I think I’d gotten it into my head that disability is always, on some level, supposed to feel bad. Like if I fought myself all the time, I was somehow doing it right. And then I got tired.
We have heard of a number of attempts to go down on a lover underwater, but apparently few women possess the breath-holding capacity to take their lover all the way to orgasm. Besides, some women become so intent on their pleasure and their desire to come that they may grab their lover’s head and hold it there until the crucial moment. Drowning your lover is not fair game.
I have to think of myself as I am now. I can’t stand to think of myself as waiting. I can’t stand to think of myself as in-progress. So I think of myself as desire because I think of desire as a thing that lives in me now and will continue to live beyond this vessel.
Colette, My Trans Body as a State of Desire
Today I get to wash and put away a couple of thrift-store bags full of flannels and t-shirts and these socks that look like they should be worn while field-dressing a deer. And the next time I go out, I get to feel present in my skin.
To the outside observer, it sounds like the church of a religion no organized religion would ever want to associate with. A place where you can go and hear crazy sounds and dance like mad and forget whatever it is you don’t want to remember. And I didn’t believe any of it. Until I did.
