Guess what? Sleep is something that, like it or not, most people cannot do without. I have gone about discovering this the hard way, yet again.
Today is Valentine's Day (VD...hee hee!) but I won't write mushy post about romance and love because that just depresses me to write about what everybody but me seems to have. So instead of going on about someone who is the love of my life, etc., I am going to tell you about someTHING that is the love of my life! Yay for stronger attachment to material possessions than real humans!
I went back to my parents' house the other day with one of my best friends, because my parents have a working TV and we were worn out from an evening of hard shopping. Best Friend and I got kicked out of the living room, mostly because Youngest Little Brother was going to sleep and his room adjoins the living room, which meant the TV would keep him up. I also think we got kicked out partially because I have a tendency to increase my vocal volume from pretty loud to even louder when I watch TV and want to discuss what I've been watching. This also happens when I've been drinking, which is what Best Friend and I were doing in addition to watching Criminal Minds.
Partial deafness + TV + alcohol = bad. I've learned this before. And yet I still insist on doing it...
So Best Friend and I went down to my basement, where there is another TV and also lots of space between me and people, so I could be as loud as necessary and not bother anyone. Best Friend and I were going to turn on the TV when we were distracted by an item. This item, although I hadn't actually used it in years, had been sitting on top of the entertainment center since I was in middle school and my mother insisted that I was too old to continue to keep it in my room and play with it.
The item was a doll house.
Not just any doll house. It was the doll house I'd received as a Christmas present when I was six years old and had steadfastly played with from the day I got it until well into my teen years. My parents had eventually removed it from my bedroom and put it in the basement when they decided that I was too old for it (despite my protests). I hadn't played with it at all since I moved out of the house when I was 19, but ever since it came to light that I'm moving back in with my parents in April, I've been dreaming about this doll house.
Yes, that is the level of attachment I have to this particular childhood toy. Not only did I devote time on a daily basis to spend time with this magnificent specimen, but I was crushed when my parents decided for me that I needed to stop playing with it, and now I'm actually DREAMING about it.
Best Friend and I spent at least an hour playing with the doll house. Never mind that we're both full grown adults (at least, physically...). We had a blast!
My mother came downstairs to see what Best Friend and I were doing (I think she got concerned when you couldn't hear my voice from every point in the house), and she just shook her head when she saw what we were up to.
I didn't even need to ask what was on her mind. It was all over her face: If you insist on transitioning to male, why must you go back to playing with that doll house?
Answer: I am a child.
She's known me for 22 years. It should be apparent enough by now that my dinosaur fixation, love of cartoons, absolute conviction that there is a monster under my bed, stuffed animal collection, and doll house obsession that this is not just a phase.
Okay, so I can suck it up and be mature when it's necessary. For example, I read Shakespeare, Tolstoy, and Dumas for fun. I'm going to get my master's degree. I have an apartment of my own, pets that I take care of, bills that I pay. Yes, there is a part of me that is a (semi) functional adult.
But I've always been a firm believer in the idea that getting old is inevitable, while growing up is a choice.
My absolute love of that doll house, even when I was standing up to pee and playing rugby and wishing so much to be a boy, has nothing to do with my gender identity. It has everything to do with the fact that I blatantly refuse to grow up.
I feel like I'd get along very well with Peter Pan and the Lost Boys.
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