I need more coffee. Unfortunately I can’t move right now. Old Man Dog is using my foot as a pillow.
Spotted in the wild at Kris’ house. Sinner’s Gin and coffee!
I was going to make some sort of complicated graphic to engage a discussion about gender identity and sexual orientation. Really. It was going to be a very nice graphic and I might do one in the future. But really what it all comes down to is this.
Gender Identity as perceived by society and personal physical sexual attraction currently defines us. This actually works better as a sphere with intersecting axis but like I said. I was lazy. It could have been a square… but I don’t like squares. Imagine it in three-dimensions. Trust me. It works. We’ll be good. Think arcs.
Now please keep in mind, this is a general statement and I’d LOVE to eliminate the whole gender identity from the equation but the truth is, right now as we are as a society, we’re slotted into these gender spots ranging from supposed norms.
Outmoded as it is, it’s our current climate.
What I believe is that none of this should matter. I think that’s what made me stop and think to say… what the fuck am I saying here. It doesn’t matter if I feel more “male” than “female” or that some people perceive me as more female than male. My mother thinks I’m extremely masculine so in her mind, this places me in a physical attraction to women.
Now I like women and all… as friends but dude, there is nothing about a woman that makes me go unf. A pretty boy is something else. But once that boy crosses over to an overtly feminine aspect, the appeal is lost to me. I am probably very masculine in my attraction towards men. In my sexual attitude in that attraction. According to society. I think. Norms. Et al.
So what AM I saying here?
I don’t feel womanly. I don’t feel masculine. I don’t feel androgynous. I guess I kind of feel girly in some ways but really, not all of the trappings. So perhaps the scale should read femme vs homme? I used male/female just as a norm but perhaps those are better terms?
Now the interesting part of this is where I’d be shown if others were placed that dot.
I think it all depends on who knows what about me. Some people have said they thought I was this meek and mild femme soft person. Now I’m probably soft-hearted and sensitive but meek has never been anything I’ve placed in my personality column. Maybe I’m wrong.
But see, that’s what it all comes down to. What is perceived and what is felt by the individual.
And does it really matter?
Truthfully, not really.
Where I show up on that circle shouldn’t matter. What should matter is if I’m an asshole or a nice person. If I have ethics and morals. If I reach out to my fellow human being. If I’m willing to water the soup and scramble the eggs to stretch food out to feed my hungry neighbor. Will I help a child who is crying? Will I stop and comfort someone who has had a shitty day while they’re working customer service.
More importantly, will I stand up and say “No!” when someone is being shitty to someone else.
Those are the things that make an individual someone you’d want to know. Someone to admire. Someone to strive to be.
The circle doesn’t define WHO we are but rather the people we need to reach out to—the people we need to inspire—the people we need to love, even when they are doing things that we might not love them for. That circle is everyone. No matter where they stand or the colour of their dot.
I’m not saying that it’s easy. God fucking knows I have my days where I’m all… T-Rex looking for meal! I misspeak. I hurt with words. I hurt with actions. I am not perfect. I can only apologize and go forward and hope I do better.
Because no matter where I place myself in that circle, I’m still IN that circle. Right next to everybody else.
No really. Just. Watch.
My mom got new anthurium tables. Well, they’re new to her. Guy sold them to her for 20 each. They go for about 200 each. She’s quite happy with them so she sent me a video so I could see them. So… my mom’s tables.
And if you turn up the volume, you can hear her humming to herself. This is a bad habit we both have. I also sometimes start singing La la la to myself in outbursts. Don’t ask. It just is.
She thought she kept hearing fireworks and couldn’t sleep, so we sang to keep her mind preoccupied. In the end, nothing competes with fireworks.