why would it hurt me—or was it real?

i have for a while been using stepping on somebody's toes as a metaphor for misgendering. and i genuinely think that it's kind of a good one.

if you give a grovelling begging apology after accidentally stepping on somebody's toes one time you're going to make the whole thing awkward, but not giving a quick "sorry" before moving on is still kind of rude.

eternally painful that you can't socialize without people expecting you to talk. sometimes I just want to be around. like a cat

any other girls feel a permanent sense of unbelonging no matter where they are or who they are with

tommyinnit is a kind of dead wife to me

when i see baseball tees or coke cans or bruce springsteen comes on i stop and get misty eyed for a moment before steeling my resolve. it's okay. i'm going to be okay

posting on tumblr is risky because there's always a chance that your diary will undergo peer review

on a similar note, working an office job has me thinking a lot abt the weird dissonance between the projected disembodied identity of the Professional and the reality of a person as like. an oozing sweating animal. like you think abt it enough and the whole building starts to feel like a lot of dogs wearing collared shirts

kris don't you remember when we would play third degree murder knife chase