I have been registered with one recruitment firm for over ten years. They are supposedly experts in my particular field. In those ten years, I’d yet to be sent on … Continue reading can you start tomorrow? (g2)
Yeah, you knew this was coming. The sad thing we all knew it was coming. Its the ones we do not hear about that worry me most, but we don’t … Continue reading i can’t breathe (g2)
that nothing is
but as the elevator
don’t for the love
hold onto anything
but jump up
and down like crazy
that with luck
when it lands
you’ll be caught
up in the air
alive and well
saved in the blessed
space between–Chuck Sullivan
and the floor
I’ve had five phone interviews over the course of two days and I would have preferred to go back to my old shit job and work two solid weeks with … Continue reading you’re on the shortlist (g2)
I have barely spoken to a soul in the last couple years. I find it troublesome when I get the feeling from a new person that they wish to spark … Continue reading sometimes you have to burrow (g2)
I have been, for lack of a better word, so immersed into the bullshit of life that the last month has been the last real breath I’ve been able to … Continue reading oops, so i do it again… (g2)
Well… I feel rather dumb for complaining about things right now, but then again I kind of have to purge it. I have my health, which somehow managed to avoid the death flu and several stomach bugs, I have a great kid who will be going to an advanced art program this summer. My depression has not, so far, kicked into gear. However, I feel like I’m just strong enough to keep that below a crust… for now.
I even have a landlord who tried to give me his rent back when I told him I’d lost my job and said he’d support me getting moved if that is what I felt I needed to do.
End of March, not long after my fifth anniversary, I came into work expecting to have the same soul-sucking experience that is has been over 90% of the time I’ve been there. I’d been training a new manager on how to do everything I did (plotting for a smooth exit), most of which fell back to me as they were getting overwhelmed. They helped field some of the calls and emails coming in, but now we had two of us drowning rather than just me.
But I’ve been there the longest. And I work for a company that epitomizes every single article I’ve ever read about toxic environments. I get no information, no communication, but then am reprimanded when my responses to those outside are “too vague” and not “resolution-driven.” It’s really no wonder that the company itself has had to change names over the course of “twenty years” it likes to brag its been in business. By law, you have to shut down when you report a loss too many years in a row.
The VP… again, not my superior… but is the right-hand to one of the owners….calls me into a conference room around lunch. Everyone is gone and the only other person there is the HR manager.
The writing is on the wall.
“Huh, am I being let go?”
I’m being told yes, and they ask if they need to go over why. I say “I don’t see the point,” and go through the list of where to find anything they might need, forward my phone to the new manager, pack my things in a very small bag (all while being offered a large box several times and professing I don’t need it). I tell them its not like I’m going to disappear so if they can’t find something, just contact me.
It was so surreal.
I’ve never been fired.
I hate this place, but I busted my ass for over five years, and now… fired?
I get in my car and take one last look at the building I feel like I have wasted a chunk of my life on and realize… I NEVER have to come back here…
I realize I’m smiling about this idea.
I realize that I’m so stubborn and have been such a closet optimist that this shithole might actually get better that this might have been just what I needed to leave and make the changes I’ve wanted to make.
I don’t even unfriend the VP on facebook, though she does get moved to the restricted group.
I talk it over with Spawn and let them know what happened and we talk about moving… like… now.
Thirteen years of life to clean out, toss, donate, sell… and so so much. Every time I think we might have gotten through one room, I find yet another box, stash of papers etc.
I would even be grateful if that was the most stressful part.
Yes, they are paying me an additional month and told me to file for unemployment (which I’ve yet to see, so apparently I did something wrong). I socked away my tax refund rather than pay anything off or blow it and I have a 401k and a money market investment account I can pull from if I feel like buying a house… a modest house, but a house nonetheless.
But I don’t feel ok.
I feel on the edge of freaking out.
Every time I’ve ever moved, I’ve usually had a friend or family to stay with until I got settled. And this time, I do have a cousin in the area, but neither of us are the type to share space unless we have to… holidays and that sort of thing. Three days is the expiration.
I’m sure the wife if dodging me when I’m up there for interviews so I don’t ask to move in with them for awhile. But the truth is, I’d live in my car and lie about it before I’d even ask.
It killed me to even tell them I was out of work. They are the pair with which I feel like I’m being graded whenever I’m around them and to ask for advice…. was an intensely hard thing for me to do. They know the area, they might have tips and places I would not think to look. And my cousin, did have contacts at a couple of the staffing agencies, both of which has sadly done nothing for me.
I’m also prideful as hell. Every time I’ve been through something stressful: divorce, poverty, a death of someone close to me, I shut out the world and maybe talk about it once I’ve resolved it.
But when you have a kid at stake, you have to put on that face of adulting as though you know what the fuck you’re doing when in truth, we’re all still those kids inside and figuring shit out only when we fuck it up. And when you have a kid at stake and their well-being, you get help wherever you think it might happen no matter how much of a prick your pride tells you to be instead.
I know… I know, logically, we will be fine. It’s been 3 weeks, I’ve submitted to over 90 openings, been in one 3 hour interview doing something I’ve never done before, but was eager over the prospect of learning something new, in spite of the long hours. They won’t decide until the 15th of next month, so I’d prefer not to wait. I’ve had a few other promising phone interviews, but its just not happening as fast as I would like it.
I’m really fucking good at what I do, and when I’m not, I’m very independent about figuring it out. I own my mistakes, I’m as honest as I can be within professional constraints. Hire me, dammit!
But then you also start house hunting, and they tell you to get pre-approved, but then they tell you you won’t qualify if you’re not employed… a friend advised just getting up there in the first cheap postage stamp I could rent, and then start looking and this way I would be available for interviews… which sounds great!… until I look at the daily cost. It’s HUGE and its like NO ONE wants to give you a deal for maybe a month. They are hell bent on locking you in for a year or more.
I want as much as possible to buy a real house.
Spawn wants a real house.
I want a real house.
This is where Spawn wants to finish school.
I don’t have much time before Spawn realizes that living with their parent is just not the way they want to do it forever. So before that period, I want them to have the house I’ve never been able to offer so they can decorate and do and make it, into everything they ever dreamed. I want that too.
But first, I want work… or I want both… or I want to not have to worry about both…I don’t know.
What if I’m just not enough for any of this? The last thing I want is my stress to become Spawn’s stress. I wish I knew what to do…
I have to say that I thought nothing about aging would make me any more annoyed than getting use to wearing glasses every time I need to read something. Well … Continue reading So What Happens When Your Sex Drive Becomes Hormonally Challenged? (G-uno)
I’m trying desperately to catch up with all the items I’ve missed, I have been simply incapable of sitting down for even ten minutes and reading anything. I don’t know why.
Antsy, irritable might all begin to describe me, but mostly I just wanted to cut off everything. I lost my phone, it went dead for days at a time. I worked like an automaton and treated people much the same. I came home with only thoughts of hunger, then exhaustion.
