Good morning from the American Hotel Hostel, in the international district, less than a block from the china town gates of Seattle. I rolled in yesterday on the train, the sister of which you can hear right now down the road. I am settled in. When I shuffled in at around 11 a.m. last night, to the sound of my sleeping roommates, I quietly set up my little fortress: sleep machine. Phone and earbuds for all night podcasts, lulling me to sleep. Little fan on at all times, as the room is heated by a boiler, set to winter.

It was raining hard and non stop yesterday as I ate mapo tofu (pock mark granny tofu, it's named after the woman who invented it in the 1870s. Spicy and rich and delicious.). At another table a threesome was being negotiated by young american men switching between english and chinese. Across the street: a dumpling house and a place to get bad korean fried chicken.

Jumped into my second of three ubers to Capitol Hill (the buses in Seattle are fine, but no good at night, especially where I was going). Met the Bunny girl at a lesbian bar. It's been open since the early 1990s. It was me and other old ladies who remembered going to Lilith faire. Dar Williams and (ugh) Ani Difranco on the stereo. Moved on to a slice shop that was staffed by young beautiful trans women. A guy at the bar behind the shop (ancient aliens and bad video cassettes playing monster movies) swayed over and asked "did you, you know, have the surgery, dude?" Sigh.

The Bunny is beautiful. Her face is sweet and pretty. We haven't seen each other in months. We talked about cities and living far from home. We talked about Graye, because mourning season is upon us (she was there when Graye died. She held her hand and cried.). We kissed and held hands. She told me she fantasized about being a cow. I must have a thing for cow girls.

Off to the northwest film forum. Seattle Trans Underground Film Festival. First one. Sitting in a room full of trans women and men and others. Talked with a 21 year old trans being. Born after 9/11. This is where we are now.

Trans women really need to step up their arty game. A lot of comedy and horror about our bodies, but nothing as arty as a trans man doing a film about saints and his body, his lovers bodies, french and black and white and film grain, sucking on tiny dicks and taking the hands of lovers as a sacrament. The girls had a film about Sonic the Hedgehog furry porn and service kink. I feel more connected to sainthood, heresy, and my body.

We held each other's hands, Bunny and I. I stroked her thigh under her skirt. Her tremor (parkinsons) was more pronounced. She was happy.

Pealed from the room, surrounded by girls in cat ears and black dresses and at least one of them barely anything at all. Saw my acquaintance Muriel, who avoided me. Oh well.

We walked 5 blocks to the Pony. Loud gay bar, once a leather bar where I once drunkenly went down on a guy in chaps and a cap. Kind faced trans monster at the door checking our ID. Went into the disgusting bathroom and made out a little bit next to the glory hole. Wondered how many orgasms lived and died in that bathroom.

Sat in the back. The Pony is one of the destinations of girl's night, Tuesdays for trans women in town. The back deck was covered in evidence of us. Stickers and graffiti. Oh look. It's Penisgirl. Glad to see she travels. A pair of cis swinger couples negotiated an orgy next to us. I held her hand.

A gaggle from the movie fest came in. Glamorous girls from Los Angeles. Punk girls from Oly. I was the token Portland girl. Felt like the country bumpkin cousin visiting. Fell into talk about how hard it is to get to know anyone in Seattle. It's so big, and there are so many girls. Felt a bit of recognition. I joke that Portland is 5 small towns in a trench coat pretending to be a city, but transville has grown since I came out a decade ago. It's impossible to know every trans woman.

"What's your name?"
"Misha Moon."
"The poet that my friend Never has talked about?"
"Yep."

That was weird.

The Bunny falls into talk with a girl about a space truckers game the other girl is hoping to playtest later this year. I have a type. She is sweet and quiet and plays games and lights up when she talks about games. Ironic that I don't like games anymore. That I hid in games, and don't feel like I have to do that anymore. I play my own games in my head now. I wish I could play with other people without getting bored.

Leave at a reasonable unreasonable hour. We go off in our separate ubers, she to her roommates and the 2 other girls who are staying over tonight (magic the gathering tournament), me to my anonymous youth hostel bed. Wonder if I'm going to freak out a woman when I step out of the shower again. I wonder if cis people know I'm far more afraid of them than they are of me.

I first escaped to this city when I was 19 years old and needed to leave Jesusland behind. Hung out in capital hill when it was grungy and gay. I'm 46 now. More than half of my life escaping to Seattle when I need time away. I'm still in love. But home is Portland. Other places always feel magical when they aren't home. You can't keep running away from places that make you uncomfortable, or feel boring. You can escape for a while, but you've gotta live where you are at.

And it was evening, and it was morning. The first day.