Wait, that sounds kinds of morbid. Start over.
Ok, so I've been sick-- just a cold, calm down-- off and on for pushing a month now and in this span of time I've lost, like, ten pounds. I'm pretty neutral on this occurrence.
Anyway, my body was already changing before that. A year older, new ink, and refined derby and yoga muscles sneaking and settling into prime position.
Only now I can see and feel this new structure.
I am sometimes surprised at my own strength, literal and figurative, but there is an unusual satisfaction in being able to see and feel the mechanism behind it-- particularly since most of my sureness of identity stems from artifice and creativity: hair, gesture, tone, costume, gait, language. Things I can control.
A note about my physiology, I carry weight pretty evenly all over my body. This works out great when I gain weight. Instead of accumulating in awkward places, it settles across my face, elbows, knees, back. My skeleton has aways been carefully concealed by a light cocoon, pleasantly even and supple, but generally the important stuff is folded away out of sight and tactility.
These new muscles, these old bones that were hidden from me.
There is a novel, thumb-sized hollow next to my kneecap when I bend my leg at an obtuse angle. There is a strange, taut tangle of muscle the size of my palm on the top of each thigh which was formerly an undifferentiated expanse of hamstring and epidermis. I have a delicate pair of knobs perched ladylike and ovoid like bird's eggs on my wrists.
The broad, heavy spread of my hip bones is strange and precious like the archaeologist's prized skull: a mysterious artifact of an ancient and fearsome creature. The curves are audacious in their sure, solid thickness and yawn wide enough to cradle a fist.
Rather than exposed, I feel unveiled like the Sphinx unfettered from centuries of sand.
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