I moved one day to the next with checklists in my head, no love or desire for anything.
I would say that under normal circumstances this would be the period when I would slide into the abyss of depression for a bit, go back on the meds, work the steps that pull me back out of it. Like accepting every 8th invitation whether I want to or not, for example, which is the only reason I had any interaction with the Yankee outside of work, pleasant as the experience was to my surprise.
I suppose having a kid is kind of a motivator for me to push away the darkness more strongly than I might otherwise. Considering we only have one another, we talk daily, we discuss everything, it tends to keep me more grounded and tethered to something. I realize this doesn’t work for everyone and I’m certainly not belittling that in any way when family has no effect on your darkness when it comes to call, but my kid is very much my totem.
In moments when I would otherwise not be able to stop it from pulling me under, I have the half-pint who reminds me why I’m not done fighting today. Maybe tomorrow. Or, maybe the day after.
For my G-uno, I was the one who brought the dysfunctional in-laws into my marriage. I never knew what a family could be like until I met my ex’s family. I’m still very connected to them, just as I’m very disconnected from my own. It is extremely painful to not be loved and accepted within your own family and to know that in every subtext of how they speak to you.
To be able to walk away from that, know them to be the poisonous element and still have faith in your own self as being a good person and not seeing yourself through their eyes, takes a strength a person just shouldn’t have to bear with people supposedly under the title of “loved ones.” My made family, the family I built from my teens on, G-uno and BFG very much included, shaped a lot of who I am today, gave me the strength to fight against a very twisted guardian and their brood.
We feel compelled to try to make and fix things. You and I especially like to fix. Maybe it is a Gemini thing.
But I will never be able to fix the person my gran made me out to be to their family, a spoiled and greedy orphan never satisfied with anything received and working poor gran’s fingers to the bone demanding more. This spilled over to my aunt and uncles and poisoned the mind of my cousin and his wife. They will always have that haughty smugness when I spend time with them that I don’t measure up enough to have been “gran’s favorite”.
I already knew that. I spent a great amount of effort trying not to be, repeatedly kicking that fucking pedestal anytime I saw it coming closer. To be in gran’s good graces would mean I was like them. That was the last thing I ever wanted to be.
I had an epiphany recently. I knew I married another version of gran, so I could have the same bullshit fights with different outcomes and I had to do a lot of soul searching to overcome that. But it went further than that. My ex manipulated me to be geographically isolated. Gran, being the manipulation master they were, managed to do it emotionally, mentally. They made sure I had no one in my family who saw me as I was. No one to confide in. No one. Except them.
When this hit me, I kind of wanted to dig gran up and just beat the hell out of them. It hurt, but it was their own selfishness that motivated every diabolical thing they did. They destroyed their own family, caused so much internal fighting and baseless hate that those of us generations later just want nothing to do with any of them, or one another, save for a small few.
So when a person, such as yourself, who has had nothing but selfless goals calls a lost cause a lost cause, why would you feel this in any way your fault? To be able to fix them, you’d have to think like they do, and in turn understand them, and take a risk of turning into that yourself. I couldn’t risk that, I try to carve that ability out of myself much in the way you battle the Kraken.
There is a point when self-preservation has to kick in and you have to give it up and escape. You don’t call it a bad thing if you’re not able to fight a bear with brass knuckles, its a fucking bear. You’re thankful you survived.
She sat there on the edge of the lake with with her feet dangling in the cool dark waters. Her body was present, but her mind drifted off to darker places. Occasionally she was aware of her silent surroundings, but the loudness of her thoughts robbed her of the peacefulness of her surroundings.
She could no more silence the deafening noise of her own thoughts then she could stop the endless flow of the warm tears that streamed down from her cheeks. Her sadness came from years of struggle, and from the realization that most of what she believed to have been the truth in her life was nothing more than a world that only she inhabited.
I’m not sure if the pain of not being able to recognize the fact that she had created the illusion, or the thought that no one around her even noticed its existence was more devastating. Perhaps she lives within a world that only exists within her head, or maybe she is just simply unable to see the world that actually exists.
Either way she is lost within the darkness of the waters. She dangles between two worlds wondering which one holds the truth, unable to discern how to cross over to a world not designed by her own perceptions. Then she wonders if everyone resides in a world of their own design, their own illusions. If she steps into the dark waters will she swim, or simply become a part of them.
I think I’ve already gone over how the VP in our department thinks I’m a fucking idiot, something even the Yankee picked up on even though my boss tries her best to play the diplomatic card as much as possible. My boss rocks as they are not the type to get into drama and will get pissed at the issue, not the person. They also have a tendency to try to see the best in others and want to explain bad behavior under a more rational light. Sometimes a bitch is just a bitch. Also, like I told my boss… I have to value the opinion to give a shit what it is.
The VP has more than once told me I scare her. I’m starting to wonder if she isn’t kidding.
The owners decided they wanted to see more training since our financial situation (i.e. people finally started paying their fucking bills and we got bitchier about getting them paid) started getting better. My stress level once this occurred plummeted. Up until that point, the VP wanted to send me to a class on communication skills, which in a meeting with one of the owners and the VP present, I pointed out “There’s only so many ways you can communicate ‘we can’t pay you because we’re not getting paid.'” The owner readily agreed, the VP stfu about it, but it was still on the to-do that we should have training of some sort.
Yankee and I both saw an advanced Excel class we thought might be interesting, so we requested that. VP is not so skilled in Excel, in fact usually asking for Yankee’s help and marveling at the skills, even when its a minor thing. VP and I don’t really interact much work-wise, so it became apparent she had no clue of my skill level when she suggested it would be too much for me, and I just said “I highly doubt it considering I’ve already taken the advanced certification courses. This would be little more than a refresher unless they’re getting into the actual VB coding or in-depth macros without the step-through recorder.”
I lost her somewhere in the first ten words, I could see it in her face. She backpedaled a bit, and it wasn’t long before she had signed up for the same course but before ours.
She came back afterwards and said she learned a couple small things but they didn’t go over anything she didn’t already know. Before I could stop myself I said “well that’s disappointing, I thought it was supposed to be an advanced class.”
The Yankee coughed to hide their snort, but we were rather concerned that we wouldn’t be getting much out of this. It looked like the only classes that were more of our cup of tea were a minimum of two days and about five times the cost. We were told point blank we were not allowed to be gone over one day.
Either way, we finagled it so our project cohort, the Hippy, is also scheduled for this same class (at the Yankee’s house, Hippy mentioned they had no clue how to even request training and they too used spreadsheets a lot, so I put a bug in the VP’s ear. Sometimes, she is useful).
