Saturday, 10 April 1999 (momentum)
Sara should be here in a few hours, and the apartment's a mess. It was messy last time she was here, but that was just for a few minutes. We'll be relaxing for a while and watching Star Trek (turns out she's a huge fan and has missed most of this season) before actually getting ready and going to Bound. That's the plan, anyway.
We did see Saving Private Ryan in Berkeley last night. She liked it, and I was surprised I found it far less harrowing the second time through. Afterwards we went to Belladonna Arcana and did some clothes shopping (didn't buy anything), then drove into SF. It was past midnight by then, and we were both quite bushed, so we gave Lilith a miss. She dropped me off and drove home.
I was sick the whole time, of course. The movie probably would have made me cry, except my nose was demanding all the attention. I'm doing a little better today, at least. I've rested, or tried to, been drinking a lot of water and even taking cold medicine. Whatever works. I even took a hot bath, The Ex's suggestion from last night. Gave me a chance to shave my legs, which I haven't gone in some time. Nobody's gotten a close look at my legs recently and isn't likely to happen any time soon, but it's nice to fight back the body hair whenver possible.
The Ex is gone until at least tomorrow if not Monday, which only really means that Sara can hang out here without here without there being any tension. (Though I suspect The Ex will like her.) I don't think anything more will come of iteven if she wanted to spend the night, and I have no reason to assume she does, I'm still under the weather.
Looks like I'm going to Fresno next weekend to see my mom. When I told Sara, it looked like her face registered just the smallest amount of disappointment. Maybe not. Seems hard to believe.
Okay. Gotta clean this place.
Friday, 9 April 1999 (universal constant)
My body hates me.
Either that or it's my brain, and it's using my body against me.
Each theory is plausible, and both boil down to one thing: I'm getting sick.
This is only happening because of the timing involved. If I didn't seem to be getting involved with Sara, no doubt I'd still be fit as the proverbial fiddle. Instead, my throat is starting to hurt and my nose is running. And since insult always like to bring its friends along, I've got a fairly nasty well, let's just say I've been using a lot of Orajel over the last few days, and it hurts when I chew.
Yeah, I know, this is exactly the season for this sort of thing, particularly when winter seems to be holding on as tight as it has been. But goddamnit, it's not fair. I've been getting lots of sleep and ingesting copious amounts of vitamin c and water and my usual healthy-type stuff. I'm trying my best.
And I'm marching onwards. Sara and I are in fact going to see Saving Private Ryan
tonight (the first movie The Ex and I went to together was Henry V, suggesting I don't really understand the concept of
the "date movie") and will probably go to Shrine afterwards if we're not catatonic by that
point. Plus tickets have been bought for Bound tomorrow night, and I'm going to Fresno
next weekend. No way am I backing down now.
Thursday, 8 April 1999 (no points for honesty)
Blech. Just got out of a meeting. At least it was in the morning, meaning I had a fighting chance of staying awake. That's just the way I'm wired. It makes no sense for me to be a morning person, but there it is.
Anyway, while idly flipping through the notebook I've been using for my last three jobs (I apparently don't take a lot of notes), I came across this. I scribbled this down during an equally boring meeting at another company on October 7, 1997, right around the time that Louise was getting ready to move. She hadn't actually left, but she'd already cut me off.
So I wrote my mother.
Date: Thu, 8 Apr 1999 10:38:46 -0700 (PDT)
I'm sure it could have been phrased better, and it's questionable why I'm even asking her at all. Maybe I'm just looking for an excuse not to go, because I'm not sure I want to. In any event, the ball's in her court.
If I do go, it raises that question which is growing more and more important all the time and is only getting harder to answer: what will I wear?
It sounds facetious, but it isn't. Do I go see her in full girl mode? No, that would be be too much. So jeans and t-shirt, at least. Possibly the blouse I've been wearing out lately; it's essentially a t-shirt, but cut sufficiently different as to emphasize curves. Which would probably be too much, as well.
So what wouldn't be? Most comforting to her would be total boi modeno makeup at all, hair tied back in standard issue masculine back-of-the-neck ponytail, and preferably my bangs brushed back.
