A year ago today I played an April Fool's Joke on FG. We were about a month into our gender awakening/sex explosion/life & relationship reinvention that happened last year. I went into the bathroom and put my hair up (it was still long), put on her lipstick and her bra, and came up behind her in the bedroom. There was a long quiet moment in which she stared at me, and then I said "April Fool's!"
It was just about the least funny joke I've ever played on anyone. Maybe now I could do drag humorously but then, in the raw first weeks of truth and discovery, when we were acknowledging how deeply dishonest and fucked up our relationship had gotten... it was a bad idea.
FG was spectacularly angry. So angry, I actually slept on the pullout couch for the next week. I remember that week with a vivid sensory recall: the smell of the dodgy, thin couch mattress, the prepared meals I bought at Tesco, the cheap brandy I drank. Listening to Joy Division's Love Will Tear Us Apart Again on endless repeat. The smell of the English springtime coming in through the windows. Working my way through Sinclair's archives. And, of course, starting my own blog. I started working on it the night of April 1 and blogged my first post the next day after I'd settled on a name.
So tomorrow is my first blogiversary and I hope to write a little more about the blog & where it & I have been over the past year. April 1, 2008 was a tough day. April 1, 2009, is kind of tough, too, though my life is so much better now than then. But there are no pat happy endings, there's always more to do and live through and think about, and the damage and loss we sustain stays with us. I talked on the phone with my dad last night and due to a variety of circumstances I realized, or articulated to myself, for the first time how hurt I have been by him, how small and worthless I have felt. We were never terribly close but after my parents' divorce when I was 15 we were on strained speaking terms for a few years, and then we didn't have any contact from when I was 19 til I was 22, about three and a half years. And I've been angry and all sorts of things about that, but I never really admitted how vulnerable it made me feel and how much it hurt to be rejected by my masculine role model at that juncture. Anyway I'm feeling sad about that relationship today, and wishing I could call in sick to my life and go watch the planes land over Boston Harbor or something. But nothing doing, I've got things to do, and probably that is for the best.