So we get out from having to deal with the VP for at least one day. For that alone, I guess I don’t really mind if I don’t take a lot away from this class, though I’ve never walked away not learning at least something, even if its small. I’m also curious as to whether the VP just didn’t understand a lot of what was being said and filtered it out. Will be interesting to find out. At least the company will be worth it anyway.
Yes, I’m still doing the food insanity, somewhere around week 4 and a half it’d become such a habit I forgot to log my food. By the time I realized I hadn’t done it, it’d been almost a week.
I’m an organized soul, let me unclutter your life. (don’t, really… you’ll never forgive me.)
In the first 3 weeks, I dropped about 20 pounds and six inches out of my midsection, but I kept forgetting to check after that. Apparently, nothing else has moved from my midsection another 5? 6? weeks later, but I’ve noticed other stuff or I’d be insanely depressed. My last check had be averaging about 727 calories/day.
In the past couple weeks, I have been able to navigate stores without the assistance of a cart. For me this has been big. The pain started first and the weight followed, one exacerbating the other. It was three years before diabetes showed up. Walking around a store was hell and not just because I detest shopping. If you’ve ever seen the first steps of the TinMan after Dorothy gave him an oiling (that’s what he said) or someone trying to move their body in spite of paralysis, this is roughly how I managed to get around. No amount of pain pills could touch it.
I decided we were going to get up at buttass’o’ clock one Saturday and pick blueberries. We were out there until we filled 2 buckets, which took Spawn and I a little over an hour. It was disgustingly hot even at 7am, but we survived and physically, I was fine. I haven’t been fine in years.
Spawn asked their best friend if they wanted to join us, which they did but they had their six year old cousin visiting so they had to join us as well.
We already had plans to hit our favorite Saturday breakfast spot when we were done (they have about six or more omelets I can totally eat and still stay within range).
Pain In The Ass aka the 6 year old, only likes waffles. Plain waffles.
Our favorite spot only has french toast.
I got to hear about two hours worth of shit PITA doesn’t like, but also has never tried.
I know in my logical brain Spawn also went through this phase, but this child has never heard the word “no.” Ever.
Spawn’s BFF exemplified a patience I’ve only seen in the most kindest of souls. I kind of felt sorry that they had to play parent to just a PITA…but then, they could have left it at home too.
PITA and I butted heads only twice. The first happened when they had picked blueberries for about fifteen minutes and determined themselves bored and demanding we leave. My response was they were told beforehand that I wanted two buckets for us before we left, and if they were done they could either help make that go faster or find something to enjoy about the place until we were done.
The second, PITA dozed off on the way to breakfast choice number two (we checked the menu to make sure plain waffles were on it). When we got there Spawn’s BFF couldn’t get it out of the car. I poked my head in on the other side and said “You knew were coming here, so get out of my car please.” It did.
Spawn asked if I yelled at them, I told them I didn’t have to, I’m terrifying enough without volume.
In spite of it all, I still had a pretty lovely but insanely hot day with three kids, a good breakfast (spinach crepe with chicken) which I forgot included potatoes pancakes. Thankfully, they were small, and I managed to mangle them a bit and eat about 2 tiny bites so I could call them touched without being devoured, while small enough I didn’t feel bad about leaving it.
The blueberries though were a bit on the small side. I’m sure part of it was the season started earlier this year and I didn’t realize it until later, combined with the need to hurry so I didn’t hear “I’m bored, when are we leaving?” before I throttled someone’s kid and buried it under one of the bushes.
But fuck yeah, I picked mah own muthafuckin blueberries, bitches!
My doctor’s visit was yesterday and that’s what they said after I got done with my long diatribe.
Spawn got their vaccine(s) and was given the final verdict that they were “disgustingly healthy.” We thought they were only getting one shot, but it ended up being 2 shots and a fingerstick hemoglobin test. I’m sure because my iron is still low, I’m also at fault for that one. My kid ended up with two Daffy Duck and one Tasmanian Devil band-aids, so overall I think it was a win.
My bloodwork in March determined that my A1C was down to 6.3 from 7.3 in January. I brought it down a full point in 3 months and this is before the insanity diet started.
I also dropped 20 lbs since I came in last. That was more reassuring than I thought it would be. Sure, you always hope for more no matter what amount, but when you have a ton to lose, you don’t see it until its a massive amount. It kind of felt like justification that what I was doing was a good idea.
The only measurement I’ve done at home, and only after I’d been doing this for a week, was measuring my midsection. That too has lost 4 inches in a week.
I was excited by this and felt the need share the good news with diet buddy. I don’t think they took it too well though. I have a feeling I might have to stage an intervention at some point so they don’t get disappointed and start using more excuses to end it. Their kids are going overseas for a few weeks this summer, so their excuses will be gone too.
With that said, I, like the planner I’m not, forgot to print out all the crap I was going to bring in hand for my doctor to review. I had to give the reader’s digest super-condensed version of what I read, what the study’s goals were and what I was trying to emulate. I at least had my app out and let my doc peruse the information I did have logged and how I was tracking my nutrition as well.
My doctor countered with starvation mode and the vices of that. I countered that I was only intending on doing this for 8 weeks, not forever and would be gradually increasing to a more reasonable level after. The goal being to shock the system into burning its own fat, especially in the pancreas. I told them about my carb goals, and how that had been working out. I told them I had cake on my birthday, so I added an extra day. They said “you can have cake on your birthday.”
They asked questions about how I’d been feeling, if I’d added any exercise and how my digestive system had been doing. I told my doc fine, no and actually pretty good. I said I had only had issues when I hadn’t had enough water, and I got a headache once from not enough salt, but otherwise I’d been feeling pretty good.
I also said that regardless of how well I did on this, I still wanted surgery if I ever got the option because I simply didn’t want to deal with this ever again. Doc said they’d write the referral as soon as I had the coverage.
Sometimes it just nice to know 1, you’re doing ok, and 2. you got someone in your corner.
Dealing with the family members of dying clients is like walking a circus tightrope. One has to be very careful with their choice of wording. Families are under extreme pressure trying to maintain their daily lives while dealing with a dying loved one. Yesterday was Betty Davis’s 6 month evaluation with Hospice. Her daughter came home from work early to be there with mom.
Betty’s daughter is like a blonde Liza Minnelli in appearance so we will call her Liza. I don’t deal with her very often in person. We mostly communicate through notes to each other. She is usually at work when I arrive so I meet every morning with her husband. This is Liza’s third marriage (her husband’s too), but they have been married now for 13 years. I’m not sure who the drinker is in this house, but based on the amount of Captain Morgan on hand I’m guessing both.
Both Betty, and Liza were worried that Betty would be removed from Hospice’s care. They were both equally anxious about the possibility. I tried to reassure them both that this would not be the case as gently as possible, but Liza persisted until I had to explain in the most honest way I could. The problem here is that the truth is quite brutal, and I don’t know Liza well enough to know the best way to deal with her. So I began with “Mom’s condition continues to decline, and Hospice will view this as reason enough to keep Mom under their care.”
