“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.”