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7:21am Were I not such a tremendous chode, it might have occurred to me to check my home voicemail at any point after 2:30pm yesterday. However, I am and it didn't, so I didn't hear this message until I got home from work at half past seven: "Hello, this is [your new endoc]. Wanted to let you know I got your lab results back, and they were very good. Based on your results, I think that we cancontinue your current treatment. The changes that we made based on the previous test results has worked extremely well." I'll be calling her today for the actual numbers. (I don't suppose they matter, but I'm apparently fascinated by them anyway.) In the meantime, happy happy joy joy...
I also tried on the Dead
Tech corset (well, technically, it's a waist cincher) last night. It's real pretty.
Today, though, since I'm getting dragged away (and up the Evil Filbert Steps, ironically enough) to the departmental
holiday lunch, I at least put on the regulation eyeliner. I even put my hair up in pigtails. I feel so early-'99 right now...
Okay, so she has a slight tendency towards hyperbole. It's not such a bad thing, really, since it implies she's at least more passionate about what's going on in my body than was my old endoc. (And I'm not going near the Borg parallels.) Doubling the provera seemed to do the trick: last time, my testosterone was at 527. Now, it's less than ten. Damn. That was quick. Not quick in the sense I should have been here two years ago, but that it only took a month of doing it right. (The bright side, and all.) My estrogen levels, which were in fact tested correctly this time, are at 583. She says that a genetic women, while ovulating, might go up near 400.
I did feel compelled to point out that genetic women tend to have testosterone levels which are at least in the double-digit
range; is it healthy to have it quite so low? Yeah, I know, some people are never satisfied, but I'm trying to be
objective about these things. She said that my levels are now at a post-op level. So I ain't complaining.
As it happens, Pike and I had drawn each other's names for the gift exchange. I think he did a better job of it. Walking back down the steps to the office (which I won't be seeing again for the next couple weeks—TDM has given us the rest of the year off), I encountered a group of people leaning up against the railing, smoking. It was a woman and three young men. As I approached the woman said hello, then stopped me. "As a goth, this may seem a bit off the wall, but these guys are in from out of town. I normally dance at queer bars"—she's a dyke? Gee, didn't see that one coming—"but these guys are looking for a place that plays techno. Do you have any ideas?" I suggested she try the Paladium, which was a fairly short walk away. She thanked me, and I went on my way.
Now it seems like the Paladium doesn't exist any more. Well, heck, I'd never actually gone there, so
how should I know if it's still open? Since she identified me as a goth, after all. And, hey, it's nice
to know I've still got it.
Linux blew up the other night. NT is creeping along, although the dsl is dead in the water. Happen, these things will. Figures it would be right before a comparatively extended period of time off, when I tend to feel anxious anyway. There are a couple things I can try to fix NT or the dsl, but there's also the possibility of my attempts making things worse. But I guess those kinds of gambles have defined my life. Ah, metaphors. Gotta love 'em. it is very cold. Just because my hormoness have finally reached their optimum levels (guess what, mom? your youngest son has chemically castrated himself! ain't'cha proud?) doesn't mean I'm through the worst, not yet. There's always that lag time between body and brain, like the lag time between light and sound. You see the flash, and start counting...
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Tuesday, 19 December 2000 (your burning flag) 9:36am A wheel should do more than simply roll. Sometimes my job seems to be about reinventing it until it rolls just so. Which can be frustrating and absurd, but at least makes me feel useful. Which is probably the saddest part of all. 1:38pm As much as certain aspects of city life (or, more specifically, living in this city) annoy me, there are still little things I love. One of them is the tendency of independent bookstores to have resident cats. You won't find that at Border's. Or even City Lights, for that matter; instead, it was at the used bookstore across the street. Maddy and I went there for lunch, the ostensible carrot of an ostensibly health-inducing walk over the Evil Filbert Steps. On the way back to the office I picked up some sushi, which is of course the miracle food which you can eat exercising and not have to worry about putting back on whatever few calories you'd just burnt. That's my theory, anyway, and I'm sticking to it.