Liza snapped back “What do you mean? Mom is not declining, have you noticed a decline since you started working here?” Now in my line of work every alarm in my head is sounding off “DANGER G-uno Danger!” So I pulled out two bar stools motioning for us both to sit (somehow sitting seems less harsh) then I softly say “Yes Liza Mom is declining.” She is still on defense mode, and says “How do you know this, why are you saying this?” So I softly say ” There are physical signs that begin to occur when someone with Mom’s illness begins to decline.”
At this point I am silently begging “The Universe” to let this be enough for Liza to let this subject rest, and of course no such luck. Liza grabs my hand, and pleads with me to just tell her what I see. Then I could feel the tears welling in my eyes, and I’m pretty sure she could hear the sound of my heart cracking. I place my other hand on top of her’s, and I say “Mom’s breathing is becoming increasingly more labored. I ask her if she noticed that Mom’s hands were changing in any ways that she may have noticed.” She said “No!” ( I want to kick “The Universe”in the balls now!) So I softly say Mom’s hands are darkening now because her lungs & heart are having a more difficult time delivering oxygen to them.”
I can see at this point that she is breakable. I hug Liza, and I tell her that she is an amazing daughter. I tell her that I am overwhelmed by her love for Mom. She began to cry she is bothered by the fact that her Mom tells me more regarding her thoughts, and health concerns. She wants to share this with her mother. She feels like my bond with her mother is becoming stronger than theirs.
I am in agony at this point, but then I know what needs to be said (Sorry “Universe” lost my faith there for a moment) so I place both hands on the sides of Liza’s face. Then looking her directly in the eyes I tell her “Your Mom is still your Mom, and she will try to protect you no matter what. She does not share these things with me out of love, I am her caregiver. She is not concerned about my feelings in this capacity. You are her world! She loves you more than life itself, and this is momma bear’s way of shielding the one she does love, and trust more than anyone else in the world.”
I saw both heartbreak, and relief in Liza’s eyes. Sometimes the truth is the only way to go. 😉
I’m not sure anymore how much detail I’ve gone into, I’m too lazy to go look at any prior posts of mine about health. I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, just like Grand. Unlike Grand though, I don’t hide twinkies and say I bought them “for the kids” or a 10 lb bag of oranges and eat them over a few days because I’m too lazy to cook for one.
I do however, have an intense love of chocolate and had (my meds make me crave meat now, go figure) a sweet tooth so fierce I’d make myself sick. I could never understand why, but my doc said that since I’d always ran a low sugar until now, I would of course crave it. I used to have a blood sugar of about 74 shortly after eating. I know only because I had a type 1 boss who would stick you anytime you alluded to not feeling perfect.
I’m on a pill twice a day. I’m thankful I don’t have to use insulin, for now. I’m also glad I’m not having to stick myself, for now. My numbers have been getting better minisculely, not rapid enough for the instant gratification loving person than I am. I know that this is a process, but the process, to me should be faster than 10 lbs in three months.
Walking… hurts right now. But I do as much as I can. I would love to swim, but have no access to such in a reasonable time frame or distance. If I tried to do yoga, I’d fall and hurt myself. My body is not fully under my control right now.
I’ve always berated myself for being a food-addicted by-product of bad genes and a worse upbringing, but I don’t think that is the whole story.
I distinctly remember crying over a plate of food because I couldn’t eat anymore and I thought I would be in trouble. Grand always fixed our plates for a 300 lb grown man and then demanded that we eat everything. My mom tossed the plate I was crying over in the trash and spent the next hour trying to de-program a short lifetime of conditioning.
I was suicidal by age seven, depression came on pretty hard when the hormones did in my preteens, and so did about 10 or so extra pounds. At that point, I didn’t have any major body issues, I figured my next growth spurt would probably iron it all out, as I was still a kid.
That is, of course, until I sent to my Aunt from Hell’s house for the summer. She promptly slapped me on the Atkin’s diet, droned on about “ketosis” and fed me shitty unsweetened yogurt and unripe blueberries. It would be twenty years before I would ever willingly taste another blueberry.
I had one friend I made that summer and was thrilled when they invited me over for a sleepover. Anything to get out of that bitch’s house. Their dad made homemade vanilla ice cream, a treat I’d never had in my life. I ate one small scoop, since I was trying to keep to the Fuhrer’s strict rules.
I was subsequently screamed at for an hour when they found out.
Years later, when same aunt was giving me advice about the “delicate psyche” of children before Spawn was born, I brought up this small page in our history. I also told her I used to find her terrifying.
her:”…………….I’m….. I’m so sorry”
me:”kind of fucking late to regret now, isn’t it?”
I think that was the only time I ever heard that woman apologise for anything. She is Grand’s twin in many ways.
My twenties, I ended up with the marital fluff that comes from too much indifference and entirely too much meat and potato-based meals. When we split, I’d put on 30 or so lbs. I lost any taste for soft drinks and spent the first month or so gorging on as many raw vegetables as I could get my hands on. Not because I was dieting, but because I craved them. I didn’t count anything, didn’t weigh anything, I ate what I was in the mood for, including a 3 scoop variety bowl of ice cream with all the crap on it. I took up yoga, I loved it. I felt centered for the first time in my life.
I did weigh myself though. I had a mental number I wanted to reach and when I was within five pounds of it, I decided to take up a judo class. The first month, I instead gained five pounds but had dropped a pant size. It was my first epiphany in how little numbers mean.
The second was with a friend of mine who also had the desire to lean down, while we were at a pub crawl (I did mention I gave up nothing, right?). We were on bar three and moving to bar four. It was probably just a couple blocks to the next one and my friend and I were chatting and laughing and outpacing everyone. We passed two individuals who represented everything we were trying to achieve, size-wise. As we passed, we heard one complain about being exhausted and their feet hurting. The other responded in agreement. My friend and I looked at one another and I simply said “maybe we need to rethink our priorities…,” they simply responded “indeed.”
When Spawn was known but in the works, I ended up taking care of Grand, a noncompliant diabetic. I never understood what Grand thought they were accomplishing by not checking their sugar and lying about what they ate. They lost their eyesight and their independance, and its by sheer miracle they didn’t lose an appendage or have to go on dialysis.
While they were under my care, they dropped about 9 sizes. I cleaned out all the garbage and started cooking my normal jive. Grand was a shopping junkie, so I took them grocery shopping about three times a week. It seems excessive but I refused to keep any mass quantities of fruit (their main addiction) and Grand always had to walk down every aisle each visit.
Let me repeat that…. they had to walk down every aisle each and every time. Even if nothing had changed, nothing moved, nothing.
