It’s a half-hour to midnight and I’ve only now realized than an endless chain of distractions led me further and further away from posting. See? THIS is why I need a practice. I’ll go to write something, then read an email, which will reminds me to look up something in a book in the other room on the way to which I’ll remember that I didn’t finish brewing my coffee which results in me seeing that the garbage needs to be taken out so I should get dressed and oh I need more socks so I should do the laundry but now I can’t find my glasses and then a friend calls and I need to step outside for better reception so I put on a robe and then near the porch realize the plants need water and go to the shower with the pot and remember I haven’t put on any facial moisturizer yet oh because I’m out so I need to put that on my evernote list and then see an Instagram notification and oh I should check in with her about the series and shit I haven’t paid the parking ticket I got at the shoot okay I should do that now and then I’m standing in the living room half naked wondering if I ever did get that cup of coffee…And then repeat variations of that for 10 hours.
No wonder writing is best done first thing in the morning.
But this is what I wanted to talk about. I said significant posts, and the above is utterly lacking in significance.
Okay, how about this: I don’t consider myself queer.
This comes as a surprise to many. It came as a surprise to one of my closest friends an evening a few weeks ago. We were near the end of our housewarming party. By this point in the evening it was down to a small group of women, an unusually balanced mix of trans, cis, white, black, straight, and queer. The only consistency was that nearly everyone was involved in some kind of social justice work.
I mentioned that I didn’t consider myself queer. And that neither did most of my closest trans girlfriends, the ones who saw themselves as straight women. We’re rather conventionally feminine and like boys. Straight boys. Our appearances aren’t subversive, and our politics tend to be of a well established liberal/radical variety that doesn’t require queerness. Our desire, our insistence even, to be accepted as women doesn’t feel particularly queer, though it certainly aligns with similar battles of marginalized peoples for basic human dignities.
My friend, an incredible dyke who is hella queer, was thrown. It was partly because I had never spoken against my automatic inclusion in queer events and projects and communities. Truth is, I don’t particularly mind queers thinking of me as one of them. It’s always been sincere and stems from real friendships and hey I like a good dance party now and then. But really, aren’t even those friendships, my inclusion in these spaces, predicated on the basic assumption that my womanhood is somehow queer? Angelica echoed similar sentiments. Even coming out of drag and showgirl culture, I don’t think I’ve ever heard her use the word queer.
My friend later asked if I what I was thinking of when I said I’m not “queer” is the scene. Maybe. It definitely does feel like a scene, and while I adore many of the individual comprising it, it’s not a scene I feel part of. Or maybe it’s just that I’m kinda old, and that “queer” feels like a younger person’s thing. Or that it’s kinda cool, and I’ve never been that either. Maybe it’s that it feels kinda anti-establishment, and I’ve always kinda been part of the establishment. I genuinely don’t know.
"But … you like women too," my friend adds.