I miss my dog. I miss thunderstorms. I miss the P&H. Today, I filled out the Memphis Flyer annual popularity contest. Wrote in some of my personal favorites for a few categories and caught a bit of homesickness.  I’ve lived there recently enough to have opinions.  Chatting with a co-worker I gained valuable perspective on how much things have changed in such a short time.  Time and space have different meanings for me sometimes.  Even though I’m miles away from people in the Bluff City, I’m closer to a few of them.  One month might go by in minutes while certain weeks take hours.

On this side of the country I’ve done the seemingly impossible – make a fresh start.  I’m working in a job regular enough to annoy me and routine enough to get used to.  I talk to tourists and moderately wealthy locals all day.  I work for a landmark that thousands of people visit and they are currently having the busiest summer on record.  Employment in a place with an excess of demand is surreal.  When I was hired the HR rep said, “This job is a lot of telling people No.”  I smiled at that.  If my therapeutic efforts of the past few years have prepared me to do anything it’s tell strangers no.

There are fundamental elements of me that haven’t wavered despite extensive renovations to my person and habits. Some things, like my foot-in-mouth problem, I’ve learned to moderate. Other qualities, like my insatiable need to win, I’ve learned to divert toward healthier channels. The obstacles I am able to conquer.  I’m a stronger individual than I was.  I am presented with real decisions and I’ve finally learned how to handle myself with poise.  I’ve literally developed faking-it-till-I’m-making-it into a skill-set.  I have such a comprehensive litany of bullshit at my disposal it’s almost impossible to break my voice mask when I’m on the phone at work.

My one strength is my honesty.  My biggest weakness is my empathy.  I’m too sensitive.  My entire life.  I’ve felt things most people don’t commonly sense.  I learned quickly that showing pain made me seem weak.  I worked every day of my life to not appear weak.  I have a urge, an inner desire to be strong, I can’t explain.  In a lot of ways, I feel like my father’s only son.  I often wonder if I was born hermaphroditic.  It’s shocking how much surgical alteration was used on babies’ genitalia in the previous century.  Not talking about circumcision, though I consider that barbaric personally.

At Bryn Mawr, every freshwoman was required to enroll in a gender studies seminar her first semester.  The type of class that discussed the gender bias of words like seminar and semester.  We also watched a documentary about hermaphrodites.  The reported instance of disparate types genital organs was something like 9% in that film.  Mostly enlarged clitorises but also stray testicles and whatnot.  Anyway, the idea supports the idea that gender is not a dichotomy.  I prefer a spectrum when using classifications.  That’s my egoism, I guess.

When I visited as a high school senior, I found my dad seated next to the Rainbow Alliance information booth in the BMC student lounge.  I’m not sure if he asked out loud or if I read it on his face but I heard, “Is that what you are now?”  I know my mom asked out loud later and I assured her I was NOT that.  I knew by the way she said it, the right answer was no. In hindsight, I wonder about the whole thing and whether they know something I don’t.  I wonder if I could have been raised a boy in another context.  The only time I had the courage to ask was the one time my mom didn’t answer when I called.  Irony, or something.

By college, I was only sure I’m into dudes.  Turns out most of the women in my life abused me, so I was little bit straight by default.  My interest in women as sexual beings has always been there.  It just took me a little longer to figure out what I wanted to do about it.  These days, I’m certain there’s no limit to what I can find sexy.  I’ve fucked someone with nothing but my eyes and a metaphorical dick.  I’ve had others get me off with just a good spanking.  Now that I’m in touch with my sexuality there are very few limits to my position on the spectrum.