My Face for the World to See (Part II):
The Diary of Sherilyn Connelly
a fiction


February 11 - 20, 2002

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Thursday, 28 February 2002 (bus stop boxer)
10:19pm

We went to The Red Vic tonight to see 3 Women, a rare 1977 Robert Altman film. Since it's an old movie that dares to be even remotely stylish, the audience was laughing the whole way through, whatever was happening onscreen. It's not often that Red Vic audiences act so much like those at Castro. It was kinda disturbing. We're going to see Lost Highway tomorrow. I'm sure it won't be as bad.

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Wednesday, 27 February 2002 (stone of night)
8:55am

On the way to the train station last night, I saw Frank Chu hock a loogie into the gutter. It was a quintessential City moment.

Earlier on the street I passed an old coworker, someone I haven't seen in nearly two years. He recognized me, nodded, and said hello. To the best of my knowledge, I'd never been outed to him. I wonder if he recognized me but wasn't sure from where, or how I was dressed didn't register on him, or what. Is it any wonder I don't feel entirely real?

10:49am

Jonco, who is involved in elections and as such is privvy to this sort of information, tells me that the record of my old name was "almost perfect," having voted in 13 of the last 16 elections in San Francisco. I was registered as Sherilyn in the last two elections, however, so more accurately I voted in 13 of the 14 elections under my old name. (My old name is still registered as voter, y'see.) Not a bad turnout for someone who doesn't wave a flag nor consider themselves a patriot in the vernacular sense of the word. It just goes to show the grading curve voter apathy has made: an 81% record is considered "almost perfect." Take that, Osama!

11:56am

And then I dreamed last night that Alyson Hannigan wanted to sleep with me, and in spite of her obvious advances I didn't get the hint until it was too late. That sort of thing is much more unsettling than a standard nightmare.

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Tuesday, 26 February 2002 (scratches and dust)
4:56pm

I saw a headline on the Examiner this morning describing fireworks at the end of the Olympics as "inspiring." And that's the liberal media?

     
sometimes it gets so hard to care...
     

Eight hours (not counting lunch, of course) and I'm gone. And I won't even feel guilty about it.

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Monday, 25 February 2002 (soliloquy for lilith)
9:50pm

After the end of my second full day back at work, I'm almost convinced that I'm not going to fail miserably. Almost. Five months feels like a long time, certainly long enough for the technology to completely pass me by, but thankfully Dino's doing a lot of the heavy lifting. I may even make it through the length of the contract.

Leigh was on vacation last week, so today was my first day of working with her. If it was anyone else, it would probably be humiliating reporting to them. But it's her, so it isn't. It's just how things are.

Meanwhile, I think my body's rejecting me. I've bitten the both sides of the inside of my mouth, and at least one of the wounds has developed into a full-tilt canker sore. It's only a matter of time for the other one.

In spite of always having felt somewhat ill at ease in my body (though I'm doing better these last few years for what should be obvious reasons), I'm finally beginning to understand what it means to be uncomfortable in your own skin. I've been itching, badly, for the last week or so. All over, but particularly my back, ankles, upper thighs and general groinatological area. And as a look at those parts of my body will attest (though I assure you Maddy won't let anyone else get close enough), it's for the best that I avoid addictive substances: when I get an itch, I have to scratch. I have dozens of scabs and the like. What's really tricky about them, of course, is that when you scratch one and open it up you a nice endorphin rush in addition to basic pleasure of scratching. I've had itching fits before, particularly after my back defurred itself, but nothing quite like this. So swell to be me, it is.

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Sunday, 24 February 2002 (spiral)
10:18pm

I didn't shave today, nor did I wear any makeup. I got called "sir" at the store. There's a lesson to be learned.

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Saturday, 23 February 2002 (silencio)
4:55pm

After my first full day (back?) at the office yesterday we went to the studio to work on kittypr0n. It was a five hour session, and four of them were spent on the second episode, which we'd started on last time. It's amazing how much effort can go into what looks like little more than twenty-eight and a half minutes of cat footage with weird noise in the background. Which is essentially all it is, but damn, it can be a lot of work. It's fun, though, and we're not burned out yet.

For a myriad of reasons, our wedding plans have changed. Instead of a handfasting sometime this spring, we're now planning on getting married—more accurately (and/or ironically), committed—in Las Vegas on Halloween. It just feels right.

It also changes our "no guests" policy a little. We're not sure yet if the place in question allows guests, but if they do, I know my mom would want to be there. She was asking us about our handfasting plans when we were in Fresno last weekend, hoping that there was some kind of loophole that would allow her to attend. (She initially called it a "handgrasping," which struck Madeline as terribly cute.) Of all my family I believe me getting married (or handfasted or committed) would mean the most to her, and again it goes to show how much I've beaten the odds with her. A lot of people in my position have no contact with their families whatsoever—I was certainly preparing for that eventuality when I came out a few years back—let alone having their mother wanting to attend a non-legal queer wedding. If that isn't pure acceptance, I don't know what is. Maybe it's because she's seen her three sons married (one of them twice), and doesn't want to miss out on the wedding of the daughter she'd always wanted and didn't get until she least expected it. Better late than never.

