the event. That respresents a kindness and care that I really respect, and their clown makeup was sick, so I really hope life goes well for them. After the event I just went home and settled in to sleep. Nothing much has happened this morning, since I don't have any work. I heard some more of the news from yesterday, and I'm just filled with dread about all of it. It all just seems so surreal. I'm going to need to keep applying for jobs and signing up for events and orgs, but I think I'm also going to go way deeper into queer sex and drugs as a distraction.
I'm starting a blog today, as I believe the activities of journaling and learning new skills will be beneficial to my mental health. I do not know how long I will continue this, but I'll learn that in time. Today, I'm feeling a bit hungover, having gone to a cannabis-themed drag show downtown yesterday. I over-indulged, having taken a few edibles, and some zealous strokes of a new pen in preparation for, and in the course of, the first few acts of the preformance. That was fine, and the preformers were wonderful, the energy in the room was intoxicating on its own. I stood at an odd spot around the corner of a bar, because the seats were all sold out and I had to pay for bar and standing room; the view was nice, but I had to wait for a bucket to come around to tip the preformers most of the time. uring the intermission, a couple dozen people went out onto the sidewalk, crowded together under an awning, all smoking pot. I wasn't there with anyone, so I did not pass mine around, a strawberry fernway of a pack I'd gotten earlier this week. I did, however, have a nice chat with a mother and daughter, with the daughter having complimented my leopard print scarf, and I'd returned the compliment with their floral handbag. We talked a bit about the weed and the show, and I got a warm feeling from the interaction. I smoked a bit too fast, having gone through the whole joint before the scene moved back inside. I knew I'd overdone it when I was leaning against the light post, just trying to keep a handle on my breathing. After a trip to the restroom, with the water and dirty shirleys I'd had earlier having caught up with me, with only a brief embaressment of someone opening the door a crack before I'd finished, but there were no sightlines and there was no harm done. I would spend the latter half of the shower sitting further on the outskirts, securing myself, focusing on my water with comfortable, but distant, view of the preformers. I enjoyed the alcove I found for myself, and I enjoyed the cross section I sat in between the warm and homely bar lighting, and the more saturated and intimate lighting of the preformance. The ride home was a blur, shuffling between trains and buses and shuttles. The orange line was down, so it took a while. When I got home, I ordered taco bell for me and my aunt. I had more than my fill, and the last thing I did before sleeping was cringing at my bank account. I woke up early this morning, couldn't have been past 2am. I was well hungover then, I gave idle responses to some kinky chat from a guy on grindr. I sent some pictures, and I tried taking a couple more, but I was getting some hard dysmorphia. I really wanted more ass and less belly, tighter waist, wider hips, and all manner of aching thoughts about the day when I'll get the surgery. It wasn't helped by that guy doing that horrible thing chasers do of calling your parts by other names, like calling a dick a clit is supposed to make me more comfortable, like I didn't say that I really wasn't interested in doing anything with that area while it's still the way it is. But I know that those worries will pass. I certainly know that I need to start going to more drag shows. Being hopelessly stoned around beautiful people all night was what set off the dysphoria, but I need to see the scene again. I need to see more people like me, how they do it, how they walk with pride, and how they can even learn to strut. Maybe, if I worked at it, I could be a queen too. I'll have to give it a try.
