Lying in my twin bed, my muscles are sore, but I feel powerful! Today, I (with the help of my friends) delivered 2,000 lbs of potatoes to hungry people. Because restaurants are closed, the farmer who grew the potatoes was going to throw them away, but they were rescued and I got as many as I could to give away to friends and future-friends. It has been a long day of making sure my eyes smile over my mask and greeting people with, “hey! Do you want some potatoes?”, but I found happy homes for each and every potato.
I am sweaty, a little grimmy, and just deliciously sore. The cool breeze comes in through my cracked window. My attic room has a vent from the kitchen and I can smell the midnight snack that my housemate is making; I am sure it’s deep-fried, but not sure what it is.
My mind wanders, first over my own body, feeling and noticing my power and strength, relishing moments of stretch and strain throughout the day as I scampered up and down stairs and through yards with bag after bag of potatoes. I’m in my mid-thirties, I have a round ass and C-cup boobs, hidden in my masculine button-up collared shirt. I’m genderqueer and if I’m wearing baggy clothes, people often have trouble telling from my short haircut if I’m a girl or boy (neither!), until I open my mouth and start giggling.