Transplanted Life
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
Had a dream last night
Which, in and of itself, isn't a big deal, since most people dream just about every night, even if we don't necessarily remember them. This was the first time in a while, though, where I felt disoriented upon waking up because I'd been a guy in the dream.

I didn't like it. Not the being a guy part, because nothing seems weird while you're in a dream. And it's not even any sort of "the whole idea of having a penis grosses me out now" thing - I remember being a man fondly. It's the feeling like something is wrong that I didn't like, that there was something missing between my legs rather than this body just being built differently than another. I like to think I've made my peace with being a woman, that I see it as just being different from being a man, and not a handicap or a lesser sort of existence.

Besides, I wasn't doing any sort of stereotypically male things in the dream. Maggie was in it, but we weren't having sex. I was paying for dinner, but I don't remember it feeling like a date. I do recall apologizing for being late, but that there had been some kind of fire to put out at work. She was going on about her boyfriend, and I wasn't jealous at all beyond making cracks about him not knowing what he was letting himself in for.

And not in some macho or sexual way; it was just friendly ribbing. It wasn't about the biology, more like I was missing something I associated with being male. Like the thing about not being able to get away from work early, because I was needed. Me, specifically; I wasn't just one of a half-dozen waitresses or a random girl answering phones and greeting visitors. I couldn't get away because they needed something from me that they couldn't get from someone else. At least not nearly as quickly or well.

This isn't just feeling less special because now Carter's around and I know I'm not unique. It's not thinking that now that I've confessed to sort of having been Martin Hartle, I think I should be him. I'm not even sure that I was Martin Hartle in the dream, just that I was male. I didn't feel so unproductive, and I didn't feel frustrated at all.

Of course, I'm no shrink, and couldn't afford one even if he or she would believe me and seriously address my anxieties. But I do feel more aware that there's something missing in my life, that I'm capable of giving (and getting) more than I am now.

Comments: Post a Comment

Powered by Blogger

Note: This blog is a work of fantasy; all characters are either ficticious or used ficticiously. The author may be contacted at