It shouldn't surprise me. I know from back in the shrinking days that I'm totally disconnected from my body. I know all about body dysmorphia, I've done all the tedious cognitive behavior exercises. But, still, I'm always amazed at *how* out of touch I am with my physical self.
While I was running today, I was composing a journal entry my head, and it started with the sentence, "Damn, I'm a slow runner." I plod and I poke and I eventually get to where I'm going, it just takes me forever. Today I felt exceptionally slow and lethargic. But I finished my out and back route, and discovered that I had improved my time by a minute and 19 seconds.
How does that happen? I feel really heavy lately--not "My god, I'm fat" heavy, but my limbs feel like they weigh a gazillion pounds, and they don't take me anywhere very quickly. Except apparently they are. Well, I'm still a slow runner, but I'm faster than I give myself credit for.
In other body dysmorphic bulletins, I could have sworn I was gaining weight. I really do feel exceptionally prone to the pull of gravity lately. I avoid the scale if I can, so I can't be certain, but I would have put money on the fact that I was gaining back some of the weight I'd lost.
[erasure] I walk around with my body all day long, you'd think I would know it a little better than I do.
I'm looking very femme today. Well....okay. That's an impossibility. I don't know if it's the way I walk, the shoes I wear, or the fact that I carry my wallet in my back pocket, but I couldn't even look femme wearing a dress. However, I'm definitely a step down from high butch today--olive-colored jeans and a khaki-colored linen/cotten blend tunic that falls almost to my knees. It even has sprigs of olive green...hm...looks like baby's breath or something. The butch shoes kind of wreck the feminine effect, though.
I even ironed it myself. And in even more in the way of will-the-wonders-ever-cease-sort-of-news, I put the ironing board away when I was done. I'm not such a bad guy!
Ten bucks says someone compliments me on my shirt today. Whenever I wear Catherine's clothes, I always get compliments. No one *ever* compliments me on my ties, though, and I have some pretty fine looking ties in my closet. What could be the reason? Maybe when I look more like a girl, people feel more comfortable invading my personal space and making comments about my appearance. When I look like a boy, they respect the boundaries I've constructed around myself. Or, it could be that a woman in a tie just sends everyone around me into a panic--they don't know what my game is--is she gay? is she stupid? does she know how laughable she looks?
On my more confident days, I find it fascinating how people are absolutely incapable of separating individuals from their clothes. They see a tie, and they automatically think "man." I absolutely *hate* being taken for a man. And I know it's partly my fault, I could dress in drag, nice feminine frilly clothes, but really, is it all my responsibility? Shouldn't people think about fashion a little more critically?
Sometimes it's funny. When I lived in LA, I ate at the same Subway shop every day, and the same people waited on me every day. And invariably, about once a week, the counter guy would glance up and say, "What can I get for you, sir?" And then there would be a pause, and he'd change it to, "Uh...ma'am." And then, "Sir," and back to "Ma'am." And I was usually wearing a t-shirt and shorts, nothing very gender specific. I just really wanted to ask him--why is it that you could figure me out yesterday, but today you can't seem to pin me down?
Last week, as I was leaving McDonald's, I heard a man behind me say, "Was that a woman or was that a man?" And I wanted to turn around and ask him just when was the last time he saw a guy built like the Venus of Willendorf eating fastfood in Bloomington.
Catherine was totally joking when she said I should go talk to one of the counselors at the Kinsey about my gender "issues." They don't do the kind of counseling I would need. I'm not one of those TG people who wake up every morning thinking, "My god, I'm a man trapped in a woman's body." I'm perfectly fine w/my body. I'm female, and I'm fine with that. I mean...men's bodies are....ick. Wouldn't want to touch one, wouldn't want to be one.
On the other hand, I'm incredibly bad at being a girl. But, then again, I'm not so good at being a boy, either. I don't get half the stuff my teammates talk about in the locker room--particularly not the two most common topics: wedding receptions & getting pregnant. But I'm also not one of the guys--I've always worked in male-dominated fields, and my best friends have typically been male, but I know they change their behavior when I'm around. Which is a good thing, I don't really want to be sitting around making sexist jokes about my wife. So, I don't know. I'm not a girl, but I'm not a boy. I occupy the interstitial space between the socially-enforced gender binary of girl v. boy, and sometimes that really sucks.