To my chagrin, my phone's message light was not on when I returned. Then I realized that my
chagrin (and this realization chagrined me, naturally) came from me waiting to hear back from
my endoc. In essence, I've been sitting by the phone, waiting for it to ring. I haven't
done that for a long time, and I'm not thrilled that I've started doing it again.
The temptation to just wash my hands of all this is strong. But I don't think I'm quite ready for
that just yet. Part of me still wants/needs to pretend that it's still relevant.
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Monday, 18 December 2000 (born again) 9:44am Has the city always been filled with Jaguar XJ6s (or is it XJS?) and I've just been too busy dodging SUVs to notice?
After this week, xmas will have come and gone. I'll also, if all goes according
to plan, have spent more than one night in Fresno for the first time in two years.
Once when I was in my mid-teens, my mother was reading one of the newspaper's occasional features on local cross-dresser groups. (The slower the news day, the weirder the human interest stories.) She commented aloud on how much the concept of a man in women's clothing unsettled her. She wasn't railing on about how they were unnatural or freaks or anything like that, but simply that it made her uncomfortable. A perfectly fair reaction. Still, by that point I already knew that it was an issue which would arise again someday, but wisely (I think) I didn't take the opportunity to say, "It's funny you should mention that, since I went to the Salvation Army yesterday, and..." It's unfair to suggest that she's still like that, of course; as is often the case, simple reality (in the form of her youngest son breaking probably the only news more parentally tragic than simply being gay) has intervened and changed her way of thinking. Of course, whether or not she's really seen me in women's clothing, as opposed to simply androgynous, is a matter of opinion. In a lot of ways, this xmas is probably going to be comparatively less stressful than last year, or even this last Thanksgiving. Tom and his wife will be elsewhere, my nieces (aka Tom's children) won't be showing up at all, and barefoot won't be there until sometime on xmas day. The only other of the brood to be present on xmas eve will be jonco, sans his fiance. (This, sadly, is a good thing, though she'll be with him on xmas day.) And it looks like we'll be able escape a little earlier than last time. So, all things considered, it shouldn't be so bad.
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Sunday, 17 December 2000 (the lamb of god) 1:19pm Dana and Costanza are taking us out to eat in thanks for our catsitting duties during their honeymoon. (It's always nice to be rewarded for something which didn't feel like work in the first place.) Costanza will also be doing a bit of work on my computer, hopefully getting the elusive Linux up and running. Who knows, maybe I'll finally learn a little. Seems unlikely, though.
Oh, and I was right about my dreams last night.
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Saturday, 16 December 2000 (the death song) 11:28pm After a comparatively me-focused session with our counselor (the verdict being that in spite of whatever scarring may still remain from The Other and Maggie, I need to get out of my self-imposed vacuum and actually interact with other trannies), we went to see a documentary on homeless people living in the railroad tunnels of New York called Dark Days, and then A Hard Day's Night. Between the two of them, both extremes in cinematic thought are represented. Unless you consider that both are in black and white, which by today's standards means they might as well be the same movie. sometime after midnight USA's Up All Night. without Gilbert Gottfried, or even Rhonda Shears? Sometimes I really miss the early nineties. Sleepless Sauturday nights had so much more to offer. Even that was a somewhat poor replacement, however, for the early-to-mid eighties, the era of USA's Night Flight. It's perhaps the only time a legitimate cable channel embraced the pirate radio potential of the medium (with modern public access coming in a close second, I suppose). Our lives are a little emptier without it. Okay, time to attempt to sleep again...even though I know better, 'cuz this is when the most malicious dreams always arrive...
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Friday, 15 December 2000 (the nobodies) 7:22am Oh yeah. Much more awake now. Sorta. 10:02am In ten days, this'll all be over. Again.
I feel dirty right now. I think this is going to last for a while.
Meanwhile, lest I seem to be sucking the big evil corpo-rock dick a bit much, my all-important "I don't like anybody signed to a major label" street cred is salvaged by the arrival yesterday of some Trust Obey CDs and a t-shirt I'd ordered direct from the group's site. How indy is it? So damn indy they don't even take credit cards. No sell-out, man! Granted, according to my checkbook I ordered the stuff back in May, which means it took a bit longer than the 4-6 weeks I allowed for delivery, but hey, at least I'm keepin' it real.
