Gender? Thanks, Facebook!

Coming to the end of my menstrual cycle, I assume my body is being flooded with testosterone, or at least radically decreasing in estrogen. My emotions are less captivating, logic is settling into my body and overriding my whims.

One week. I have to go one week without looking at it. I’m allowed to peek on Friday… if I feel the urge. Love Potion #9 – you have to keep them hearing your voice for it to work. I refuse to see anything he contributes to this world. He’s dead to me – I need to stop playing medium and move on. I’m ready. The Universe has lain an adventure at my feet, I need to grab my monato and quarterstaff and boogie the fuck into the night.

GEORGE BENSON!!

Well, Benny Mardones, but I digress upon digression…

I can finally mark a gender I find appropriate on Facebook instead of leaving it blank. And you wanna know something else? I didn’t even know I was the gender I was. Ladies, Gentlemen… I’m Genderfluid. I feel Masculine today. If I get too rowdy, I will chop it all off. Thankfully, I’m logical right now – and it’s winter. Why would I chop my scalp beard? 

By the way, I’ll totally shave in the summer. That’s fine – but it’s fucking COLD. Our bodies developed hair in order to make up for the extra –

They also invented this things called “wearing extra layers” and “central heating”. 

Okay, sorry, don’t know who that was, but It’s probably just a tape instead of an actual presence. 

Ahem. Anywho. Gender.

I haven’t bound my chest down in years. The last time I did, I tried to walk a considerable distance in it, not realizing how compressing my ribs (which means I did it WRONG – hell, when you lace up a corset, you hold an in-breath) made me not be able to participate in the cardiovascular necessities that come with physical activity, even one as simple as walking. I almost passed out. It sucked. But, I would love to do it again, and see if I can pass as a guy like I used to. I’ve worked on my walk for years, then I got a job akin to a cocktail waitress and was told very politely not to walk like “I’ve got a stick up my ass.” 

What can I say, I’m a Gentleman… until I don’t have to be, at least. 

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