alteration, permutation, transformation

You’ll note the blog has a new address. No particular reason for this other than that I got tired of the old name, and wanted a new, easier-to-understand look. Which appears to be the theme of the week….

One result of my girlfriend’s fabulous new haircut is that other people read her as butch. We have always been recognizable as a couple, because I am girlier than most (though not as much as some, due to a lack of time in the morning), but I do not think K. has been particularly noticeable on her own. Perhaps because she is somewhat shy and used to have a habit of making herself invisible. Either way, this is all different now.

She comes home from her retail job ecstatic because, in her words, “a girl flirted with me! That’s never happened before!” I am fairly sure this cannot be true, but I will admit she is not a magnet for attraction. At least, she hasn’t been before. From now on, I’m thinking I might have competition—and that’s a surprisingly uncomfortable thought for me.

But for now the jealousy is an entirely different subject. I struggle on and off with a feeling that I have no community, and as she described the thrill she gets from being noticed by older women coming through her line, I couldn’t help but feel my heart sink a little. She says there’s something in the way they glance at her, some kind of connection, “that little spark of recognition, you know?” and I say, “not really,” but tell her that must be a good feeling and I’m happy for her.

K. seems to me a butterfly right now, some holometabolous creature emerging transformed in brilliant colors. I am slightly in awe, and held in expectation. I am eager to find out who she’ll be, to see her unfold and stretch out, privileged to be here as it happens–and hoping that some of this newness will rub off on me.

get over it

After everything I wrote in that last entry, I realized that I really just wrote it to make myself calm down. Because good gods, I am panicking. What am I doing? What am I doing?

My relationship with Saint is a funny thing. We’ve been friends for about a year, and we’re not much more than that now. I like him but in a very un-romantic, friend-ly sort of way, and the sexual stuff is like a completely separate category. But the very fact that I do anything sexual with him–and like it, and want it–makes me completely freaked out.

K. thinks this is the most ridiculous thing. But she wouldn’t understand, she’s always been comfortable with herself. I don’t mean to say she hasn’t had to deal with homophobia, and that she doesn’t understand what it means to date women, but for whatever reasons it hasn’t been…significant…for her. Being bisexual, for her, it’s just the way she is. She hasn’t spent the last ten years trying to fit in with the gay community, getting harassed at school, falling in love with straight girls who don’t love back, trying to prove to the world that my femininity is for myself and the women I love. She just is.

But for me, after all that, how difficult and horrible it’s been to deal with being a lesbian in the world and being proud of myself for it–I can’t believe I am doing *anything* with a guy. It negates everything I’ve struggled for, makes a mockery of everything I’ve ever said about being femme. As if by accepting this one man into my bed, I’ve given in to every guy who ever made a catcall at me.

I don’t know how to resolve this conflict. I could tell Saint I don’t want to do anything more with him, but that wouldn’t change anything. And if that wouldn’t make me feel better, I don’t know what would. K.’s comment? “You want to get your lesbian cred back? You could just, you know, convert another straight girl…we need a toaster for the apartment anyways.” Sigh. She’s so supportive.