Weevil (Pachyrhynchus Congestus), Family Curculionidae, Philippines

Eurasian red squirrel/ekorre. Värmland, Sweden (May 9, 2024).

and this is where i'm reminded of an unrelated conversation i had a while back, in which i was expressing a desire for better data on things like the actual correlation of pelvic width to assigned gender (coming as i do from a narrow-hipped mother and wide-hipped father), and the friend i was talking to was like, why even cede that ground, though? like, even if wide hips are generally a Woman Thing, well, (a) there's nothing wrong with Woman Things and (b) i thought we'd established that gender isn't sited in the body? and at the time i was like, fair enough! and let it go, because i agree with both those points—but i was never entirely satisfied with how the conversation had gone, and my thought process today helped clarify for me why: because wanting better data about actual quantifiable things that we tend to just handwave with (cis)gendered assumptions isn't, actually, about wanting to validate my gender by establishing that i got my hips from my dad or whatever; it's about the fact that letting gendered stereotypes gaslight you about the actual reality of the world we inhabit makes you—me—a sloppy, stupid thinker!! and like. i aspire to be compassionate. i aspire to be consistent. but—by the god i don't believe in—i aspire, maybe above all else, to be precise.

so i’m friends on strava with Baby Sister’s extremely sweet, extremely earnest nerd-jock boyfriend, right, because i’m trying to Behave Welcomingly towards the partners of important women in my life despite being, if we’re being honest, the world’s most defensively shriveled social prune, and today that normally-very-incidental fact rubbed my nose hard in how much sexism i still gotta unlearn—

so i went for my stupid dinky little run, right, and dutifully logged it, and found myself looking at my dash or activity feed or whatever they call it over there, and realized Baby Sister’s bf had also just been for a run, which had taken him about the same amount of time; but the thing was, i’d actually run, like, 15% longer than he had, it was just that my pace per mile had also been, like, a minute and a half faster than his. which was really startling to me, because i absolutely reflexively assumed that a tall mid-twenties cis guy, who i know for a fact cycles and rock-climbs on the reg, was going to be a faster runner than me, a medium-height estrogenized couch potato!

and like, obviously i have no idea what relationship this kid's pace today had to his actual capacity, and also quite frankly in my experience running is a sport where, sure, your fitness matters or whatever, but it’s also just radically easier the less you weigh?? so i’m not particularly priding myself on a (decidedly non-elite) pace that has a lot less to do with my current fitness level (rusty) and a lot more to do with currently being underweight bc i’m bad at feeding myself bc adhd. but it just feels like. pretty fuckin telling that i was so taken aback!!

just having one of those little upswell-of-gender-despair moments, you know how it is

specifically of the nonbinary variety where like. you know you don't really like how you look¹ or how other people react to you but the Opposite Version wouldn't really be better, really you want something in-between or ambiguous or nothing at all but that isn't actually a real option you get to have in real life, in real life you either get to be a mannish woman whose real gender desires are a painful secret or you get to become Pronoun Pin Guy and then are still effectively seen [and treated!] as a mannish woman, just, you know, a crazy, annoying one

i mean obviously part of the problem here is that i don't really have nonbinary/agender/&c people in my life, i'm super isolated and then even my internet circles have historically been comprised of like. trans people μέν who care about medical transition but not about the language other people use for them (which to be clear is perfectly valid but like. unfortunately my maybe-deepest identity is 'poet (non-practicing)' and i care so much about language. [i may or may not also care abt (some aspects of) medical transition but like. i don't atm have any health insurance or income and also due to the ongoing cptsd frozen-rabbit psychological situation it's a bit hard to tell what ""i"" might ""want"" so. question mark there]). cis+ people δέ who basically are like 'well the real practical, adult approach is just to accept that one's Basically Materially Cis unless one's strongly motivated to medically transition, but, like, your special-snowflake baby sensitivities are Valid or whatever…'² which, again, you have to let people frame things for themselves and pretend it doesn't imply anything abt you, because if nothing else, your differences of inclination wrt how to frame things make your situations different! but unfortunately, even though i do genuinely intellectually believe that, emotionally it hurts my feelings every time, because i really resent this idea that like. cis is the box everyone starts in + stays in unless they kick hard enough to get out of it. bodies shouldn't mean anything by default!!

⸻ ¹ i think this gets worse every time the season changes and i have to re-figure out how to walk the extremely narrow sartorial line i can actually bear, is part of what's going on here ² to be clear and fair to the people in question the level of superiority i've portrayed here is entirely my projection onto them, it's not on them that this stance makes me feel this way, it just does :/

gotta say tumblr's little pro-cursive revival has really reactivated early middle school memories of being forced to write up assignments in crabbed horrible cursive and hating it more with every letter whose setup i failed to properly anticipate far enough in advance to connect it smoothly (possibly bc adhd but like. hashtag guy who's only ever had adhd so what do i know.)

cracked open the glossaire érotique (1861) and was immediately floored by the very first word in the dictionary being "abailardiser" (verb). definition: "to leave someone in the state the canon fulbert left abailard" (castrated)

people refuse to understand the concept of "this isn't important to me but i understand why it might be important to other people"

i was like well i could ""compose a post"" or i could just. mine the way i explained this in chat the other day for parts—

anyway all this [trying to work out a congenial set of blogs to follow] has me thinking back to when i made a friend in my german reading class and was like 'oh right actually sometimes you meet people and it immediately feels good and easy and safe and fun. forgot that was how it was supposed to work!' bc unfortunately the reality is that as a now–chronically isolated misfit i'm strongly motivated to try and convince myself i could like people even when. we aren't actually compatible.

bc the thing is, it turns out that not feeling like you're part of either mainstream gender club is: really fucking lonely! bc you just feel constantly like. wow insane gender coercion is happening all around me constantly and it makes me angry and scared and i don’t know how not to vent incredulously about it but i'm also acutely aware that becoming someone who can't shut up abt their gender alienation is a great way to come off as a bore and (pun not intended) a drag…

not to mention that like. people are basically only nice to me when they girlbox me so like. i need it and hate it and feel guilty abt it!

look, was this towel ““worth mending””? debatable. did i however have fun applying my silly little patches to the hole in it? yes. :)

why do we even have legal genders anyway. maybe we should not have those