On a completely different note, we were going to go see Mulholland Drive today but have decided against it. It's playing at The Red Vic, but when we got there for the 2pm showing I discovered I'd stupidly left my regular glasses at home. The last time I did that was Chinatown at the Castro, and it's a bright enough movie that I could watch it when my sunglasses on. Not so Mulholland, so we went back home. The next showing was at 7pm, which is a really bad time to try to deal with getting into the Haight from our direction, so that wasn't going to happen. Coincidentally it's also playing at The Roxie, but parking around it just doesn't exist. The third theater it's at is the Balboa, in double feature with The Man Who Wasn't There by the Coens, and we considered it for a while before I got cold feet. Whatever theater we went to, there was bound to be a laughing audience. People were laughing at (not with) it on the opening weekend, even before word had spread about the movie's weirdness. I'm not sure I can handle that, so I guess we'll be waiting for the DVD.

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Friday, 22 February 2002 (the body in the basement is finally moving)
2:47pm

I just installed Dreamweaver.

Lord have mercy on my soul.

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Thursday, 21 February 2002 (purification to numbness)
10:16am

Although today's my first day in the temp position (I'm trying not to call it a "contract job" for assorted legal reasons) at the old company, I'm not supposed to be there until 2pm. According to Lew, my system won't be ready until at least noon. I'm not expecting it'll be ready when I actually get there, either, but that's okay. As anyone in this business knows, you never do any real work on the first day. Just doesn't happen. I'm half-expecting to get a call from Lew telling me not to come in at all today, which would suck only because I'm getting paid by the hour.

The construction next door—not the garage north of us, that's been done for weeks, but the one to the south—is in full gear. Lots of jackhammering and other loud noises. Makes me glad I'll be gone during the day again.

5:25pm

Wow. It's like I'm back, but then again I'm not.

On the way out of the Muni station, I got a doubletake followed by a nudge-n-nod two different times. Not what my nerves needed on the first day of work.

I went to the sushi buffet place in Japantown for lunch, eating way too much (which is kinda the point when I go there) to commemorate either my last day of relative freedom or my first day of indefinite employment. I'm not sure which yet. It's the same place we went on the day I was laid off, if that helps.

When I got to the company's new building I had to wait for a while in the lobby for Lew, but much to my surprise my new ID card was waiting for me, and my name was even spelled correctly. It gives my title as "Contractor," in spite of the aforementioned fact that ex-employees aren't supposed to return as contractors. Ah, semantics: the lifeblood of bureaucracy. Brian hadn't been able to get Leigh hired way back when until he was able to convince The Big Boss that we needed someone with her title. What she would actually be doing wasn't as important to him.

The office, as I knew it would be, is bright. Another of the The Big Boss's legacies.

As I write this, I don't have my computer yet. (Unlike the badge, no surprise there.) I might get it today, I might not. Breath is not being held.

I'm feeling very...exposed. There's no good way to keep my screen private from traffic. I keep reminding myself that it would have been the case even if I'd been here straight through from September.

Sitting next to me is another returning temp, Dino. He was only with the company for a few months last year (as a temp/contractor/what have you) and I never got to know him very well. (Part of that, of course, was due to the fact that my inherent tendency to keep to myself was exacerbated by having a door I could close.) Hence, to the best of my knowledge I'd never been outed to him. I suppose he might have been one of those who suspected something just by looking at me, as many did. Anyway, he took it in stride. I have a hunch I'm not the first he's encountered.

I'm having this recurring fear that it'll really turn into Old Home Week and The Fidget Queen will return. How shallow is that? This all feels like those dreams where you're living in your childhood home—or, more to the point, the Le Video dreams. Which, now that I think about it, I don't have as often anymore. The analgogy doesn't hold up, though. Enduring TFQ (whom I've actually seen in the Castro a few times lately) would be a small price to pay for being back a job which pays a hell of a lot more. It's been so hard over the last five months to listen to people bitching about their well-paying jobs, although I realize I used to be one of them. I hope I'll be more humble about it from now on.

Particularly because it won't last.

7:48pm

I don't know if I'm just rusty from having done little coding outside the rudimentary journal updates, but after Lew explained the project, I'm getting that familiar in over my head feeling. It'll pass, I'm sure. I hope.

Dino asked me if I'd been productive during my involuntary vacation. I said that I hadn't been able to find any other jobs, but that wasn't what he meant. He meant productive. Did I get anything accomplished? I decided that I have: being full-time, with the ID cards to prove it. I left the company as Jeff and returned as Sherilyn. The cliched aspects notwithstanding, I think that qualifies as an accomplishment.

10:45pm

Y'know what's fun? Getting stoned, going online and comparing Las Vegas hotel room prices. Try it sometime.

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