as of last week, i'm 32 years old. that feels wild. people don't talk about the liminality of your early 30s nearly enough. i know i'm not old exactly, but i'm not young either--people older than me treat me like a child still, and younger people seem to think that i'm too old to hang. because i'm trans masc and butch and childless, strangers usually clock me as younger (they also can't figure out my gender situation, but that's honestly less surprising than when i get carded at the bar).
recently, i've done some very early 30s things. my partner's roommate moved out, and i moved in at the end of july. i've never lived with a partner before, and while some things turned out challenging (merging routines, agreeing on a duvet cover), it's mostly been really nice. over the weekend we saw some of her family, and multipe people said i seemed happier and more relaxed. i think that's good. leaving my old neighborhood felt a little difficult; i lived there for years and had a community and places and things, but i'm glad i live here now, even if it's different.
jillian got us tickets to see oh, mary! for my birthday; an hour and a half of watching jinkx monsoon wail onstage was so incredibly worth it. other birthday activities? i'm getting dinner with my best friend tomorrow night and having a small party at a bar on friday. last night i took myself on a little date in my old neighborhood since my barber is still there and i (really) needed a haircut. it did remind me why i loved living there, in a bittersweet type of way. the first person i saw when i got off the train was a good friend of mine, and the haircut turned out great. people look at me differently in my old neighborhood, like they think i'm cool or approachable. i can get a glass of wine and escargot at the little french place and make conversation with the bartender and his friend, or sit at my favorite dive and talk to the stranger next to me about the book i'm reading. the new neighborhood isn't really like that.
i've been so busy all summer, but it feels like i haven't done anything in months? i've barely read anything. just comics and poetry, and 40 year old sword and sorcery fantasy. very few new, or even new to me, pieces. everything's just poetry by pizarnik, birds of prey (1998-2009), and some darkover books (though those can be hard to read, knowing what we know about their author). fairly recently, i picked up moa romanova's buff soul at anyone comics alongside the hardcover edition of poison ivy: origin of species, which i've read multiple times since the story arc was published last year. we all have our comfort characters, and mine just happens to be her. she's one of the most complex characters DC publishes, and has been for decades, though most of that earlier complexity happened by accident. but the thing i really connect over is the fact that everything wrong with her is also wrong with me. truly, one of the most concerning things about me is the degree to which i see myself in pamela isley. that probably sounds odd to someone who doesn't know the character well (or doesn't know me), but i promise it makes sense.
i also recently picked up a few titles at the twisted spine, that new horror bookstore in williamsburg. i went during their opening weekend, and found a line down the block to get in. by the time i got to browse, the shelves had been picked pretty bare, but i managed to snag a copy of dori lumpkin's antenora and the body horror anthology mine. i'm looking forward to reading both.
i always think i'm going to use this space to log my reading, or the movies i watch and the games i play, but it doesn't exactly happen in the ways i hope. i'll be better! i promise! i swear!
until next time i guess? hopefully it won't be so long.