I had my showing last night of Trans Form, the show I’m working on for Dec 11-13. (Obligatory plug.) A few friends and artistic peers came to see it, and I really needed their feedback. I hadn’t shown a lot of the new material to anyone, so it was an absolute relief to hear that, on the whole, the show works (and is worth $10). I also really appreciated the feedback they gave last night, and hope to talk more with all of them about places it could be improved.

I bring all that up because I am feeling better about the show, but I’m still feeling like I’m in something of a funk more generally. And, with a recent comment on an older post about trans fiction, I’m reading some new stories and finding them feeding some of the same escapist urges I’ve mentioned in the past.

Basically, I’m looking forward to when this show is over so I can focus on being a woman rather than performing a woman. Or, at least, I’m looking forward to focusing on figuring out how to be a woman. And these stories, as they always do, feed into a desire to A) be of an appropriate age where I, say, legitimately not know what the hell I’m doing, or B) be in an alternate universe/timeline where not everyone else knows I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

Honestly, that’s kind of what I’m hoping to do starting sometime in the next few months, when my schedule calms down. Set aside some time to, for lack of better terms, rehearse and practice: putting on makeup, walking in heels, trying on some of the different outfits I’ve acquired. Of course, all this will require shopping between now and then…

Because I’m not going to find myself in the magical – or, at least, absurd – situations some of these characters find themselves. But I do think it would do me some good to put time aside to feel like I’m allowed to play with these new “trappings of femininity.”

(All that said, I think some of the Mary Sue fantasies  played out in trans fiction is hilarious. The amount of immediate 180-ing from “No, I’m not a girl! Stop making me dress like a girl!” to “Gee whiz, Bobby! Your muscles sure are big! Teehee!” is kind of ridiculous. Likewise, I love the standard advice of, “You may not need tampons, but you absolutely have to have a few in your purse and under your sink to keep up appearances!” (On that note, if you come over to my apartment and check my bathroom for tampons, you won’t find any. Not even to for “the illusion.” But I will throw you out of my apartment.))