Weighed in with the other psychic, K., who seemed not in the slightest bit concerned and to ask her again when this Vegas thing approaches, whether I live or croak. OK. Everyone’s a fucking psychic but me. I can intuit things about people occasionally, but I’m too sure something awful is going to happen at all times, so ‘the gift’ would be wasted on me. I’m sure you’ll be expecting me to talk about my aura, crystals, and levitating soon.
We began Ubering again and we had one altercation per usual. “I can’t believe you won’t even say thanks,” I said angrily, when she bitched at me for not being able to find her in the grocery store and because I took 3 minutes to buy candy bars for us. “I don’t see anyone summoning you in the app.”
“Maybe if we went closer to A RESTAURANT we would.”
So we proceeded to go across the road, literally just across the road. Not kidding. If she wasn’t having trouble climbing stairs to apartments, I might have told her I was ready to call it a night.
“I’ll bet you a nickel that’s a tr@nny ,” K. said after we put in our Eats order in the intercom at Taco Bell. (Believe it or not, K is an ally, but she likes being edgy).
“Be extra nice to her. She’s at least nice,” I reminded her, thinking of the last bitch we encountered at this restaurant another night. But I wasn’t worried at least in that point, because I’ve seen her be kind to another transgender woman before. I remember that one was afraid to go to Walmart lest she be harassed or worse.
I heard a woman won a bunch of times on Jeopardy, but my internalized mysogny wonders if she benefited from having been socialized as her biological sex, but also being a woman in her soul. Anyway, she won, yay for taking one for the ladies.
One of my old hobbies was reading obscure 18th and 19th century books. Archive.org kept me sane in the last days of living with the guys, when they made me stay in my room. I read a lot of manners books and ‘conduct of life’ stories. I became fascinated by Victorian memento mori photography too, it was almost soothing to me seeing all the dead people in regalia because if I wasn’t reading or sleeping I was wanting a way out, any way out.
Today, I took up The Dangers of Crinoline, a short pamphlet found on Google books. Looking at how lovely women looked with their giant skirts in things like Godey’s Ladies Book , one doesn’t realize how many folks burned to death because their skirt caught fire, etc.