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Thursday, 14 December 2000 (a place in the dirt) 9:19am I'd like to think that every problem has a solution. The relatively simple solution I came up with last night was to hook up my discman to Phil's stereo via the car CD adapter. Worked like a charm; I just wish I'd thought of it sooner, as it would have saved a lot of trouble on Monday. Getting out there was a breeze, having wised up and taken the transbay bus like I should have previously. The session lasted about four and a half hours, and I could tell after a few minutes that I probably hadn't taken enough vicodin and/or Green Death. Indeed, for the first two hours—he went straight through, without stopping—I was very much aware, more so than I would have liked. I remedicated during our first break, but to no avail. Afterwards, he confirmed my suspicion—he was using a higher setting than usual. I didn't objet, both because it wouldn't have made any difference at that point and because I'm willing to endure more pain than usual if it'll get me closer to finishing. He did seem to get most everything, and instructed me not to shave for a while. Fine by me. I'll probably be a little unkempt for xmas, but at this point, I don't really care. The main tunnel leading into Alameda is still closed at night, requiring a bit of detouring and transferring to get out of town. I flagged down a bus going in the opposite direction just to confirm that I still had to transfer at a certain place. I must have come across as exceedingly pathetic, since after answering my questions the driver was kind enough to give me a free ticket. As usual when travelling around the Bay Area, the real trouble didn't begin until I got into San Francisco. I got onto the L at Embarcadero Station, and it reached West Portal at 11:30pm, at which point we were kicked off (maybe two dozen people) because the train was going back to Embarcadero. The driver said to catch the next bus. There was a lot of grumbling and grousing and meaningful exchanges of head-shaking amongst the other passengers, which I did my best to avoid. Yes, I know, the muni has major problems. I've noticed. Instead of taking advantage of the time to get some reading done, I paced around as is often my wont. Unfortunately, at one point I slipped and landed square on my coccyx (hush, you), bringing me more than a little unwanted attention. It also confirmed my theory that I need new buetz, as I've worn most of the traction off my current pair.
The "next bus" finally showed up at 12:30am, and it turned out to be the same train from which we'd been ejected an
hour earlier. At that point, I was too tired to be upset. Frankly, I still am.
Gawd, I'm tired. I don't think I've entirely recovered from last night; I've spent most of the today trying to stay awake,
with varying degrees of success.
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Wednesday, 13 December 2000 (cruci-fiction in space) 8:47am I guess it's what Willie called a little ol' fashioned karma coming down: it's going to rain today, probably while I'm making my way to Alameda. That's no so bad, really. Better than it being hot. I just hope he doesn't want to talk about Monday; as I was struggling to hear him over Maddy's celphone that night, I could tell he was suggesting better ways of getting out there. I know how to get out there. I know I screwed up. I know I gambled and lost. I don't need to be reminded. Probably I won't have to worry, since he's more likely to want to talk about the election, and the fact that Gore is dropping out the race. Fine. At this point, I'd almost rather talk about that.
When we got home on Monday, I was pretty much at the zapping level of dopiness. Maddy sat down on the couch and I pounded
out an incoherent journal entry. After I was done, I laid down on the couch with my head in her lap. Strictly speaking it's
a loveseat (and a functionally broken, decaying one which we really really really need to replace) so my feet went over the
side, but I didn't mind. It was comfortable as well. After a few minutes Oscar decided he wanted a piece of the action
and joined me on her lap, putting his paws around my head and grooming me. It almost made up for what had happened before.
Except Lee.
He didn't not reply; he refused the request. I've come to decide that he probably didn't recognize my nickname (which
isn't Sherilyn). I'm not going to try again, though, just in case this is is him saying he wants to be left alone. If that's
the case, I have to respect his wishes.
