I am on my period. Sort of, anyway…
For some years a trans woman I met put a rubber bladder inside her knickers for five days each month, filled with a red concoction of the consistency of menstrual blood, which would leak out into a sanitary towel. I thought this entirely bizarre, but she wanted to have part of the experience of menstruating. Of course, her period was generally in her control.
I seem to have greater emotional lability when on Norethisterone acetate, twelve days in 28. The moments which most embarrass me over the last three months have taken place on the green pills. But then I started them on Tuesday last week, and have felt good. Planning my trip to Luton from Richmond was a pain: will I find three separate entrances to public transport, in streets I do not know, in five minutes? Will any of them be late so that I have less time? Even on the bus, I was stressed.
I keep thinking of an archetypal human conflict with the woman on the bus. She sat beside me holding the bar in front, so I had to ask her to let me out, twice. When I got off she caught my eye, standing in the street- she got off, she had time, I had no need to get up so quickly. Or, I have a right to get up early if it makes me feel better. Each irritated the other, and she caught my eye and pulled a face at me. Of such minor triumphs good morale is made.
Meeting a friend. She texted, don’t be angry that I am late. Oh, Darling, I thought, I expected you to be late, I am quite mellow. The food was poor: edible but dry and boring, in small quantities. Now, I have a letter about my last meeting with Stuart Lorimer of Charing Cross GIC, and I am not reading it. I glance at it, read a sentence, get worked up about what it says, leave it. Perhaps I will sit down with it, it says nothing I do not know, though the differences between his understanding and mine irk me.
Flirting with the woman at the station ticket office. I have noticed her, either butch lesbian or possibly a woman who likes to “wear the trousers” with sissy men; and on Friday she said “That’s £9.60, Honey”. Ooh. Yesterday she admired my necklace, so I took off a matching earring to show her.
With that friend, I got to the theatre just before the lights went down: not bad seats, actually, and quite on time.
So I do need to manage stress, or I could be a stress monster. But the risk of shouting at someone might be worth it, if I could enjoy the heightened sensibility the rest of the time.
Clare Flourish 