Still A Work In Progress

“Huh,” I comment in a hushed tone.  “So I’m in a totally different body.  Well okay then.”

I honestly can’t say that I have any stronger emotion than that, once I finally figure it out.  My heart should be racing out of my chest right now; I should be freaking out for dear life right now.  But I don’t.  Maybe it’s because I’m still too tired to really give a damn, or maybe it’s because I’m expecting to wake up; I don’t know.  The strange part to me isn’t even that I’m in the wrong body: the strange part is that I don’t really feel the need to ask why.  I don’t feel like freaking out all around my room, asking where I was last night, or desperately grasping for a mirror.  I should, but I don’t.  Everything just feels normal, like I’ve been planning for this day for weeks or something.

It’s weird.  It’s just so weird that I feel so normal about this, being in a different body.  I know that it’s weird, but I don’t feel weird.  Seeing a completely different body still dresse in the same clothes I went to sleep in?  Not really that weird.  Squeezing my arm and feeling the lean muscles I never had but apparently do now?  Not really that weird.  Even when I lift my shirt up and see that I’m a girl when I definitely was not before, even that isn’t really that weird.  Just, “Oh, breasts.  How about that.  I kind of suspected that with the long hair and voice, but, you know, I didn’t really know for sure.”

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