No. Can't do it. It wouldn't necessarily do her any favors anyhow; going easy on her is one thing, but false hopes aren't right.
Eyeliner, at the very least, is a given. Being the good little spooky kid I am, I don't even leave the house without it unless I'm going to the gym. Seriously, at this point I consider it a crucial element to my basic appearance. Even when my face was getting zapped and I couldn't have looked more horrid. "Even?" Particularly then.
Maybe but not necessarily a little foundation to smooth out my complexion. Then again, a close shave might do the trick in this case; yeah, my shadow's come back, particularly on the upper lip, but even I have to admit that it's nowhere near as bad as it was before. Seeing as how I resent its presence to begin with, naturally any visibility at all is a bad thing to me. My mother, on the other hand, if she picks up on anything is more likely to pick up on what isn't there.
(Sara commented the other night that she couldn't see it at all, and in fact never had; of course, she's only seen me made up and in dim light. *sigh* Which naturally gets me to worrying about what she'll think when she does finally see it becuase I can't be GAFfed out all the time, but I shouldn't sweat it. She knows its there, and doesn't seem to object. Even if I could manage itand I ain't nearly that good yetthere's no subterfuge going on with her.)
Then, of course, the hair. I might have mentioned at one point or another that she doesn't like my hair in its current basic state, i.e. the picture above. The simple masculine ponytail is not an option. A ponytail at the top of my head (with what The Ex calls my "signature" strands of hair on either side of my face) is a possibility, although she once forbade me from wearing it like that when we went out. (Then there was that xmas some years ago, pre-bangs and natural haircolor, when my nieces's mother was coming to pick them up and my mom begged me to tie my hair back so the sister-in-law's redneck boyfriend wouldn't see the length. I've never forgiven myself for caving in.) She's seen it in an early version of the pigtails, before I'd really figured out how to make them work, and naturally she didn't like that one bit either.
To hell with itI'm just going to wear it however feels comfortable at the moment, and frankly, I can never tell until the moment arrives. The past few days I've been wearing it down more often than not, and for all I know next week it'll be up in pigtails constantly. Depends on my mood.
My observation has been that her generation equates transgenderism with perversion. My generation isn't a whole hell of a lot better, but I'm still extremely glad I was born when I was.
I know she has the worst thoughts and visions in her mind about what I'm
doing and what I'm becoming, based on a limited and largely skewed (pardon
the word) knowledge of the subject. Surely drugs and promiscuity and AIDS
and eternal hellfire for my sins can't be far behind for me. I guess I want
to convince her somehow that's not the case.
Date: Thu, 08 Apr 1999 16:06:54 +0000
Can't ask for a better reaction than that, now can I?
For some reason, I'm attempting to expand my sphere of exhibitionism via other webrings. (I don't get it, either.) They should be up and running in a few days.
Well she dances alone in nightclubs
Sara and I didn't actually come across one another until about midnight, though we'd both been there for a while. Roderick's is the kind of place where it's quite easy to lose track of someone, and even moreso to hide if you're so inclined. Naturally, I had already started getting paranoid that she wasn't going to show at all.
We went into the bar area and she introduced me to one of her friends, another tranny. Although "drag queen" is probably a slighly more apt term, at least compared to me. In spite of the pale makeup and pigtails, my image is fairly low-key, certainly within goth terms. Sure, at 6' I'm hard to miss and there ain't a damn thing I can do about it, but I don't think I call any more attention to myself than is necessary.
So we were at the bar when she said, apropos of nothing, "I think you should know, I sort of a have a semi-boyfriend." Oh. Of course, of course, of course. Of course she does. Last time I checked, that's how the world operates.
My initial reaction to these things tends to be mild at best, along the lines of a (stereo)typical gen-x shrug and "Whatever." Even when I saw Lee and Summer together that first time, it took a couple hours for the meaning to really sink in and drag me down.
In this case, I nodded. There wasn't much else I could do. Ohwellwhatevernevermind.
Drinks in hand (long island iced tea for her, orange juice for me) we retreated to a corner where we could actually hear ourselves think, or at least speak.
In essence, we compared notes, discussing our recent relationships (she was more or less in the process of breaking up, and with very good reason), how we're both using self-expression as a means of coping with the emotions, and are trying to get out as much as possible to compensate for not having done so for so many years. And this scene was the direction we'd both chosen.
