My name's Nick Blanchard. That much I know. Until one day in March, I was a 32-year-old man living in Chicago under the same roof as his parents. Then one morning... well, you've read the interview.
What's uncomfortable to me is how comfortable I actually am. Anytime I settle down and just be, I suddenly get a chill up my spine; I think "Oh God, what's happening?" If it ever becomes not weird to be a woman, that would be weird.
It sucks not being yourself, that's something we can all agree about, no matter what body you get swapped into. I read on this site and in some of Alex's other files (stories he's been working on) where physically fit people become overweight or unhealthy, people lose decades off their lives, lose their livelihoods, or get life-threatening diseases. So I've considered it a comfort to simply have found myself walking down the street for the last few weeks in the sensible shoes of a physically average woman in her mid-20's, knowing the potential alternatives.
As we, the swapped, grow in numbers, we rely on our segment's growth for support. The idea that this has not merely happened to me, but is happening all the time, has kept me sane. So I'm coping. Of course, that doesn't mean I don't intend on getting my body back. I can't accept that this is the rest of my life.
I don't intend on being a woman. I've been dressing in the most tomboyish clothes available, keeping my hair modest and not using make-up. But I walk with confindence as best I can, because hey, I know I can't hide.
The real Traci Moore is packing up as many of my things as possible at this very moment, ready to move back here to Toronto from my parents' house in Chicago. I've already told her (I haven't had to look her in the eyes - my eyes - yet, so she's still a her to me,) I'm not moving back to Chicago. I had nothing going on there and wanted the means to move. I guess the swap gave me that.
She didn't like the idea of us living together, but with one of us out of work, we don't have much of a choice. I've applied through the provisional Toronto BISA (operating without a HQ) for a work visa.
I had really hit the skids (was being a 32-year-old man living with his parents not clue enough?) after losing my job (PR flack) and not finding new employment. The job market was crud in Chicago; maybe I'll have better luck here. While I handle Traci's secretarial job, I've got resumés out to a few different firms and organizations. I mention in my cover letter that, as a recent swapee, there's no danger in a future incident (I'm assured evidence suggests swaps only happen once to a person. Here's hoping.) The danger is that maybe they'll read that sentence and be afraid that I'll weird everyone out. Well, I worked for 2 and a half weeks as a secretary without anyone even noticing I was different. Maleness out of sight, out of mind.
It's not a well-hidden fact that PR is an industry that skews female anyway; my replacement in Chicago was a woman, as were most of my office-mates (I had a short fling with one before leaving, spurring a bit of drama in the office.) People would just rather be represented by a woman's face and voice, and I understand that. It made me feel like crap (when I was male,) but I couldn't disagree.
The thing I regret most about the swap - more than the new body, the discomfort of the clothes, the more-than-occasional glances on the street - is letting it throw my life into general disarray. But I'm taking a hold. I'm being me.
As my counsellor said during a short chat on the phone last wednesday... swaps teach people not to take things at face value.
Ha ha ha.
-Nick
Nick Blanchard graduated from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign with a Bachelors degree in Communications. After spending the last month as a secretary, she is glad to have it. She e-mails her blog entries to Alex on an irregular basis.
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