I played a game of trying to find the biggest grocery stores I could that still kept only within the food range. Wal-Mart was off-limits except for only special trips (moments I wouldn’t go postal spending days in a store). With Grand’s macular degeneration, they would obsessively grab shit and put it in their cart and I would pull it out of the other side and put it back. I tried to keep the splurge tab in the 10-15 range so the high could be obtained without the expenditure. Grand was a junkie when it came to shopping, folks. I would bribe anyone of you to do my shopping for me.
Grand:”I could have sworn I got more than this…”
Me:”hmmm, nope… you were a bit picky today.”
With Grand getting exercise on these trips, so I enforced the rule of only 2-3 pieces of fruit and each had to be a different color (probably the only thing they could see anyway) under the agreement we would come back when they ran out. When I refused to allow them the 10 lb bag of oranges, I got a call from one of her children about how I wasn’t feeding Grand. The 9 pant sizes and the elimination of two of their medications for sugar (there were four) seemed to support this. I did mention I was the evil black sheep of the family right? I fed Grand how I liked to eat, they had 3 squares and 2 snacks a day, and it worked.
My thirties, the weight crawled on while taking care of Spawn. Getting 2-3 hours of sleep a night with absolutely no break, full-time work and a kid who would scream if they had to consume anything besides chicken nuggets and french fries all summed up to a good 80 or more lbs. I responded the way I had in the past but with prepackaged salads, cooking mass quantities of meals and shoving them in the freezer (the first time around I had more than me to cook for with friends, roommates and my mom around all the time).
I tried to involve Spawn in my yoga. It didn’t go well and I wasn’t able to focus on it like I had when I could do it by myself, so I scheduled it when they were asleep. The weight also wasn’t budging either, even reviving the old habits. But this was a decade later.
I started counting calories for the first time. I hated it. I was hungry all the time and it felt like a full time job. I tried several calculations and set an amount that would hit a 2 lb weight loss a week, and it still didn’t budge much. I would knock off another 100 calories until I started losing again, but I was so damn hungry.
I started walking every other day. I found out one of my blocks was about 2 miles around, the other almost 3, so I walked both each time. BFG bought me some walking sticks because we had read it could help with strength training and your posture so you could walk faster. I didn’t even care if I looked stupid. I read so much material on nutrition and weight and exercise that, just like parental advice, it began to contradict each other.
I managed to knock off about half the weight. I’d had to give up caffeine due to an ulcer, and my last vice was smoking. When my cholesterol came back elevated, that went too. I was ok about it when I gained 12 lbs from quitting. I thought it’d be more. But I still had 30+ lbs left to go and it refused to budge.
Then I came home one day and my legs ached when I walked, my arms ached, I couldn’t get a full breathe, my brain ached. I was so mentally drained I felt like I’d been trying to do calculus without paper. I felt like I’d run a marathon and every bit of liquid I’d had in my body was focused completely around my legs like a pair of saline pants I couldn’t remove. I moved like Grand at 80, the 50 yards to the bed felt like Mount Saint Helen, so I crashed on the couch most of the time.
I slept at least a dozen hours every time I could, more on the weekend. It was insanely difficult to get up in the morning. I was always stiff, always tired, always hurting. I had donned a gorilla costume the Halloween before and chased Spawn for hours while they knocked on door after door and now I had no chance in hell of standing at a stove for thirty minutes to cook anything. I couldn’t stand five minutes without whimpering.
My doc tried upping my anti-depressants, my cholesterol problem magically disappeared but my blood pressure was elevated, no that’s no longer a problem but your triglycerides are weird, nope, now its your thyroid. No wait…. DIABETES!
It stayed like that for almost six years now, and over 100 lbs this time. On a scale of 1 to 10, I was sitting at 11 in misery. Of course, over those 6 years I felt like cooking very little, drive-throughs often providing our only major meals. This pleased Spawn, but not me. Crap makes you feel like crap, but I wanted hot meals and had no desire to make anything. I could stare at a full fridge and could not come up with a single thing to make. I felt like I was dead.
I still pretty much feel dead, maybe a zombie walker? My last visit we talked while I was getting checked out for a sinus infection (before the nurse told me to bend over). Cooking at home is now outweighing how much we grab. “Grabbing” dinner involves salads and lean meals at least half the time when I can find places that serve good food. I’m beginning to feel like I am at 8, sometimes 7 on good days. I’d lost 10 lbs… but in 3 months. It only took 6 months for that 100+ lbs to slam itself on and at that point, I was sleeping more than I was doing anything else. I even slowly weaned myself off the anti-depressant to see if maybe I wasn’t having some weird reaction to them.
So I’m at the point where I’m considering gastric bypass. I feel like I will continue to lose this battle with my own body unless I do something drastic. I have no intention of losing the war. I just need better artillery and the older I get, the harder this battle is getting.
I have read something about transfer addiction, and I used to think I had an addictive personality, but when I’ve set my mind to toss something out, I don’t go back. Chantix starts you out with 3 months, I quit in one, I kept another week of the pills to help with situations of temptation and donated the rest to a fellow smoker looking to quit. I’ve never looked back. I felt pretty smug sitting at an outdoor table with a pack of chain smokers with no desire to join them. I knew then I was done for good.
If I get my emotional brain to shut up, my logical brain tells me “remember that time you refused to drop the calculus class with the Russian professor you could never understand? It’s like that and it’s time to ask for help.”
Have you guys ever considered or done anything this drastic? I know I’m tired of just existing and now that Spawn is older, this is not at all the way I want them to remember me. I want to go on trips now, to experience now, to live NOW. Six years was too much already.
Both Spawn and I are spring babies. You’d think with the prospect of cake twice in such close proximity would actually make this a rather happy period. It doesn’t.
Unfortunately, if you look outside right now, which here is about 70 degrees with a bright sun, cool wind and the most picturesque view of Spring in all its glory, since the lilacs are just barely beginning to fade and the honeysuckle is slowly rearing its head, scent first. It’s the kind of shit southern writers moon over in books for several pages.
What we see, however, is a massive plant orgy spraying their yellow sex juice all over the damn planet and bees as their little sperm pimps and it renders us into hacking, squinting, snot factories.
So the first day of Spring, Spawn and I were holed up like a pair of refugees. It took a great deal of effort for us to force ourselves out the door to go to our usual breakfast hole. Even worse when Spawn’s early-rising, unmedicated ADHD bestie came with us and blew sunshine up our snotty asses. They love hanging out with us, as much as it confuses me.
I always suspect we are more like anti-social, hermit bears. For someone to willingly want to be in our den and even fiercely refuse to leave, boggles my mind. We grumped about how the bright ass sun was too much for our watery eyes and made us sneeze, and how every time we inhaled it felt like it contained chunks from all the pollen.
I even broke down and ran the car through the super car wash. The last time I used a car wash was when I bought the car, in 2006. There were still the big rollers in them then.