It was difficult coming up with sufficient variations on "I know how you feel," because frequently it was true; I did identify with her feelings on many levels. It was quite obvious we had a lot in common.
Except for one possibly crucial element: the need to be alone for awhile. She hinted at this strongly, even if her actions of late suggested otherwise. After all, going out the last couple times had been her idea.
In any event, it wasn't something I'd really felt at all. Indeed, I'd been craving human contact of most any form since The Ex and I broke up. Not necessarily jumping into another relationship per se (my brief delusions about Summer notwithstanding), but just someone to be with. Companionship. Perhaps even a little intimacy...something which had been lacking from my relationship with The Ex long before I even seriously considered breaking up with her (since at least as far as back when *she* was talking about the possibility of us breaking up, but there's no point in quibbling over the little details).
The person she was with before was very different from me, to put it mildly, and any further relationship that might develop would be very different from the one which came before. For both of us. If such a thing occurs, and there's no guarantee that it will.
She may not know just what she wants, which (here we go again) I can identify with. I'm frequently unsure myself. Either that, or I know what I want and I'm afraid to admit it.
We didn't actually do any dancing until about 2:30am; it was not Roderick's best night playlist-wise. We walked around a lot, exploring the still-mysterious geography of the massive club. And I did finally officially meet Fernando, who runs Shrine. Very nice guy.
It was nice to discover that politically, Sara and I are on essentially the same wavelength, particularly as it applied to the culture waiting outside the club's doors and the war its government was waging. Except for one poor girl with a brother in the Navy, I don't think I know anyone whose disgust with the whole situation hasn't caused them to tune it out entirely.
There is currently no duty more pressing in the scene than to see The Matrix, preferably twice. (Perki was shocked last Friday that I hadn't already seen it; after all, it had been open for three days by then.) Sara had naturally already seen it but was willing to see it again, so we made tentative plans to do so. Forunately I'm actually interested in the movie.
She reminded me about seeing the movie together as we said our goodbyes at her car. Enthusiasm. That's something which I'm not sure I've experienced for a while, somebody being excited about something. Or, more specifically, about doing something with me. The feeling of being wanted on some level, of my presence being desired rather than simply accepted or tolerated. And not simply as a piece of meat, which is what it boils down to at Trannyshack.
So we'll just keep ambling along, I guess. And see what happens. Probably a movie
on ThursdaySaving Private Ryan rather than The Matrix (which ain't
goin' anywhere too soon), since she
hasn't seen it and I think I'm just about ready to again. Should be particularly
interesting considering the reshuffling my emotional responses have gone through since
the first time. Lilith on Friday as always (I'll definitely be there whether she is or
not), Bound on Saturday...and, you know, whatever else occurs in the future.
Tuesday, 6 April 1999 (lookin' out forever)
It would appear to be in the "expensive toy" category. Still, though...
I'm almost certainly going to Roderick's tonight, although Sara's still undecided. She'll be calling tonight to let me know one way or the other.
The Slimming Effect. Ooooh, I like it.
Unfortunately, this can lead into nostalgia, which I've never trusted. Romanticizing the past is dangerous at best; it's never as rosy as you might remember, though I suppose it can sometimes be worse.
All the same, I think I've figured out the last time I was really happy.
It's a period my mind keeps going back to, anyway. It was all just perfect somehow. Even when things sucked, and they frequently did, it was still wonderful. Maybe it didn't seem that way at the time, but now in retrospector looking back in nostalgia, if you'd preferit was.
Maybe it's because shortly thereafter I entered a very very dark period, the worst nine months of my life, some stuff I'm still not entirely sure I recovered from. At the very least, it changed me in very profound ways. Whether it was good or bad is almost irrelevant. It happened, and if it hadn't happened I might not be where I am at this exact moment, and there's no reason to assume that I'd be in a better place now.
January through August, 1994. Just before I moved to San Francisco. The Ex and I lived together in an apartment in Fresno's Tower District, about as close to a boho area as that shitty little burg had to offer.
