there seems to be a small but tenacious part of me that is holding onto the dream that i am a kid still. everything about me has been a woman since i was about 11 years old. the summer between 5th and 6th grade was a rough one with the advent of not only my quite considerable dirty pillows, but also of my friend, my curse, or, as nisha affectionately calls it, my dot. i went from having soft and light hair on my legs to the mature, darker hair that you instantly learn to be ashamed of. there are most certainly permanent welts on my back from having my bra strap snapped torturously throughout sixth grade. i got it from both ends, the boys did it because my new found sweater friends were mysterious and enticing, yet confusing and frigthening because they didn't know what to do with them. and the girls did it because they were still in their trainers while i was quickly shooting my way past b to c to god what the hell is this? a science fiction movie?
people were suspicious of my breasts and of my hips; my skin was out of control and none of my clothes were fitting right anymore and i just remember this being the most stressful time of my life, this 6th-7th-8th grade time when i had to figure out how to carry this new body that came onto me so fucking fast.
but this is not the time i think i am holding onto. no, it is later, my late teens, early 20s.... not that those times are all that far behind me. but they are far enough that my body is certainly reacting differently to the abuses i used to take in stride. most pointedly it is my lack of sleep that i am finding hard to manage. when did it happen that i needed sleep at all? why did i have to lose my AI cyborg-biogenetically-enhanced-better-than-mere-human status?
i need to stay above sleep. i need to stay above sleep. i need to not have to dream.