Thankfully, Spawn was fine in a few days when the allergy meds started kicking in. I ended up at the doctor’s after two weeks of sinus spray being my only method of breathing. Any time anything bugs my sinuses, I tend to get a sinus infection about 98% of the time.
They also asked if I would like a shot of steroids for my sinuses. I’ve never had this before, but I’m so desperate to breath without the help of a spray, that I accepted gladly. Then she asks:
“You want to do this standing up, bent over, or lying down?”
I snorted, couldn’t resist asking what kind of “shot” (air quotes) this was.
Apparently, not the fun kind. I got a sore ass and a Bugs Bunny bandaid…. so totally worth it.
Fuck you, Spring.
Keep in mind Jane’s ex-hubby not only had an affair with a much younger woman, but to avoid having sex with her before he told her about the affair he made some pretty damaging remarks. He said things that left her feeling like their sex life had become boring. Hence the whole stripper pole fiasco. Then having to use the walker while she was healing from her outer injury only added insult to her inner injuries. Even though it seems like ages ago since all hell broke loose, it’s only been a little over three months.
Jane is no slouch in the looks department. Not to mention that out of our little group she’s the only one who still wheres the same size she wore when she married the ex-hubby. The problem here is not an outer body issue, it’s an inner thinking one. You couple that with the fact that the last time she had sex with Tarzan she was 19 years old. To quote Jane “Things have changed a lot since the last time he saw me naked.”
I reminded her that Tarzan was probably having the same thoughts about himself. Then Jane looks up smiling at me like the cat that swallowed the canary, and says “Not so much.” I felt my eyebrows lift as I told her to fill in the blanks I was obviously not aware of regarding Tarzan. Smiling even bigger now Jane informs me that Tarzan is pretty much a nudist. She went further to say that he rarely wears clothing except when he’s out in public.
Of course my next question was so how much has changed since he was 19? Smiling even bigger now she tells me very little. I teased her about her new juicy little secret life, but I could still see her wheels spinning inside her pretty little head. I felt her apprehension, her self doubt, and I found myself feeling pretty angry towards the Ex…
I really fucking hate my job. I’m really irritated with my life in general right now. At the back of my mind, I am constantly also telling myself that being able to brood about trivial matters like this is something I should be thankful for, since, as we all know, everything could always be so much worse.
So why is it when I’m most in need of venting about all the shit I’m wanting to rage about, I hole up like a dead barnacle and go radio silent?
Short answer is, I don’t know.
I suspect there is a deep-seeded element that tells me it’s impolite to bitch as often as I have been and I should shut up until I have something more pleasant to say or decide to disclose a humorous moment of my own ridiculousness rather than the trite bullshit I have going on currently. But then I argue again that doing so defeats the entire purpose of raw honesty. That not disclosing my internal struggle goes against the very fabric of this blog, the desire for betterment and peace through unbridled discussion. I’m also a firm believer of karma and feel like putting all the negative shit I’m dealing with in my mind out in the open is somehow creating a surplus of the negative and it will just come back on me tenfold. Then I double back and think that purging the negative is part of the cleansing process and I’m merely breeding new bile by remaining silent.
I’ve got a lot of personalities in my head that just need to shut the fuck up. It staggers me the ability I have to argue myself into absolute circles. Dogs chasing their own ass give up faster than I do. It’s no wonder I’m usually rendered completely immobile whenever I must come to a decision about something in my life. And usually, it seems, no matter what choice I make… it usually works out badly.
Ironically, I am wonderfully proactive and downright pushy when it’s someone else. Why am I like that? I can see the steps to their goals so easily. Three steps this way, one dodge to the left, a trot up and voila.
However when it comes to my own issues, I’m more like:
When I’m trying to figure out the steps to get to where I feel would be a better direction, it always seems to work like:
I know I’m not the only one who has ever felt this way, which is most of the reason I figure I shouldn’t bother people with it. My god, what a fucking idiot I am! Now I have a headache too… wait a sec…
Ok. it’s amazing when you can make a snack out of ibuprofen and zantac.
Let’s get on with it… I’ve been doing pretty much the same essential job type for well over ten years. It’s boring but I’m good at it and it’s the type of job that is needed at just about any mid to large company in some form. It’s your typical 8-5 (when dafuq has it ever been 9, Dolly, when!?). Usually, my job doesn’t bother me. For the peace of mind of a steady paycheck, I go in every day, do my shit and leave. However, I’ve only been with this particular company a couple years. At first, it was good environment-wise, although the benefits are pretty bad. The people I was exposed to were all really awesome and everyone was on their first date behavior. Over time, a few of those outside of my department are showing more and more that they are merely adult-sized children. They accuse my department of incompetence or of just flat-out refusing to do our jobs and when they don’t get the answer they want, they find someone over our heads to complain to in order to make things go their way. Personally, I’ve like to give them all pacifiers this Christmas and toss them in front of a bus.
This company has no value… actually it has negative value. Yes, its making money but it would take just one big lawsuit and the doors would have to shut. I’m not allowed to tell anyone that. When the economy crashed several years ago, my company made deals with every devil that could get them another week of payroll and electricity to stay running. This is the mess that my department has to resolve, without discussing it with anyone outside our department because it would hurt morale.
What about my morale? I find myself wishing for that one big lawsuit to close the doors for good because that is the only thing that brings a smile to my face.
I spend half of my day dealing with people we cannot pay right now, comforting them, assuring them, giving them timeframes and making promises… only to be told I don’t communicate enough, usually by people who aren’t my fucking boss nor in my department, but for some reason I’m supposed to give a shit about their opinion. Their behavior is unfortunately rewarded, so the cycle continues.
I was hired to do quite a lot more than I am currently able to do, because “to communicate more” means I have to take from everything else… even staying late and bringing in Spawn to sometimes help, for free, with the remedial bullshit isn’t helping. When I asked if we could maybe interview a kid I knew as a summer helper, I was redirected to the owner’s useless kid, who the last time was there to help us, worked a solid hour and 45 minutes over three months and spent most of it on their phone.
It finally dawned on me that the only reason I’m really here is to play the punching bag. Much like we vote for a president to take the vast array of PR shit the House and Congress are pulling, I’m the face given for my co-workers to toss pies at in order to feel like they’re effective badasses.
And I cannot do a damn thing about it.
My savings was sucked dry by a car that is getting old and needing more and more work and a piece of shit service guy who couldn’t do his job, over several visits. Spawn is staying home for much of the summer because I just didn’t have it to spend as much on their summer program.
My home is a dump and I often look over my cleaning supplies and wonder what combination might make the whole lot go up in flames.
I want to move.
Can’t afford that either.
I’ve also been throwing money away by just renting these past ten years or so. I could have had a house 1/3 paid off. It just doesn’t end the idiocy I cause in my own life.
