01 June 2009

The Last Course And Sleep

So...This was the first day of the summer session--and of the final course I'll be teaching before my surgery.

It's called "Understanding Literature," and everyone in the college, regardless of his or her major, must take it some time after completing English composition. Of the twenty-one students who came to class, four were in my composition class in the spring semester, and one came from one of my fall semester classes. One is among the best students I've had, but I'm happy to see all of them.

This is the first time I'm teaching the course in three years. Perhaps it will be a come-down after the Hip-hop class I taught in the spring. But Understanding Literature, a.k.a. English 200, was my favorite general-education course to teach. I have a pretty fair amount of freedom in what I can do; the only stipulations are that I use the textbook/anthology that the department has mandated and give a final exam, which I create and grade. Of course, nobody expects us to cover all of the works of literature that are in the book. So I tend to emphasize poetry, since that is what I enjoy most.

I'm really glad to be teaching the course. For one thing, I'll make a little more money. But, perhaps even more important for me, it keeps me engaged with people and my mind occupied for at least part of the day. As you can imagine, I've been thinking about my upcoming surgery about as much as I used to think about sex when I was full of testosterone. Sex, food, sex, poetry, sex, bicycling, sex, what's she wearing?, sex, wish I could wear it, sex, sleep...

I've been told that I actually thought about sex less than the average male. Now that's a scary thought. I don't think about as sex as much as I did. Actually, I like that: It's nice to think about other things. Like the surgery. And my parents' health. And....

Before I began to take hormones, I read--and heard from my doctor--that they might decrease my sex drive. (Transmen who take "T" get hornier, from what I've heard.) Then again, sex drive tends to decrease at about the age at which I started my transition anyway. So, I feel even more certain that I haven't made a sacrifice, at least in that department, to live the life I want.

Of course a perfect lady is not supposed to have a huge sex drive. At least, she shouldn't seem to have one. For me that's great: If I want to be a slut at heart, it's a perfect cover. That wouldn't be such a change for me, really: Being an altar boy and a good student allowed me to get away with a pretty fair amount of mischief, albeit of the more subtle varieties.

What's that old Yiddish saying?: A lady on the streets, a nafkeh (sp?) between the sheets. Or something like that. I guess I'd rather be that than a nafkeh on the streets and a lady between the sheets.

For a few weeks after the surgery, I won't have any choice, really, but to be a lady between the sheets, and--however ungracefully--on the streets. It's a bit difficult to do otherwise when you're healing.

It really must be late if I started talking about my class and ended up where I just left off. So I'll go to bed now. To sleep, perchance to dream: Now there's something the anaesthesiologist could say to me as my passage begins. But I can't let him/her do that. Putting people to sleep while quoting Shakespeare: That's my job. Just don't tell anyone I try not to do that in my classrooms. I mean, put people to sleep.

G'night, all.

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