Day One - Guy
I haven't shaved in 4 days. I'm scruffy and wearing baggy shorts with a t-shirt. I don't always feel the need to flaunt my vanity, and so this is a pretty common look for me. I look like a guy. I'm actually pretty good at it; I've had a lot of practice, ya know? Dressing like a guy isn't really enjoyable for me. It think it's damn bland, but sometimes I like being bland. It's good to recharge.
Sup bro. You chillin'? I'm chillin'.
More and more frequently, guy days suck. I'm not necessarily sad, but it feels like the day will only be mediocre at best. I can't really muster my crazy energy, and life seems gray. I'm discontent and apathetic, which combine forces with my alternative look to give me the aura of a dark, mysterious artist. This makes me sexy as hell. On days like this, women stare at me. Men stare at me. No one ever approaches me to start a conversation, but nearly everyone welcomes a chat if I speak first. Nearly everyone I talk to smiles and they laugh at my bad jokes. If I pursue it, I can bask in adoration all day long. It means absolutely nothing to me. I take no comfort in the fact that I make a good man.
Re-realizing that I don't enjoy guy days, I'm likely to be super girly tomorrow. I'll plan tomorrow's outfit before I head to bed, and then psych myself up about it. I'll look in the mirror and see my same face and body from an entirely different viewpoint. "Oh, right," I think. "I'm actually sort of gorgeous. Tomorrow will be fuckin' awesome!"
Day Two - Gal
"Sir" doesn't feel right anymore. The community that I've become a part of here accepts me as a girl (or at least as a guy who is so effeminate that they may as well treat me like a girl anyway). Nine months of hormones have definitely been a boon towards this notion. A male body in girl's clothes is easy fodder for many jokes, but having boobs seems to automatically qualify me as being "for serious". This may be mostly in my head, but not entirely. No one, regardless of whether they are supportive or disgusted, ever jokes about it. At least not to my face.
For serious.
Regardless of whether a person is confused, uncomfortable, enthusiastic, or even if they are just afraid to insult me, no one brings it up. It's plain to see that a similar question is in most of their heads, but no one ever asks. This is partially because we're trained to be polite, but more so because I don't let them. Because people are so hesitant to say the wrong thing, it's easy for me to control the short, structured conversations one has while working retail. I'm polite, quick, helpful, and totally ignorant of the bewildered look on every one of their faces. I brush my hair out of my faces, jingle my earrings, and then move on.
I'm upbeat and happy as a girl. I bounce around the store with bright eyes and a huge smile on my face, and I'm freakin' ecstatic that I can act this way at work. It's hard to keep up though. No matter how much positive energy I have at the start of the day, eight hours of awkwardness always takes its toll. I'm too busy to stare into mirrors while at work, and so my current mental image of myself is based increasingly on the reactions of others. It's common that by the end of the day, I just want to blend in. I'm tired of being a freak-show. The following day will be a guy day.
Please stop staring at me.
Guy days are easier. On guy days, I don't care what I look like. What does my appearance matter anyway? It's not who I am on the inside, and it's not like I had to earn my beauty. It's not like I deserve it. I was just born into it. It doesn't have any value.
Day Three - Me
I am passing more and more frequently when I'm not thinking about it. It's inconsistent though, and I think it often depends on what sorts of women the observer is accustomed to encountering. Queer people are generally quite comfortable with female masculinity, thus I'm often read by such persons as an athletic butch girl. Housewives see right through me, and I can hear the italics on the word Sir when they speak to me. Most of them still manage to be quite friendly and respectful, provided that I don't speak to, look at, or acknowledge their children.
Regardless of which pronouns people choose to use with me, they are nearly always guessing. Today I thought I appeared quite dudely, but a customer at work referred to me as "she". It caught me off guard and I paused to look at her for a split second, and her face changed to show she thought she had used the wrong word. She turned away and didn't interact with me again. I don't know if she was embarrassed or she thought I was offended, but either way the result was the same. There was a lot of awkward, and some version of this scenario is repeated with every conversation. My "normal" weirds people out, and awkwardness is now a staple of my everyday life.
Awkward.
I want to go to the beach. However, thinking about it makes me absolutely petrified. I feel like everyone around me is always staring right at me, and I hate it. The beach would just be worse. I have grown to despise how much I stand out. It's an unfortunate side effect of what makes me comfortable. My androgyny is so comprehensive these days; I don't feel like either sex, and I don't look like either sex. I don't know what kind of swimsuit would look best. And while I definitely don't know what kind of day tomorrow will be, it feels inevitable that eventually they'll all be girl days.
