Every time the wind blows the tree in our backyard rains literally dozens of little brown helicopter seeds and they all spin down to the ground and go whzzzzz and it’s really really cool and stuff.

That is all.

kiriamaya:

Because I am still hormonally a teenager, apparently. ^^;

Hormones schmormones: personally, I’m still getting crushes on basically everybody because basically everybody is swoony! :D

(Spoiler: If you are reading this, I probably think you’re swoony.)

It was almost midnight. I was sitting in a greasy spoon in Philadelphia drinking a cup of coffee with the lights of a police car flashing on my face from outside. I had a big red fedora on: in the film noir of the evening I was simultaneously the mysterious lady in red and the detective working undercover.

Nearby, the waitress was gossiping with two regulars while my empty coffee cup remained abandoned at the corner of the table. I took advantage of the break to start an overdue letter to my friend Sadie, but as I wrote I was quietly listening in on the waitress’s conversation.

“Honey we’re in the Gayborhood!” She said, “I see all sorts come through here. I seen some of these people make the whole transition from man to woman, all the steps. These really good looking guys, they take those pills to grow breasts. I seen ‘em get the surgery and everything!” (Who knew they even performed surgery in that diner? I wondered if it came with a side of fries.)

“Did they get better tips?” One of the men she was talking to asked.

“Oh, better tits, better butts, the whole works! Some of them get these silicone injections and they look really bad, they go way too far, but some of ‘em you can’t even tell they ever even were—“

“Tips,” he said, “better tips. You said they worked here?”

“Oh! No, we never had one of them work here. I just see them a lot. You know, I see a lot of things here. They do tip real good, though. I think a lot of them have money. I mean, you’d have to to do all that, right? But some of these guys, they get silicone injected all over, and sometimes they go to these real shady guys who don’t use silicone, they use motor oil. There was this one guy — I saw it on TV—“

“Huh!” The other man grunted. “Seems like too much trouble to me. I just don’t know why someone would do that. I mean, I wouldn’t want one of my kids doing that to themselves.”

“Well me either… but some of ‘em look real good after they get the surgery,” she shrugged. “They look just like women. I bet you couldn’t even tell — usually I can, though.”

She turned and walked over to my table. “Another coffee, miss?” She said. She scowled down at my letter. I got really nervous and I wondered if she could read my writing well enough to realize I was trans. Sometimes cis people work it out and then they get mad that you just sat there quietly and let them talk without standing up and confessing that you’re guilty of being a thing they failed to see.

But I guess she didn’t see anything: after she poured my coffee she jumped right back to her conversation about all the weird and fascinating trans women she had seen, safe in the certainty that none of us could hear her.

I finished my coffee quietly and shuffled out into the night, leaving an unremarkable tip under the cup.

melancholynecrokiss:

fromonesurvivortoanother:

the bullshit that survivors absorb and internalize without ever expressing or re-enacting it upon others 

it’s enough energy to cover the world in fire a million times over

i swear survivors have god-like capacities for patience

you should be thankful every day that more of us don’t go absolutely mad and destroy shit

That made me tear up, thank you that needed to be said so much.