Ringing Out #Pride

I’ve had murals on the mind, as of late.

I’ve had a lot on my mind, as of late; I’m sure I’ve mentioned it.

This is the crossroads of those two things.

A few days ago, my husband of ten years became my wife of ten years. Or rather, revealed she was my wife of ten years — coming out is about recognition and revelation of what has always been there, however deeply it may have been buried.

One of people’s first questions over the last few days when she’s been telling people she’s trans is for them to ask — either bluntly (as my father-in-law did) or with more subtle, gentle language — if she and I were staying together.

I mean — yes, of course. We love each other, and gender is incidental to me at best (my own gender being fairly ambiguous, and my sexuality being pretty flexible). Any fears or concerns I have — and I do have them, don’t get me wrong — are focused entirely on the cruelty and intolerance that others are capable of, not of my own feelings of attraction or affection towards her. The relationship between she and I, our own interpersonal give-and-take, has not changed. Will not change, at least not directly or dramatically from this, and at least not any more or less than any relationship shifts and changes over the years as both parties themselves grow, and shift, and change.

I cannot imagine not being in this with her for the long-haul. I cannot imagine her not being in my life.

And so, as Pride Month winds down, and my wife begins living her life authentically, I painted our closet doors with our Pride flags.

From left to right: genderqueer and bisexual (mine); trans and lesbian (hers).

The weather has turned from warm to hot; the typical summer thunderstorms have been rolling through all day, teasing a break in the humidity.

We’ve been invited to some social events — all outdoors, all socially distanced, all COVID safety guidelines compliant — and are hoping to get out a little more frequently with smaller groups of friends in the warm weather. I know there must be some mental health benefits to seeing people, and I know (intellectually) there are safe ways to do that, so we should probably make an effort. I miss the sun. I miss seeing people’s faces.

Stay safe, sane, and inside — or outside (masked and socially distant, of course).

The Big Clean, Pt. 2

I’ve been listening to this playlist the last few nights, when I’ve needed a bit of levity between mini-existential crises.

Today has been… rough.

Sometimes I feel like I’m being punished for wanting to live in a clean house.  My husband is a pretty “woke” guy in a lot of ways, but he still wears the blinders of a cishet white man, and cannot see the inherent discrepancy in our household workloads.  He is responsible for dishes, laundry, and finances (and honestly, I still often wind up doing the dishes, and his share of laundry is just the loading and unloading of the machine; I still gather, fold, and put away).

Literally everything else is on me.  Now, he’ll do a task if I ask him to, but he doesn’t seem to get why that shouldn’t be a thing — why my having to ask him implies that Literally Everything Else is My Responsibility by default.  Why asking him to help out suggests that he is doing me a favor, and not simply participating in the maintenance of his own goddamn household.

Argh, I don’t have the spoons to rehash all this right now.  I got done quite a bit, though not nearly what I had hoped to.  Part of that was a bad night, including an hour and a half of being kept awake by cramps, and then the general malaise that results from forcing yourself back to sleep when really, you’d completed a sleep cycle and probably would have felt better if you’d have just stayed up (even if it was 3:30 am).

As a result I got a late start.  Hopefully I get a better night’s sleep tonight and can start tomorrow closer to eight, which was the goal, instead of eleven, which was the reality.

Before and Afters for the kitchen (still have a few dishes to do, and the floor to wash):





Tomorrow is the living room and the downstairs bathroom (bathrooms are easy; they’re small and get very regular maintenance, especially with a little boy who, uh, is still trying to master consistently Peeing in the Potty).

In a gesture of peace, because he doesn’t want to undo any of my work in the kitchen, my husband is taking us out to dinner as soon as the menorah burns down.  Hopefully I can relax a bit and work on something for myself this evening.