28 February 2010
27 February 2010
Before I adopted Charlie, I had another cat with the same name and a very similar gray and white coat. He used to rub himself on my hand when I was holding the phone receiver--and talking to a woman. It didn't matter which woman; Charlie liked them all.
26 February 2010
25 February 2010
24 February 2010
I really think that paper multiplies. I don't think it reproduces itself through sex--at least, I've never seen that. That leads me to wonder whether it replicates itself by spreading spores onto desktops that grow into full-fledged folios. Or, perhaps, whether it divides like an amoeba and grows only to divide again.
It seems that no matter how many papers I read, there's another stack. Those papers are like the brooms in Fantasia. I guess that around Memorial Day, those papers will start behaving themselves, at least for a little while: until I teach again, whenever that is!
So, now I'm wondering what birth control for papers would be. And, would they be willing to practice such a thing?
Just when I'm feeling tired and cranky from looking at all of those papers, the very person who doesn't understand the phrase, "I can't talk to you right now!" calls. That person, who also doesn't listen to much of anything I say, calls my work phone, which doesn't have call ID. Or, that person will call my home phone from a restricted number. And I end up spending an hour on the phone with that person.
Am I describing a corollary or two to Murphy's Law?
All right...I'll stop whining. I guess I can't have wonderful epiphanies and reunions every day.
I feel a bit better physically than I did yesterday. But whatever I have is running its course: I still feel tired and, after that call, even crankier than I was.
Now I'm realizing that it's been almost three months since I've moved. Although the place in which I live is a bit nicer, and the neighborhood more convenient, I still don't quite feel like it's home yet. I don't know anyone I didn't know the day I moved there; on the day I moved onto the block from which I moved, I met people who would become friends. It was a hot, sunny August day, and my first days on that block came at the end of summer and the beginning of fall, when people spent time outdoors. On the other hand, I moved into my current place just as winter was beginning, or so it seemed. And this winter has been colder and wetter than the past few, so people--including me--haven't spent much time outdoors.
Fewer papers. More sunshine. An end to unwanted calls. More time on my bike. Less weight on my midsection. Am I asking for too much?
Oh well. At least I have the one thing I wanted most. Yes, I am grateful for that. But gratitude does not short-circuit new desires, or the acknowledgment of old ones.
And for as long as I've been teaching, I've wished that paper would behave itself! ;-)
23 February 2010
So I went to my doctor, at Callen Lorde. Actually, I didn't go to Richie Tran, my regular doctor; I saw one Victor Inaka,of the other doctors in the practice. On my way into the building, I saw Dr. Jennifer, my gynecologist. She's exactly what you want any health care professional to be: She not only has good knowledge and skills, she makes you feel better just by being within sight and hearing distance.
With Jennifer was someone I hadn't seen in a long time. (I seem to have run into a lot of people like that lately!) Kate is one of the butchest (Is that a legitimate adjective?) women I've ever known. She once told me that she thought she was transgedered but decided to live through her "masculine side."
She facilitated the very first transgender support group in which I participated. I can't believe that it was eight years ago! I can recall some of my "classmates" in that group. One, who called herself "Jennifer,' was sixty-five years old. She had just recently begun to live full-time as a woman, having waited until her children were grown and until she retired from her job to "come out." As she expected, it ended her marriage, but she didn't seem too sorry about that.
I'm also recalling Laura, who was a freelance photographer, among other things. She was attending Sarah Lawrence College, which--not surprisingly--she found to be a "tolerant and supportive atmosphere." We went to the Guggenheim and a couple of galleries together, and spent some time with me as Tammy and I were splitting up. I enjoyed the time I spent with Laura because she and I saw our gender transitions--and life itself--as spiritual journeys. She once told me that her goal was to "become the Buddha."
Then there was Marianne, who had just recently "come out." She had just taken a leave from Columbia University, where she had completed two years' worth of courses. I won't make any judgment as to whether she--or anyone else--is transgendered, or any other label you can think of. But I remember feeling that she had a whole bunch of other issued that she needed to work out before embarking on a transition. I know, because I had some of those very issues.
I wonder where they are now. I'm especially curious to know how (or whether) Jennifer continued to live as Jennifer. Tom at SAGE and I are still talking about creating a group for older trans people, so hearing about Jennifer's experiences would be especially interesting to me. I'm also wondering whether Laura continued her transition or whether her journey led her to someone else. As for Marianne, I'd like to know that she's still intact.
There were others in that group, some of whom attended continuously and others who came and went. At least one or two may have decided they weren't transgendered after all, or simply decided they didn't want to make the transition. Sometimes I think the latter is Kate's story.
Speaking of whom...Seeing her again further changed my perception of time. She met me just as I was leaving my life with Tammy and now I am post-op. The one constant is that I have been a woman all along, which I think she understood.
Seeing her again--especially in the presence of Dr. Jennifer--made it difficult for me to believe that eight years have passed since I participated in that group Kate facilitated. Yet my days in that group seem like they happened aeons ago.
But Kate and Dr. Jennifer, like Marci, also represent beginnings in my life. By definition, beginnings define and demarcate the past. That is why the people who helped to make them happen are always present for you, even if you don't see them for years.
22 February 2010
21 February 2010
That resident's name is Kiki. I'm not sure of how it's spelled; that's how the proprietors pronounce her name. She's very pretty--and could be Charlie's sister. Yes, she's gray and white, just like he is. And she's shy, at least according to the prorprietor, but very friendly toward me.
20 February 2010
19 February 2010
17 February 2010
She stirred. "Oh, no. Just the usual things."
16 February 2010
15 February 2010
14 February 2010
13 February 2010
12 February 2010
11 February 2010
Today the college felt like a ghost town, at least in comparison to how it normally feels. About half of my students didn't come to my morning classes. However, I had nearly a full house for my final class, late in the afternoon. Still, the halls seemed emptier. And I know a number of professors didn't come in: I saw the signs announcing the cancellation of their classes.
And I did something that piqued the curiosity of a few of my co-workers: I wore my red pumps. No, I didn't wear them outdoors: The soles are too slippery for that, and I don't want to ruin the shoes (and possibly my feet!) by stepping into a slush puddle. I changed into them when I got to my office. It just happens that they complement what I was wearing today: a jewel-necked knitted top with black, bronze, white, gray and red stipes; a black cardigan (actually, half of a twinset) over it, a tan corduroy skirt and brown tights.
Some people think you're supposed to wear drab colors on drab days. That seems counterintuitive, or at least counter to my intuition.
I wouldn't mind the cold and the snow at all if the aftermath of them wasn't slush. Actually, the scene was quite lovely yesterday: Somehow, snow swirling over brick houses makes the glow of those sunset-orange bricks seem even warmer. And I just happen to live in one of those houses. Small things make me happy.
I wish we'd had today, rather than yesterday, off. Getting around in the aftermath of a snowstorm is actually more treacherous, at least sometimes, than getting around in the storm itself. When the snow is falling or being driven by the wind, it's still that: snow. But now some of what's on the ground has turned to ice and slush.
And it really feels cold. I know I've been out--for hours, on my bike--on days much colder than today was. But I really felt it today. Perhaps it has to do with my relative lack of physical activity. Or it could just be that I'm getting older. Still, I wonder if the operation has heightened the sensitivity to cold I seemed to have developed while taking hormones. I can remember going outside in shorts on days colder than today. There was no way I would've done that today, even if I didn't have to make myself halfway presentable so I could go to work.
At least I know one thing: Charlie and Max are happy to see me. The feeling is mutual; and they feel especially cozy and comfortable when they curl up with me on nights like this!