The Ex had been trying to get me to move in with her for at least a year by that point, and I finally gave in. (Truth be known, by that point she was already talking marriage, which I couldn't begin to consider.) In a very important way, the timing couldn't have been worse: I was moving to San Francisco in August to go to SFSU, and I needed to save money. In fact, although my mother had been charging me rent for a couple years by thenI was twenty, mind youshe was now giving me a hell a great deal. Rather than paying her rent per se, I'd instead put the money into my savings account for I'd have a grand or two when I moved to SF. Not a bad deal at all.
I realize I've made it sound like my mother has a long history of disapproving of everything I do, but in truth this was one of the first times she really seriously objected to my actions. She even accused me of thinking with my dick, the first and last time anybody's ever done that.
There was a certain empty-nest element, of course, since she was 53 and had never ever lived alone, but she raised the valid practical concerns, too. I needed to save money. Period.
And The Ex needed to live with me, at least for a short time, before I moved away from Fresno for good. There was no telling when we'd get the opportunity again, since her school plans involved staying in Fresno for at least another couple years then transferring to UC Santa Cruz. (It didn't happen that way at all.)
So, against all logic, my cat Mary and I moved in with The Ex.
I know I can't trust my memory. It's been colored by too many things, events and people and places I couldn't have even begun to suspect existed at the time but are now a part of my life forever. Perhaps like Bill Pullman's character in Lost Highway, I like to remember things my own way, not necessarily the way they happened.
As I remember it in my own way, it was perfect. If I could relive any time in my life (not to change things, but just to re-experience), that would be it.
Even in spite of all the stress, and there was a lot of it, mostly involving my imminent move to San Francisco. The Ex was taking it particularly hard; by May or June she started smoking (a habit she kicked over a year ago, then resumed recently after the breakup), and the night before I moved she seemed nearly catatonic.
All the same, I realize now it was the happiest time in my life. I think the same might hold true for The Ex as well. We were never closer, not even when she came to SF and we moved into an apartment half the size.
As these things usually are, it was completely ephemeral. What passed for my social life at the time (and, really, I wasn't doing so bad) is now gone; the video store me and my friends worked at was gobbled up by an evil chain, and I wasn't the only one who moved away from Fresno. All those elements can never again converge. My best friend at the time, whom I made the mistake of introducing to acid (I can handle it; he couldn't) has been hiding from me for the last few years because of some money he thinks he owes me.
When I indignantly write my mother and say that I'm happier now than I've ever been and my friends are amongst the best I've ever had, it's completely true. For what I know now, for how much I've grown in the five years since, I'm very happy and have never been more so.
It ain't likely to come close to that time, though.
Shortly thereafterright about when The Ex drove back to Fresno from SF the first day, probably crying the whole waythings went bad. Extremely bad. And brought me to where I am now.
Monday, 5 April 1999 (final hurrah)
So. Anyway. Saturday night. We ended up at Masquerade after all, the "party" being something of a bust.
...okay, fuck it, I'm going to leap straight into overthinking. The evening was about, among other things, seeing how we worked together. And I thought we did very well, more so than I ever had with Tiff. My tendency to lurk or hover wasn't nearly as pronounced; I felt very comfortable right at her side. *shrug* The height factor may have something to do with that. I cannot emphasize enough how important it is, at least as far as superficial details go.
A less superficial detail (perhaps one of the most significant) is a sense of humor. She gets mine and I get hers.
We seem to be at the "oh we should do this together sometime" phase. Which doesn't mean a whole hell of a lot, I suppose, since I went through it with both Summer and Tiff. At the moment it's mainly clubbing: Roderick's tomorrow, Bound this next Saturday (invitations hand-delivered by Athena, no less) and G-Spot the following weekend. But that's not a bad start.
Though I do realize it is just barely a start. We've known each other for eleven days now. If there's a
surface it has bears only the lightest of scratches, and as always it could all come crashing down at any time.
Then again, she might just consider it to be an expensive toy. Y'know what? That's okay, too.
I also dropped Tiff a note to let her know I finally saw October Sky and loved it. We'd planned on going to see it together, but alas...
Sunday, 4 April 1999 (self-defense)
My mother has broken up with her boyfriend, whom I have never liked and has always represented what I consider to be the worst qualities of masculinity.
