I think I'm dehydrated. I bought a book at the train station. I'd never done that before. Usually when I'm at the train station it's really late, so nothing is open. I complimented the clerk on a good selection for such a small kiosk. He had a handsome smile. He thanked me with pride. He clearly enjoyed selling books at the train station.
I love looking at sexy people. That doesn't make me want to touch them. It's like art. I don't want to touch art. The waiter today had good thighs. Thick but not too thick. He said, "Sick!" too much.
A few months ago I made a comment to the effect of conversion to Judaism being one of the strongest acts of rebellion I could imagine in America today. The woman I was speaking to didn't understand what I meant. I wonder if she understands now.
This is one of the first times in my life I've felt totally put together. The world around me is spinning out of control, all swastikas and tear gas. No DAPL. The Cheeto's Avengers of Racism. I'm in order though. It's because of her. She's all I need in the world.
I hold on and turn inward.
The word "pansexual" has always bothered me. I feel like I should be skipping through the woods playing a fife if I use that word. I've had to accept that it describes me, though. I see the spectrum. I see you on a spectrum. I don't think it's so simple as watching one fixed point; I think there are harmonics. Octaves. Maybe we fall for people who are harmonics of ourselves. The point is that I like to write but I don't like to edit.
My ears. Not my ears, my brain. Misophonia, tinnitus, and hyperacusis. Recalibrated by rhythm. Repetition. The girl sitting near me at the train station was the worst open-mouth eater I've ever heard. I couldn't take it. I put my earplugs in. I could still hear her. Smack smack smack smack smack opening her fucking mouth with every fucking bite eating a Cinnabon. I grabbed my backpack and ran. I ran to the next line of seats and sat near a homeless man who reeked of piss. It was fine. He wasn't making any noise.
I never used to read fiction but I'm finding myself more inclined these days. It helps me go inward. Especially surrealism. I could never stomach Burroughs before. Suddenly it makes sense.
Friday night we went to a Transgender Day of Remembrance shabbat service at B'nai Brith. It was difficult but it was nice. The mood is good there. The building is old and creaky which makes it both warmer and colder. It was not acoustically forgiving when the little kids made noise, but the singing was wonderful. It was the first time I'd heard her join in.
The birthday party was great. It was a moment of reprieve. I'd like to stay there.