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Full-time. It is the easiest of times. It is the hardest of times. The surprises I expected, the challenges I tensed for have not ocurred, or to the degree or way that I expected.
Much of the past year was spent mourning my past life. I cried myself clear of that, finally seeing some future. I marvel at new friends, ggs, whose company I enjoy. I've become a positive contributor at the support meetings. That is gratifying. I am surprised by the courage that I see in others but am still surprised to be called courageous myself.
Work is a mixed experience -- days where I feel the ugliest on the planet and other days where I am treated without remark. Sometimes I want to say something to both responses, "HEY, I'm a transsexual here! Can't you see that?" What a curious thing to want to do.
My ex delivered a van full of my personal possessions. Is this a statement of anger? I'm not sure. I provoked conversation and I admitted that we are headed toward divorce. More discussion will follow. I had forgotten -- or forced my self to forget -- much of what she delivered. The smallest momento is dripping in memories and feelings. I picked out a .38 shell casing from bottle of mementos and felt a hitch in my throat.
My first day out in the Florida sun following five flu-wracked,bed-ridden days, we drove around the little Florida town where we were taking our winter vacation. We spied a gun-shop and -- having never seen such in Canada -- decided to have a look inside.
The array of guns was amazing and we asked the clerk about the purpose of each.
"That there's a Reee-volver." the clerk affably informed us,"Cleaning ladies like em, 'cause they're small and you can get five shots off quick." I had the immediate theatric slowmotion vision of an unsuspecting executive falling in perforated pain by a volley from a surprised, quick-on-the-draw diminuitive cleaning lady, who after cleaning the chambers returns to mobbing the floor.
"What is this?"
"That's a Glock. It has a laser site. Ya just point at what you want to kill." Notwithstanding this rather creepy information, I spent a moment aiming this fatal pointer at various parts of the store while mouthing my best 'choo, choo' gun sound.
"Ya'll want to fire a gun?" the clerk asked. We considered this and decided that, yes, we did. A Colt .38 -- a Cold .45 being "to much for, ya'll" -- was removed from the case and loaded. We followed the clerk out the back door into small yard with a mound of earth at the far end. He placed a tin can on the side of the mound as I watched cars pass beyond the fence just behind the mound.
"Ya,ll am at the can, now." was his comprehensive instruction. I did an the can flew straight into the air. "Why, yer good," he said,"ya'll could be an American." He popped the smoking casing from the gun and handed it to me. My ex followed with two direct hits of the earth mound. She saved her cartridge too. No cars were hit -- which was nice. And now I have the memory and the memento. I hope I will have more in my coming life.
