Thursday

 

8am. I’m awake at last. The sun is screaming through my window again as the dog from next door wrestles with the grass and the bins go out. I shower. A dark, amber inferno with hints of bloom, the bottle says. My nose agrees.

 

My coffee punctuates the air as its delicate character enriches the waking day. Music on. Aphex Twin to start. Swedish pop later. There’s time for all that. I’m a child of the nineties.

 

My morning is calls. Rest. Coffee. Coffee again. The third shot already. I sit and muse how many my body could take. My personal record is ten. Will today be the day I make eleven?

 

At half past 3 I elope to the couch, betray my own desk and my commitment to good posture. It looks back disapprovingly. How that chair can sulk. I indulge myself and look down every so often, between bouts of typographic posturing and brand rationalisation. I’m wearing leggings. I’m wearing leggings and I rock them. I allow myself to fall into a smile, the first of the day. It’s the tiny things.

 

At 7pm the sun dips. I start my ‘personal development work’. I call it ‘typographic gymnastics’. I’m constantly striving to be better.

 

By 8pm I’m queuing for some sustenance. It’s a nice place. Good food. Good chat. 8.05 and the server calls my name. That’s me. I dip into the shop and try to persuade them that I’m their girl. Maybe I need more blusher next time. I’ll try again. They’ll be another Thursday tomorrow.

 

This is a story about being me. Everyday.

 

Being me means many things. I’m a designer. I’m autistic. I like Swedish things. I like cardamom. I don’t like buttered toast. But I’m also trans. My body and my head are in different galaxies.

 

Whilst I can go out, buy a cardamom bun and walk around IKEA, being Anna comes with it’s complexities. Thursday reads like any other, but they’re not always like this. Sometimes, you’re cornered and lectured at a flat viewing because the landlord’s concerned by your anatomy and they don’t want to scare off your prospective flatmates. Sometimes, you’re asked if you turned up somewhere “as Anna”.

 

But this also isn’t a story about how tough my Thursday is. This is a story we sometimes don’t hear enough. It’s a story about how perfect, and imperfect, my life is now. This is how it should feel.

 

Being out is like having my eyes opened. And having the eyes of those around me opened at the same time. How the world sees you is about how you see yourself. I love how I drink coffee. How I laugh, how I cry. I love how music sounds. Especially in Swedish. All of these things we humans take for granted. And I’m the luckiest girl in the world to be falling in love with them.

 

Being Anna isn’t just about being trans. It’s about being Anna. And being Anna makes those other things I am so enchanting in ways they didn’t seem before. I look at my work. I think, ‘I made that’. I look at my clothes. I think, ‘I rock that.’ Everyday is a sweet adventure.

 

I can sense. I can play. I can win.

 

Happy Thursday.