what i did on my vacation:

list of things to talk about:
tourism
Achilles heel
pinching nipples
missed connections
doing too much
goose bumps
party's over
salves smelling like food, not helping with cookie binges
true test of a friend: their ability to support you even when they think you're wrong


tourism: I was listening to NPR on my drive back from NYC. There was a woman on (Susan Orlean perhaps?) that was talking about something that included the evolution of tourism. She said something to the effect that hard core traveling used to be about going to exotic places that no one else could get to... And how now that everything is accessible, everyone can get everywhere. They asked the question: What is the point of traveling? They answered: to feel alien; like you don't fit. (or something to that effect. I can't remember anything these days.) It made me think about my own life. The terror I feel when faced with the prospect of going anywhere unknown, let alone anywhere "exotic." My fears of will I be able to piss somewhere if I drink too much, will I stand out for being "too different," will I wind up alone in some scary dark corner (again)? I don't want to be a tourist. Not in the literal sense, and not within masculinity.

Achilles heel: While continuing to listen to that NPR show, I was thinking about the concept of Achilles heels, at the exact same time the narrator said that phrase. Synchronicity. So speaking of: what is mine? ______

pinching nipples: I jokingly told friends that post top-surgery that I have been having a lot of really weird sensations in my chest now. Things that feel like static shocks (not static cling!) under the surface of my skin, or really sore pec muscles as if I had actually gotten to lift anything heavier than the remote. But there is also a weird sensation that I said felt like my nipples were being pinched. In my drive back I realized after hitting a few small potholes, that the sensation I feel is rooted where my aureoles used to be. These odd misfirings. This is now the middle of my pec, while my nipples are a few inches further towards the sides of my body. Awkward. More awkward still ~ I have no sensation in the aureoles post-migration. Huh. Wonder how this plot line will develop.


missed connections: While visiting a few friends in NYC it was clear that they didn't know what to do with me while having to witness me in my "wounded" state. As much as they were supportive of my transition, it was a bit of a bummer to feel like we simply "missed" each other, despite being in each others' presence. Missed connections. Made me sad, as it made me wonder if this was some sort of foreshadowing for what is to come when I finally see more of my friends back home. We'll see.


doing too much: It is nearly impossible to sit back and not do anything as I continue to recuperate. I am bored as shit, and there is stuff to get done. When I got home, my good, good friend asked to come over to help make me lunch. Of course, I went into host mode, and was bummed that the areas rugs needed vacuuming, and surfaces needed dusting. I was embarrassed that care takers might have to see the neglect around my house. So, in the little that I did to clean up, I kind of hurt myself. I was achy for the next two damn days cuz I took out the damn trash. Well, and reached too high to grab a clean pair of jeans from my closet. Is this what it's going to be like? Can I get one of those spring loaded reachy grabber things like my grandmother had when she dropped stuff next to her hydraulic lift chair? Or a personal assistant? Either way...

goose bumps: They are now excruciatingly painful. Feels like a million little needles ripping through my skin from the inside out. (And when I feel fear, it ripples over the surface of my abdomen. Weird.)


party's over: Everyone is gone. After all my friends/caretakers left my house the week following surgery, I went to see my family up in New England. No one in my family knew how to deal with me. Despite starting on the right foot with my dad, we instantly got out of step. My family wouldn't ask about the surgery itself, and my dad kept telling me in an annoyed stance that I looked so uncomfortable, and just needed to relax my shoulders. He kept saying: "Maybe you have an infection." Um, no. I just went through surgery. I was recovering. That is what recovery looks like~being rough and slowly getting better. (My cousin was the only one who was human. She was perfect, asking me if I was afraid before surgery, how I was doing after that, how I felt about the results, etc. It was fleeting, and yet made all of the diverted eyes less painful.) Home now. Everything is different.

salves smelling like food: After putting neosporin on the stitches for over a week, I am now adding cocoa butter (which literally smells like chocolate) and vitamin e, enriched wheat germ and aloe vera ~ which smells like clove. Cloves and chocolate, I feel like I am in German bakery, every time I moisturize my scars. I get so hungry with the fake-o aroma therapy. It's kind of perverse in this really slippery, slapsticky way. I love it. Although it's not helping me shed this baby fat I've gained while being immobile.


true test of a friend: My friend Jen and I were talking about our lives the other day, and some of the rough times we have been having as of late. We talked in detail about how much we have been trying to walk the line. There was also this point where we began to wonder if we really had the support of our friends. There are so many people in our lives that pat us on the back, and tell us they will always be there, but when the shit hits the fan, where did everyone go? We realized that the true test of a friend is someone who supports you even when they don't necessarily agree with whatever choice you are about to, or just did make... So, are you still my friend?