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Tuesday, 12 December 2000 (in the shadow of the valley of death) 9:45am One's civic duty is never quite complete, it seems, so I voted again this morning in the District Supervisor runoffs. The upper-class woman (all she was missing was the fox around her neck) ahead of me in line was getting extremely frustrated with the girl at the table, for she was having difficulty finding the woman's name on the list. The girl said that the voter list was in a different format than usual, and I believed her. (Primarily because I had no reason to disbelieve her. I can see the format of the list changing for no particular reason. That's how the world works.) The woman was having none of her excuses, huffing that "They should send people with training to do this job!" The girl didn't reply, and I held my tongue. The woman kept looking back at me, clearly wanting to share an exasperated can-you-believe-what-we-have-to-put-up-with look, but I avoided eye contact. She also complained that "Some of us have to go to work!" I declined to comment that most employers will allow employees to leave work early or arrive late to make time for voting, and that I was even fairly sure it was California state law, but again declined to comment. Finally the girl found the woman's name, had her sign the sheet and gave her the ballot. Before she went in the booth the woman said to me, "You'd better have your name ready, it'll go quicker!" Which in and of itself is good advice, but her tone made it clear that she was warning me about the horrid, inexcusable incompetence of the workers. Since she was addressing me directly, I said, "They're volunteers, and they're doing the best they can. Give them a break." The woman didn't reply, and the girl behind the table smiled and thanked me.
Oh, and I voted for Bush.
Y'know? It doesn't matter, 'cuz what's important is that there's a fucking live eels album out. Hello! Yay! This is good thing. I've already ordered it—it's only available online—'cuz, like the site points out, it'll cost a lot more on eBay someday.
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Monday, 11 December 2000 ('president dead') 9:50am Nine days' growth. It's been a while since I've gone this long without shaving. Considering that xmas is two weeks from today, I don't suppose I'll be getting zapped again for a while. At least not for another three weeks. (Three? That would be New Year's Day. Okay, four.) Unless I schedule an appointment for next Monday. But that would be too soon. Yep. Way too soon, that would be. 1:19pm Sooner or later, I'm going to have to start using the women's restroom at this place. When I started a couple years ago, it seemed a very long way off. Now it doesn't seem so distant, but I take no comfort from its imminent arrival, either. I don't feel like I belong in there. More specifically, I feel like my presence will cause a major disruption, and there's a definite lack of tall (and/or, very large and of the unmistakable "used to be a man" variety) women around here...transitioning, by definition, affects the people around you, usually negatively. When I finally do the "official" coming out thing, I suspect the ripples will be noticeable.
Showing a typical lack of awareness of what's happening in the city, the company is constructing a shiny new building in SOMA. We're
supposed to take it over, near as I can tell, sometime in the middle of next year. That, I've just now decided, is when I'm
finally going to do it. By that point, I suspect I'll be the last of anybody's worries. ("That tall guy with the hair who's always wearing
sunglasses and black jacket? He wants to be called 'Sherilyn' now and is going to use the women's room? Yeah, sure, whatever. Look,
when is IT going to fix my computer?")
Again, again, and again.
I screwed up tonight, big time. By half past seven we were still trying to get onto the Bay Bridge. I should have just taken the bus like I always do, but no, I wanted to be able to bring the stereo so I could play CDs. I've seen bad Bridge traffic before, but this was a new level. I called Phil from Maddy's cel phone just in case, and by the second time I rescheduled. Part of the reason was I was crying, a combination of stress and frustration and vicodin and Green Death. I was frustrated with the world in general and myself in particular (with a bit reserved for my old endoc, whom I can't help holding somewhat responsible since she I trusted her and she betrayed me and maybe if she'd even pretneded to care a little bit my testosterone levels would be what they're supposed to be for someone who has been on HRT for two years and my facial hair wouldn't still be so damn agressive but no, she fucked me and she fucked me HARD without even taking me out to dinner first and wasted time I can never ever ever get back and there is absolutely nothing I can do to change it). My priorities were all out of whack and I was paying for it. If Phil's CD player doesn't work anymore because he dropped it and hasn't replaced it, that's just too bad for me. I should be focusing on completing electro, but I was allowing my attention to wander, and I was paying for it. I'm going on Wednesday now, and I'm taking the bus and a few cassettes. Which is what I should have done today. It's the lesson I've been learning all my life: indulgence is a bad thing. I let myself get distracted. I can't let that happen again. My appointment is on Wednesday. i just want this all to be over
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