6.45 am
Wake up. Shit. Face creased from sleeping on top of Foucault.
7.00 am
Look at face in mirror. Cleanse. Scrub. Tone. Moisturise. Eye cream. Foundation. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh no concealer! Eyebrow pencil. Sunblock. Perfume. Hair product. Perfume. Try on wig. Take off wig. Try on wig with beret. Take off wig and beret. Dither over choice of scarf. Settle on bright red.
10.00 am
Brunch with q-fam. Bitch about monogamy. Notice all present are couples. Order too many coffees. Entire table flirts with baristashamelessly.
12.00 pm
Go to a movie. Traumatised by flashbacks of Meryl Streep as Thatcher, especially in sex scenes. Notice the rest of the audience are 60-year-olds in dyads. Can’t turn off feminist and queer cultural studies training. Loathe movie as a result. But also kind of like it. Feel bad about this. Buy popcorn and icecream on way out.
3.00 pm
Drop by my dad’s work. “Bro’d”, “chiefed” and “mated” by engineers. Awkward.com. Feel mixture of regret and satisfaction in choice to wear lavender coloured trousers. He asks me to help to lift a “sample”. Feel strong, but so not masc. Nervous I might sweat, and then have to go home and change clothes.
7.30 pm
Watch Border Patrol. Spot flamboyant gay tourist who is heading for gay cruise ship. Torn over whether his hot pink luggage is awesome or not. Discover repressed fetish for customs officials.
11.00 pm
Continue tryst with Foucault in bed. He whispers me sweet nothings: “I don’t feel that it is necessary to know exactly what I am. The main interest in life and work is to become someone else that you were not in the beginning.”