I rent because I don’t want to stay in this state. I can’t afford to move. I’m ready to hock, sell, smash or donate most of the stuff in my house. I can feel myself itching to just take off, knowing fucking well that… based on past experience… I will break down in the middle of nowhere with nothing to bail myself out on.
I want to own a coffee shop, preferably one I can live above because I’m just that fucking lazy.
I want to be on the west coast.
I want to dictate my own fucking hours, and make shit that people buy.
I don’t want to be beholden solely on a shitty company for my personal well-being.
And the more I have one soul-crushing birthday weigh in after another, I am constantly reminded of how little I have done with my life, how much potential I will never regain, how meaningless the years have been, how little I’ve put out in the world that I’m proud of outside of my kid… in fact, that’s it.
Then I wonder what the fuck I’m bitching about.
Just to set the time a little, this all occurred before Jenner came out about his(her?) transition, or about the many hundreds of articles featuring trans people that have become more commonplace lately… or perhaps I’m just more tuned in because of it. I leave it as a raw first reaction of an outsider looking in to something completely new and my evolving thought process once I digested it.
A friend of mine I hadn’t talked to in a while popped back up on social media. The last time we talked was some six or more years ago when we were both finishing up degrees and then we just got busy and lost touch. Normal stuff. I was happy to hear from him and asked what had been going on. Saw some recent pics of him, and honestly would not have known it was him if he hadn’t told me. He used to be thicker, seemed taller, bigger or something. We kind of chatted about pointless bullshit and said our farewells for the evening.
Years ago when we’d last spoken, he went off to do great things with law and politics. His life seemed to be everything he wanted.
A few days later, I get a pm asking if I am around and if I can keep a secret. I am even writing about this long before posting it to give him the time he needs to do what he needs to do so my promise has been kept until after he has disclosed his intentions to those around him. Not like it matters, we never did run in the same circle much. I suppose I write because I need to. I’ve been thrust into a situation I have 0 skill or knowledge and need to verbalize the stuff that I dare not to my friend or that he tried in the best way he could and I still ended up confused.
He tells me, “I have always been a woman.”
I haven’t a fucking clue what he’s on about and think he’s trying to punk me. I asked if he meant he had been reassigned as a kid either due to malformation or something. He says no, he has just always been a woman even though he was biologically born with XY and a penis. I’m hanging onto the literal words thinking dangly bits = boy, no dangly bits = girl… how the fuck could that be any simpler? As long as I’ve known him, he hasn’t been prone to wearing women’s clothes and I doubt he could identify 10 things in a woman’s makeup bag either so the local Drag scene has never been a part of his routine. We usually bullshit about Star Wars/Trek and other geek-speak, he’s hot for Xena. He always came across as the type of person who would have been shoved in a locker as a child, if he hadn’t grown so much taller than his peers.
At this point, I’m still bloody confused. I am trying to figure out how a genetic female could have XY chromosomes and a penis and why hasn’t this been plastered all over the news by now. I ask if he mean hermaphroditism, he says “no, that’s inter-sex”. I asked if inter-sex was like the female runner who ended being disqualified when they discovered a penis during her physical (she herself did not know about it), he said yes. I’m still confused how this applies to him.
Then he asks if I’ve ever heard of transgender.
It finally hits me… he was born a boy. Physically he is all boy and just FELT it was all wrong. Word of advice for the lunkheads like me…. walk us through it like we’re two, we’ll get there eventually.
Considering he’s about my age or maybe sliding up the curve of the hill well in view of the downward slope, I asked how long he’d felt this way. He said he had always felt this way. I wanted to ask why he hadn’t done anything about it before now, but I was blundering pretty badly in uncharted territory and I’m wondering if most of what I asked was in some way offensive. I was clear about my ignorance, but told him that my questions were truly to understand. I am curious about his motivations, wondering why he didn’t move towards this in college at least where, when he reached the workplace, he would already be known as what he really wanted and not be having to risk everything to do it in the middle of his career. A career he truly loves.
Thinking about it though, it is finally at this age that I truly couldn’t give a flying fuck what anyone had to say about anything I’d want to do. I was mostly like this as a teen too, but I was kind of weird in that way. The older I get, the less I give a shit about other people’s opinions. There was at least a minute amount of me then that didn’t want to be hassled about my choices and now, I’m brilliant about going deaf if someone tries. Perhaps, this was just the perfect time for my friend to act on the choice he has wanted to make as a child but just didn’t have the internal strength to do so.
I have a problem or two with it, but probably not in how you might be thinking.
1. I think it would kill me if Spawn came to me at middle age and told me they always wanted to be the opposite gender of what they had been born. It’s for the stupidest and most petty of reasons. Since that kid came into my life, I see nothing but perfection. To mar that, to want to change that, would confuse me. Not only that, considering how close Spawn and I are… it would also kill me to have never seen that longing in them as a child and have it revealed only in adulthood. The subtext tells me I wasn’t trustworthy enough to show that side, those concerns and desires or I was too stupid and blind to see it. Like I said, completely petty.
2. I asked if his parents were supportive and he said hasn’t been in touch with them since he was a kid. Apparently, there is a lot of darkness and issues there, as he is a very reasonable and laid back type of person. It made me sad for him. It kills me that he doesn’t have the family support he should for this journey. He has supportive friends, some of which are even co-workers, but its still not family. I only hope they are close enough that the distinction is truly irrelevant.
3. I fear for his life, his safety, and his livelihood. I have read all too many articles where transgender end up intensely beaten, usually by their partners, when their secret is discovered or divulged. My friend will be informing his very conservative workplace before it happens. He’s not a fan of weapons, but I begged him to at least start carrying mace, even learning some self-defense techniques would be good. Not only was he diving into the territory of being a woman and being constantly on edge, aware of their surroundings, and changing routines regularly, but he would need to be doubly so if he wanted to be open about being transgender.
I’ve only twice ever heard mention of transgender in my own workplaces of the past, but always in the past tense. When I’ve asked why they are no longer with the company, I get sideways glances that always say “duh, how stupid can you be?” and they clam up. I know there are some laws that are in place to protect discrimination for the most part, but it is intensely hard to prove no matter how obvious.
Does any of this mean I would prefer he didn’t do it for his own good? No, I just wish I had the power of foresight so I could help him navigate it without a hitch. Not logical at all, but doesn’t make me wish it any less so.
Then there is my own confusion. From a personal perspective, I really don’t get it. I understand the words, but when I try to put myself in that situation (as this is how I often try to see other perspectives) there is a massive wall for me. I identify very strongly with my gender, and I identify very strongly as a hetero. It’s not that I’m close-minded to those who aren’t, I even understand that sexuality is a constantly evolving process and something you like now, you may not like later (Baxter-Burney, Brando, McGillis, or Turner anyone?). There are even people who have identified as one way only to fall in love with someone who completely falls outside of that category. I get it all in theory, but it has never been a factor in me.