If there's a connection to me, I'm unaware of it as yet, though I always suspected my coming out might destroy their already fragile relationship. He's simply not capable of giving her the emotional support she needs at a time like this, and has very possibly said unkind things about me which she wouldn't stand for. Certainly he seems like he may well have kicked a few queer asses in his time.
According to my brother, one of things my mom's most upset about is how poorly I came out to her, that I did it all wrong. *sigh* The Ex felt the same way when we broke up, that she'd wished it hadn't happen so badly. I didn't do it over the phone or answering machine (when my mother's boyfriend left her a couple years back, he left her a notesuch a coward), she didn't catch me in bed with someone else, we weren't yelling or screaming or throwing things. It was in person, face-to-face. Yes, it was painful and there was a lot of crying and heavy emotions involved. But I think it could have gone much much worse than it did.
Of course, I'm wrong. I screwed that up like I screw everything else up. Well, pardon
the hell out of me, okay? I'd never broken up with my longtime girlfriend or come out to
my mother before. Apparently these are these sorts of thing which are second nature to
everyone else by the time they're my age, but as usual I'm clueless. Just wait until I
actually have sex with someone other than The Ex (right around the time Satan
starts handing out ice skates, probably) and see how badly I mess that up; it'll make how I
handled the aforementioned life-changing events seem almost Machiavellian in their
Not stressing over the little things I did wrong, the things I said which I shouldn't
Saturday, 3 April 1999 (so pure)
Comparatively stripped-down night at Lilith. A lot of people, including Summer, were in New Orleans at Convergence, the big annual goth-o-rama. Still in California but not present were Lee, Seven, Sym, Gahan, The Ex, Marion, Tiff and Sara, to name but a few.
Perki was present, however, and besides Sara and Sym he was the person I wanted to see the mostwe had business to discuss. If I was going to be working on Errata then I wanted to sort out the details with him in person, not via email and not through Summer. It wasn't like he hadn't already met or anything, since he'd originally approached me a few weeks back about helping Summer edit. All the same, it was important to establish myself as a real person and autonomous from her. (Fortunately, she's long since stopped referring to me as "her friend from work.") Besides, he's a genuinely nice guy, and to be overly social conscious, having Perki as a friend can't be a bad thing.
So in addition to handling the general editing overflow (which is how he mainly described my position as he introduced me to others), I'll in fact be writing a fashion column of my own as well as editing Ask Perki!. Something tells me that my column is going to be as directly related to fashion as Joe Bob Briggs' was to movies; judging from the other columns, that won't be a problem. Besides, both Perki and Summer have a fondness for the adjective "catty," which gives me a lot of freedom. And, like any 'zine editors, just so long as I get my stuff in on time they'll be happy.
I turned down an offer to do music reviews; simply not my strong suit. I don't have the language or the diagnostic tools necessary. Oh, I know what I like, and I could probably write ten pages on why REM has been my emotional soundtrack for the last six months ("The first two lines of the third verse of How the West Was Won and Where It Got Us is perfect metaphor for that particular situation, while the third line is a more literal description of how I rationalized my actions"), but I'm mostly useless when it comes to writing about music, particularly stuff I've never heard before if it doesn't really grab me.
He liked my idea for a film section, thoughit'll be so nice to finally get that going. We have slightly different ideas about what it should be, though I'm sure the details can be worked out. In any event, this'll be my baby.
Importantly, I made Perki laugh. He's bouncy enough as it is (the name is not arbitrary), and I suspect he was surprised that my sense of humor can be just as bitchy as his. My manner is extremely reserved by comparison, but I'd like to think that means I'm that much more dangerous. Still waters and all.
Now, perhaps most daunting of all, I have to come up with a picture and bio for the About us page. My immediate thought was this:
Sherilyn Connelly apologizes for any inconvenience she may have caused. It wasn't intentional. Honest. In fact, forget she even brought it up.Oh, I don't think so. Some jokes are too inside. And putting my picture on the same page as Rain Graves? I am so doomed...
Sara should be arriving any time now.
