An anonymous commenter referred to Tyler as a "little girl," which sent him into a rage. I don't disagree with that assessment. Whether Anon thought he was being cutesy about it, whether he thought it was just an innocent remark, it came off as condescending, smarmy, and belittling of women. So I don't disagree with his "cut that shit out" sentiment.
What I take exception to is the idea that a 17-year-old female is a "little girl." She's a young woman, with an identity, responsibilities to herself and pressures that frankly, men wouldn't understand. The world looks at her as an object of sexual desire, as well as a child with no agency. The world sees her as a potential victim, and Tyler probably already has part of himself that feels like he is a victim. Maybe we are, but I think we can get through this. But not without me having his back when some guy on the internet speaks belittlingly to him. So if we're going to treat this blog as a safe space, I need to make sure it's really safe to talk. Long story short... best behavior, guys.
Understandably, Ty's got some frustration about our shared situation.
He's been put in a tight spot. He's a grown man put in the body of a woman under the age of majority. And because he's a good person, better than a lot, he feels too guilty to even examine his face in the mirror. So he's distracting himself by drawing up our "plan" to cover for me while my real body has disappeared (God, what a weird sentence.) It's kind of amazing watching this person in action as "she" paces back and forth, reasoning out our every move, talking with her hands, unafraid of the sound of her own voice, and then I remember it's a grown man in there. Meanwhile, I'm too tired to do much of anything. In fact, while I took a nap, he sat up reading the archives of this blog, so he seems to have a decent handling on the mechanics of this thing.
We put my plan in action to liberate my belongings from my shared hotel room and texted my friends to the effect that I would be heading home early. They needled me about it, asked whether it had anything to do with Tyler, and I asserted it didn't (the first of several lies I will probably have to tell in the near future.)
I packed all my clothes and persona effects neatly, except for stuff I need in the immediate future, then set it in the closet. I rested my cane on the bag. The sight of it bothered me: some poor soul is going to inherit my minor handicap, and while it's really not something that kept me from going around, I hope... I just hope they don't take it too badly.
That said, the fact that I can actually sprint a little is a minor upside to this whole ordeal.
The next step will be to write out some kind of letter to the "new me." The idea of encompassing your entire life in a few short pages is daunting. The fact that it can actually be done is mortifying. I wasn't seeing anyone (besides Tyler, I guess, but I definitely don't expect or want the new me to be aware of that.) I was just about to move into an apartment with a stranger anyway. I was working as a TA and getting my Masters degree, but that's not impossible to put on hold (and what's the use of working toward someone else's masters?) At a certain point, it became a list of friends and family they might encounter, rather than anything about myself. Sad.
Don't think it hasn't occurred to me that this person might take my body as a blank canvas and just... make off with it. I'm trying really hard to put that in the back of my mind.
But I guess there's only so much room back there.
Some long weekend. We have to get up early tomorrow and take a 10-hour drive west.