I’m pretty rooted. My gender is so much a part of my person that I completely sucked at AD&D even. I couldn’t role-play for shit because I cannot get out of my own head and internal dialogue, so all of my characters were all very much like myself. I’m sure it was boring for everyone who played with me more than once. I didn’t volunteer for drama either unless I could just do set design, I would have been much like the pigeonhole actor who can only do one type of character… me.
Does he feel like a lesbian, bi or a hetero woman in a man’s body? He said that he had already started on hormone therapy and had started growing breasts which were becoming difficult to hide in his suit at work.
In my partying days of youth and after copious amounts of alcohol. I nearly crossed the gender fence once to see if there was any potential interest… didn’t get far before that was a big fucking pile of nope and I was out and halfway across town. I’m open-minded about what other people do, but I found out quickly that I was set in my ways about some things for myself and thus far that hasn’t changed.
Last I heard he was living with his girlfriend, how is she feeling about all this? I wanted to ask, but it truly wasn’t any of my business. Where does this position her sexuality if she sticks with him and if she comfortable with it? Does she feel like a traitor if she isn’t ok? He plans on going for full reassignment, and he’s found someone he trusts to do it, but where does that leave her? I’m thrilled for him if she is supportive, but it does make me wonder how she can do it.
If I was in a relationship and my partner tells me they want to be reassigned to another gender, for me, a big key ingredient that has made the person I love who they are is being removed and replaced with someone entirely different. It’s not just a haircut, lasix, botox (minor), lipo (minor) or any of the other (minor) adjustments (i.e. not Mickey Rourke or Jocelyn Wildenstein… that is just monstrous). It’s more like “Oh your mate was a woman, but we didn’t have anymore girl dolls, so we stuffed most of her insides into a boy doll and they prefer it this way. No biggie right?” It may be shallow but it would make it pretty unbearable for me. I would not know them anymore, the person who didn’t like the meatsack they had and felt the need to completely switch it around didn’t exist before they told me and acted on it, so again… I don’t know them or I would have known that too, no?
So maybe that is the entire point. If I knew this about them in the beginning and they become my partner through it, it would be different. But having it dropped on me out of the blue? No, I don’t think I could linger. It would feel like being introduced to a stranger and mourning someone who used to be but didn’t really exist.
I would sincerely wish them the best, but it would not be something I could stay in a relationship through as it would feel like all of it up to that point had been a lie, as though they had been starring in a play but forgot to tell me I was just a part of the fiction. I don’t assume actors are anything like their on-screen personas, inversely, I would like those close to me in life to not be acting a part, even if they think doing so makes me happy.
As a friend, whatever he wants that will make him happy is what I will root for. He knows he has a long road ahead of himself and it will be hard, but he desires it in spite of it. If that is his dream, then he should have it and I hope in spite of my ignorance I can be a decent avenue of support for him should he need it.
I’m still not calling him “she” until 1. the dangly bits are gone OR 2. he actually dresses in full feminine attire (as proper Drag Queens are, of course, “ladies”). I like being literal, it helps me understand and differentiate… we briefly argued about “dude, then you weren’t born a woman, you were born feeling like you should have been, that’s different.” but he wouldn’t deviate from the statement above. I’m not sure if that is a counseling thing to help him identify more thoroughly during the transition, but it makes it terribly confusing for people like me who are completely stupid about it and need small words and concepts to grasp the meaning behind it.
Hmm, I really want footage the first time he tries to apply makeup though. 🙂
I’m going to leave all of that there since at the time, it was my honest take on something I didn’t have much exposure to and I felt addressing questions that should NEVER be asked of someone I know to this forum since, well, I’m just letting my thoughts run. If anything, maybe it will help those transgender know what the rest of us are thinking. We are stumbling the fuck over offensive thoughts, but we are truly trying to get it.
My friend made the announcement some time back and has removed all pictures of herself from before the “unveiling.” I am seeing more confidence and fierceness in her posts and it feels like I’m meeting a facet about her that has been nonexistent until now. She sounds happy, a lot happier than I have ever seen.
I read something not too long after I wrote this that explained a lot about what I wasn’t getting and right now I cannot remember if it was twitter or tumblr but they said something to the effect that transgender is “being one gender, but looking so much like the other you’re forced to pretend that’s what you are.”
At first, I read that and said “huh?” but then I came back and stared at it and put myself in that spot in this scenario. I know my gender deep in my soul, but what if I just had all the looks of the opposite sex… so much so that those around me and their reaction to my appearance were causing me to have to play a role I wasn’t comfortable being in, hated being in.
Ok, now I get it. I’m still stumbling over dumb bullshit because I’m too damn curious for my own in so many ways but at least I do understand my friend. She has always been a woman. Finally after pretending for all of her life, she doesn’t have to pretend anymore and that alone is cause for celebration and sad that she has had to wait so long just to be herself.
In the south of the US, you get probably …hmmmm, maybe 2 months of Spring if you’re lucky. You have to plant shit really fast when the cold breaks so it will hopefully root before the ungodly butthole of Hades can make itself known and burn the shit out of everything.
Needless to say, I kill everything I touch… including two aloe plants… yes, I’m aware they are a member of the cacti family and are near impossible to kill. If I only had similar powers when it came to stupid people… or any natural born American who drives in the left-lane, slower than everyone the hell around them.
The past couple of days have been very obviously Summer making its mark. I wake up slightly sticky even in the cold A/C and an overwhelming sense of dread, so it must be Summer.
It means my energy bill will be going up as well, since like I tell the people at the power company…”It’s the South… in the SUMMER, telling me to raise the thermostat to save money defeats the entire purpose of having air conditioning in the first place, so how about get better advice then ‘be miserable,’ will you?”
They weren’t amused.
I was inquiring about solar panels, if that was something they had any expertise on or advice on where to look in my area, how easy to install, how expensive, how much personal trouble to maintain.
If they didn’t cost much, were portable, easy to install; even a savings of 10% would be epic, especially in the swamp funk of the south and its abysmal heat. (if any of you gents/ladies have some experience with solar panels as well, would love to hear it).
I’m convinced the power company was being allusive intentionally to block me from even remedially escaping from their corporate regime. Down with the man!
My ideal temperature is 69 degrees Fahrenheit. Yes, I’m well aware of how amusing that is, I’m giggling like a child as I type this.
I would love to move back to the west side of the country, up high where it doesn’t get the type of heat that exists in the South. Even being born here, I have never really gotten used to it. I’m hoping no one minds when I refuse to do anything that would cause me to have to be outside for longer than it would take to get from car to building/domicile or anything between 6am (*snort* like I would wake up that early) and 8pm.
Why can’t I just commute from home for the next 4+ months… I could drop stuff off about midnight, pick more up. That would be perfect! Then I could totally claim computer stuff as work expenses on my taxes this year, right? …. right?
I hate Summer.