I watched Boys Don't Cry tonight. I've been wanting to see it since it came out in theatres, being thirteen at the time, I was obviously not allowed. My mother was none too pleased about me watching it tonight. She is of the weak stomach variety.

Watching the movie made me want to be myself so intensely. It made what we're doing at school with the G.S.A. seem all the more important.

(oh man... there was a newsletter sitting on our computer desk, it appears to be some sort of school paper from Abe. The front page has an article by my former locker partner of seventh grade. She appears to be as whiney and mindless and misinformed as she was five or six years ago.)

I seem to have got stuck in a loop of gender disphoria. Not me personally, but everyone in every form of entertainment I've sought out lately. My book, Tipping the Velvet is all about entertainers in London during the end of the 1800's. It's really quite interesting, and I realized that if I tried really hard I could be a cool cabaret singer with my new haircut. Don't ask where I came up with that. But anyway, Tipping the Velvet by Sarah Waters seems to be excellent so far. Boys Don't Cry, I highly recommend. Or Boys Don't Cry by the Cure, also good.

I've been thinking a lot lately, and I don't really like it much. I'm not really letting any of it out either, because then it's real and it hurts and I actually have to face it all. I suppose I will be sufficiently distracted by Christmas.

Oh, and if you've pulled the "I'm older than you and thus superior" card with me lately, in any way shape or form, you're probably not on my good side. Please, Don't ever say anything like that to me again.

Today my mother told me to fuck off when I told her to breathe, then I made her a cake. See. Thick skin.

I've probably said too much. I love my mom, really. I love my life, I don't ever want to be anybody else. I love the Cure, and books, and I probably do resent you for being older.