In Dreams: My Reality

It’s that time again, folks. The time we know and love as crunch time. But this crunch time is different for me. On the other side lays a diploma 🙂 Regular posts will resume shortly thereafter.


I have spent weeks abusing my body with almost-all-nighters and caffeine infusions. After a day of falling asleep next to the professor who offered me a research assistant internship with her in the fall, I decided to prioritize sleep. 9 o’clock saw me in bed that night and 4 o’clock saw me up and studying. Even my cat was still drowsy. I made it to 7 o’clock and fell back asleep. The following dream ensued.

“You’re such a terrible driver!” joked my friend, Adrienne, in response to another friend’s chiding about my needing a ride. “I just hate it” I say. “But fair enough, I do always get you lost.” Time elapses and I find myself somewhere in this house holding my soft packy in my hand walking into a bathroom. Another man walks in and I awkwardly attempt to stuff the tiny, flacid cyber-skin penis down my shorts but discover it was displacing another. Bizarre. Time elapsed again. I drank a beer. We left.

I arrived at a Kentuckians for the Commonwealth (KFTC) awards banquet. Because it’s KFTC, we use not banquet halls but beautiful fields. The spread was breath-taking and the scene was bustling with people. I saw a familiar shape in the distance. One of the directors was speaking with my parents. Instantaneously a friend tipped me off that my parents were there. Nothing like reinforcement of and in your worst nightmares. I approached them in nice dress attire and found them similarly dressed. “Hello?” I questioned; they turned away to avert their eyes. They eventually responded with a ‘hello’ and my father immediately voiced his concern over my changed voice. They said they wanted to leave but I told them they should stick around and get to know my world. My mother decided there was no way they would leave “without this girl”. “I’m not going anywhere with you if you’re going to call me ‘girl'” was all I could say before the attention was averted across the venue. My best friend, Jackson, and someone else entered in a cloud of paparrazi. He looked like Zach Effron and was adored accordingly. What can I say? I’ve got mad love for the man too.

As I stood with my parents my appearance shifted and I looked like a young Native American adult. My hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail that my mother pulled out leaving me feeling naked and exposed. I walked away from them into the field and pulled my hair back up. My father started loudly chiding me as I walked. “If you’re going to be a man you should at least walk like one. You swish too much when you walk. Good luck hiding that ass.” I stopped and turned. “I’m perfect the way I am.”

A group of young folks walked into the field and everyone in the venue stopped what they were doing. In unison, they yelled “he’s perfect the way he his!” It took me aback. The young people began chanting “I’m perfect the way I am” and I walked among them. I locked eyes with a young man and we began the weave a low bass harmony throughout the chant. I smiled.

Waking up abruptly at the end of the chant I felt wrapped in love. It had recently been brought to my attention that I don’t speak much of the conflict with my parents. I believe this is because we have always been on thin ice. Their resistance to my transition is simply another crack in the foundations. But in thinking on it my dreams piped up to remind me that regardless of my parents’ treatment of me, the community I belong to loves me and nurtures me. My family transcends bloodlines and that’s all I need to know.


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