there's more to life than books, you know

Can anyone fully inhabit a gender without a degree of horror? How could someone 'be a woman' through and through, make a final home in that classification without suffering claustrophobia? To lead a life soaked in the passionate consciousness of one's gender at every single moment, to will to be a sex with a vengeance-- these are impossibilities, and far from the aims of feminism....[T]here are always different densities of sexed being in operation...
(--Denise Riley, 'Am I That Name?')

The passage between states, this almost-ness, my hatchling bones and span and angles, that's what I want to unfurl down all these different lines of becoming (I say, as the left side of my face sprouts soft dark patches of hair reminiscent of my little brother at 17), what I would select to carry through if I could. At services Friday with Naomi I watched the bar mitzvahs on the bimah and was struck by how the rite of passage snatches them up right at the most awkward moment of transformation, all tufts and not-quite, thin chested and balanced on the brink.

When I think of what I want to actualize through this process of transition, what I do not want to lose, this is what it is:
the uniqueness of my flesh as it runs through binary code, and an authentic and peaceful relationship to this.
the almostness, the not-quite, the surfaces of good calm disjunction. the feygeleh-butch-boy impossibility that can carry me through.

And yes, again, I am longing for flat-chested smoothness I'm doing nothing in the near future to pursue, which feels okay. And yep, as usual, contemplating come solstice if I'll still take T. This contemplation feels okay too and though it sounds strange to say I'm grateful for this patience.