November 1, 2019
So were you?
Was I what?
Fucked. Were you fucked?
I think that’s still to-be-determined.
You don’t seem fucked. I mean, life is harder now, I suppose. You’ve got to contend with a minority identity you never particularly wanted.
There’s no denying that. I don’t quite like that this is what I’m stuck with, but I do alright with it. I try to keep going as best I can, and I try to help others as much as I can along the way. Robin likes to call me a “trans psychopomp”, but I suspect that’s due in part to the word ‘psychopomp’ is really fun to say. I would say that she falls under that title as well.
Do you see yourself as one? Do you see yourself as someone who guides others?
Not particularly. I feel like I’m doing everything by accident. I feel like I’m accidentally visibly trans. Like I can’t help but be visibly trans, like that’s what I’ve got to work with. That that helps others long the way is still something of a mystery. A pleasant one, but a mystery.
Still, the least I could do is not hurt, might as well put in the effort to be a help.
Do you think that others see you as a resource?
Perhaps, though that has me worried. That’s an awful lot of responsibility.
Permit me to take a tangent.
Do I have a choice?
You always have a choice.
If I say no, what will happen?
Nothing.
You’ll let me just carry on with what I was saying?
Sure.
Do you have the power to stop me?
No, but do you?
Ah.