The temptation to refer to The Ex as my roommate is very strong. While it would not be completely inaccurate, it would also be dishonest. If nothing else, there's only one bed, and the couch is clearly insufficient to use on a regular basis. (This is from experience.) The story will have to be told...eventually.
sometime after midnight
It went well. Very well. And it will be repeated.
Friday, 2 April 1999 (joining you)
Did I say I'd be returning to the gym next week? Apparently I'm not waiting so long.
Caught the 4:30am bus, got to the gym downtown at about 5:10, was out
by 7:30 and made it to work around 8. Not bad, all things considered.
Just like the old days.
The Ex's parents are in town this weekend, the first time they'll have seen me since xmas, before the breakup. If they see me at all. I may or may not be going out to dinner with them on Saturday. Probably not. For as willing my family has been to continue regarding The Ex one of usand I would ask or expect no different, because despite our glaring quirks we're essentially good peopleI am extremely unlikely to receive the same consideration from her family. After all, I'm the villain in this particular scenario. I'm the freak, the pariah, the faggot who broke their daughter's heart.
In any event, it's just as well because Sara and I are in fact going out later that night. Not Masquerade, but a big warehouse dance party thing in the Fillmore. (Clearly my mother was correct and I am in fact self-destructive.)
I called Astrid last nightastonishingly, the number I had actually worked. It was wonderful
talking to her again after such a long time, hearing what has always been in my mind the definition of a friendly voice.
She took everything in stride, as I knew she would.
Date: Fri, 2 Apr 1999 17:40:52 -0800 (PST) From: "firstname.lastname@example.org"
As always, I pushed too hard, focused too much on what I saw as her hypocrisy. Seems I'm still upset about the "It was your decision" comment, nor can I keep myself from invoking the hair discussion from last May. Getting a lot of mileage out of that one.
Thursday, 1 April 1999 (into the night)
April Fool's Day. Yeah, whatever. Probably not a day I should be coming out to anyone.
So, naturally, I just did to my supervisor. He'd caught a glimpse of this page yesterday while I was working on itrecognized the picture as me, anywayand I didn't want to go into it then because we were all about to head out, so I thought I'd just get it the hell out of the way. I'm already out to a number of people here anyway. I didn't go into too much detail, but enough, and I showed him the pictures from last week. Seemed like the thing to do, particularly because I don't quite feel comfortable giving him this URL (and he didn't ask). There is such a thing as TMI; eventually I'll be out to everyone, no objection to that, but I'd just as soon this page didn't become common knowledge around the office.
He did comment that during that when I was hired, it was observed that I was by
far the strangest looking person therebut I was also the best person for
the job, and that was what mattered. And, besides, it's San Francisco. *whew*
Oh, I love this city...
Something is different. I don't know what it is. (And no, I'm not referring to the picture, or to having come out to my supervisor.) But something has changed or altered or shifted.
Probably I'm just imagining things.
I know we're bombing someone, anyway. American soldiers have been taken hostage and are being shown on TV. Whoever the Bad Guy is (not Hussein, not Khadafy, not any of the recent neo-Hitlers who've been threatening democracy or whatever), he's on the cover of Time (Newsweek?) with a bullseye over his face. Makes it seem like a war to me, at least based on my comparatively limited experience with the word. Then again, I grew up being told that the next war would be nuclear and it'd be over before I was really aware it had begun.
That didn't happen, then the Gulf War came along. Desert Fucking Storm. I didn't like that, not one bit. It all seemed very very wrong. If you opposed the war, you were unpatriotic, and man oh man, there was nothing worse than being unpatriotic. Not "supporting the troops," a phrase which had no connection to real word, was a heinous crime. So I said I supported the troops but opposed the war, something of a cop-out. There were times, though, when I wished there would be a wholesale slaughter of American soldiers in hopes that outrage would result in us getting the hell out of there. Or that the disgusting uber-patriotism which had infected would go down just a notch. But no, were restoring our national pride, we were making up for Vietnam, we were showing that Bush wasn't a wimp, we were guaranteeing that gas prices wouldn't skyrocket.
On that note: gas prices in the city are currently ~$1.80 for 87. This is allegedly becuase of the recent shutdown at the Tosco Oil Refinery after a fatal accident. Instead of accepting the losses of profit due to their negligence, the oil companies are fucking the consumer. Why? Because they can. Because we let them. Before the shutdown, gas prices topped out at $1.50 or so. Before the Gulf War, which even the government admitted was partially over oil, I seem to recall it being just under a dollar. So what had been the point of that damn war?
I am so sickened by this country and its government and the culture which allows it to continue...
But now we're bombing and sloganeering and doing god knows whatever else all over again. And it isn't even in the same direction as during the impeachment, which I'm pretty sure was Iraq. Indeed, that it isn't Iraq this time is about all I really know for certain. And I don't want to know more.
Withdrawal in disgust is not the same as apathy. It's still a
dangerous attitude because it ostensibly allows the bad people to continue
doing their bad things. But they're going to be doing their bad things regardless
of whether I'm a CNN junkie or completely fucking ignoring it all like I am now.
I was hanging on every word during Desert Storm and it didn't make a difference,
so what does it matter now? Why not, as Pete suggested, dance it away?
Break's over next week: I simply have to start going to the gym again. My weight's somehow stayed at about 180 lbs. for the last two months, despite having worked out very irregularly and a significantly increased appetite. My goal is 160. Not that I'm overweight, not anymore, but I'm still heavier than I want to be.
And my doctor would seem to agree, having re-upped my Meridia from 5mg back to 10mg.
Ah, Meridia. My dark little secret. I'll tell anyone who cares to know about anything else I'm ingesting, but that I tend not to be so open about. Embarrassment? In a manner of speaking, I suppose. It seems like cheating.
Basically, it's a space-age appetite suppressant. Rather than make you not hungry, it makes you feel full more quickly. Interesting approach, huh? It's one thing to eat when you're not hungry (many of us do); it's another to continue when you're full.
My doctor prescribed it when I started hormones, in September. 10mg a day. I was at 230; by January I was down to 180. And one of the most common side effects of hormones is weight gain, so losing weight is unlikely at best, particularly that much.
Was it just the Meridia? No, not hardly. That was also when I went into a fairly intense workout regimen; at least five days a week, six if possible, at least two hours a day. Hour on the treadmill, plus stairmaster, cross-trainer and a hundred crunches. Plus lots and lots of water, and nonfat milk and orange juice were just about the only other things I drank. I've been off sodas since '97 anyway, I don't care for coffee or coffee-oriented drinks, and I get no kick from champagne. I'm also quite the salad fiend, so I'd usually have a big salad (or The Big Salad, if you prefer) for dinner. Can of slim-fast for lunch, nonfat yogurt for breakfast. Bagels and granola bars for snacking purposes. When feeling the need to really cut loose, nonfat ice cream. Up until the beginning of the year I was getting stoned nearly every night, so carrots and nonfat ranch dressing were an important munchie staple. My pot intake has decreased dramatically since The Ex and I broke up because it just makes me that much more depressedI smoke maybe every other week, and very seldom enjoy itso that certainly helps. And I was taking the Meridia.
So when I saw my doctor in January my weight had dropped to 180. We decided to reduce the dosage from 10mg to 5mg. Two primary reasons: I figured my will, which usually serves me well, could take over (and bear in mind that while you get full faster, you're still hungry for the same kind of stuff, so it still took a degree of will to eat healthy to begin with); and I was hurting monetarily, so half the dosage should be half the price, right?
I made a lot of mistakes in January.
Even before I went from 10mg to 5mg, my appetite returned in a huge way. It was almost frightening. And I wasn't even smoking grass anymore. Even more fun, the cost for 5mg rather than 10mg? Exactly the same. Fucking goddamn money-grubbing pharmaceutical industry. Almost as bad as the oil companies.
Yet, somehow my weight managed to stay right around 180. It went up maybe five pounds during zapping, but that was mostly due to swelling and dropped back down. And who knows, I've been dancing a lot. Maybe that helps.
I didn't expect my doctor to agree to increase the dosage back to 10mg, but she was more than willing, thank you india. I don't see it as a reason to get complacent, either. Since I'll have that at full throttle, I intend to amp up the exercise, too. I want a flat stomach and to lose out my facial chunkiness. I want my mother to have no choice but to comment on my weight the next time she sees me.
And she will.