999 paper cuts

I think it’s hard to overstate how much I hate myself today. I want a do over, maybe, or just like…the ability to remove the entire experience of ‘Wednesday’ from my memory, so I can go on living my life in otherwise blissful ignorance. But that would achieve nothing, today would still have happened, just to everyone else. Five minutes respite would be fine, I guess.

It is getting cool in the mornings, and the sun is setting earlier and earlier. Winter is coming, slowly, at its own lackadaisical pace, and soon people in Queensland will be complaining about how cold it is, because people in Queensland are like monitor lizards in that they share both a biological need for warmth and a cruel, cold-blooded lizard brain that doesn’t care about anyone or anything that is not them. It is the only way I can justify us having that two-faced LNP puppet as our premier. If you voted for Campbell Newman or Tony Abbott, I hate you, without exception. You are what is wrong with this blighted fucking country.

I left my book in my van at work, again, so I’m gonna spend tonight like, wishing I was anywhere else instead. I have an appointment with a psychiatrist in a few weeks, and that will be exciting, I am just not sure if we can fit my work schedule around the appointment that day or if I will just have to take the whole day off. My boss will work with me on it, I guess, but I don’t know. Sometimes I think he hates me, and sometimes I think I’m right, but other times…mmm. I just don’t know. I know I hate me though. I can hate me enough for both of us.

Today has been awful in a death by a thousand paper cuts kind of way, and I have run out of energy for putting up a front of ‘everything is okay, nothing is broken’. At least I wrote something for this blog, despite that? That is a minor victory, at the very least. Good night.

This is a Stillborn Universe

I am not the kind of trans person who has conflicting feelings on the subject of her penis. In fact, it would be fair to say I have a very clear concept of how I feel about my penis, free of uncertainty or doubt – I hate it. I fucking hate my penis. I hate it more than the sun hates the moon, more than the day hates the night, more than Khorne hates Slaanesh (and who could blame him?). My feelings for my penis have crystallised over the years into a jagged black jewel that serves no purpose except to stab at my heart in moments of weakness and despair.

Hey, look at that, another one. Also, in marked contrast to my last article at The Toast, the text of this one has yet to have me declared a misogynist! That is always a victory, I feel. For someone who cares so deeply about language and the power it holds over people’s minds and thinking, I seem to misuse words constantly.

If my mother is reading (she is always reading) this is the post that you do not want to read because it talks about the S-E-X thing. If my father is reading (he is never reading) you probably don’t want to read this either, but mainly because you were always so damn proud of my penis for me, by proxy even, so you may find this article traumatising. It should be okay for everyone else, maybe! I am going to tentatively declare it safe for anybody else. Just not mum or dad. You two should probably stay away.

I am writing this before work because the article got published before I had to go to work, and I do not expect I’ll be writing anything after work, and that is a blessing, because sometimes it is really hard to spin the straw that is my boring life into the gold that is words on LCD monitors across the world. Somehow I manage anyway, but any damn excuse to not have to manage is an excuse I will use. At this point, exploiting loopholes is kind of my thing.

Hot Hot Heat

Every part of me is tired. Today was weird and exhausting and I am not a fan of it nor the myriad tiny frustrations it threw at me at. I mean, I guess, taken singly they weren’t much, like, mosquito bites on the hide of some great and terrible beast maybe, but taken as a whole, one after another, in quick succession…ugh. It just wiped me out. I would say I am going to have an early night to recuperate but that would be a lie. I’m just gonna sit on my couch for a while instead and pretend I live in a universe where every single muscle group from my neck down is not actively protesting my decisions. That seems like it would be a nice place. I’d love to visit sometime.

Count Zero is a hard book to get into, two of the three plots take ages to really pull you in, and I always seem to have trouble seeing one of the main characters (Bobby) as a fully grown adult. I mean, I know he is, but the way he is written and the way others talk to him make me think he is like, thirteen or fourteen, and yet I am supposed to believe he is nineteen or twenty – just a few years younger than Case was in Neuromancer, which just seems unreal. Case had a sort of ageless quality to him, he didn’t seem ancient, but he didn’t seem like a kid either, and he was smart enough to realise when he should be asking questions and when he shouldn’t be. What really sets them apart though is Case had life experience, a lot of it, definitely enough to not seem like a goddamn ingenue all the time, which is how Bobby comes off throughout most of Count Zero. It is something I have trouble with

My memory of the series tells me he kind of outgrows that a little in the next book, but then, hey, he’s also barely in the next book so whatever. For now I am just making my way through Count Zero, and privately delighting when a stray word or paragraph excites some long dormant neural cluster and a whole world of plot and story falls out of it, unravel like some vicious snake. It makes me the books less fun to read in a way, of course, but considering I first read this series while coming off a truly heinous drug regime cold turkey, it gives me hope that the part of my brain I have devoted to that chunk of my life isn’t entirely fried. Maybe I’ll even find the inspiration in this read through to finish my sci fi novel!

Ha, just kidding. I’ll never finish my sci fi novel.

Count Zero; Interrupt

I saw my doctor yesterday, because I had run out of repeats on my estrogen prescription, and, as it turns out, it ended up being the last time I would ever see him there – because, apropos of nothing, he’s moving clear across town! Which, I mean, that doesn’t bother me at all, because he will actually closer to where I live, but mum and my stepdad are not impressed at all considering they live within walking distance of his current practice, and neither are any of the other patients I saw in the practice while I was there. I’m booked in to be his first patient on his first Saturday of being open at the new practice though, and that excites me a little bit because it is a little bit of arbitrary history that I can claim for myself: my doctor’s first Saturday patient at his new practice.

Apart from surprising me with news of a move he also provided me with some documentation to take to Queensland Transport and another psychiatric referral, because a girl can never have too many. The Queensland Transport document will (hopefully) convince them to change the gender on my license from M to F and the title on my official correspondence from Mr to Ms, but I am not sure if they will buy it. Another trans girl told me that that is all I have to do, and I want to believe her, but I am also a wary, paranoid creature, and a part of me thinks this whole caper is gonna blow up in my face. We shall see.

Oh yeah, by the way, for reasons I am yet to ascertain I am currently suffering the breakout from hell and that is why I have yet to show you a photo of my stunning new hair! Well, okay, it is not that stunning – it is the same hair I have always had, but trimmed a little. But it also has some highlights in it now, which are extra cute in the sunlight! I also had my hairdresser put my hair in a braid because that is something I am unable to do myself, but it is long gone by now; the part of me that demands I wash my hair every two days would not be silenced and for obvious reasons the braid had to go if the washing was to occur. Is every two days too often to wash hair? Probably. I don’t care.

That was yesterday as well, because yesterday was hectic. I also saw my grandma, and disappointed her by politely declining all offers of food or drink because I am nothing if not serious about my diet, and then spent the better part of the afternoon at his house, talking shit and getting him into mild trouble with his mum because just by virtue of being there, talking shit to (at?) him, he was not doing any of the things he was supposed to be doing apparently. I refuse to take all the blame though, because he’s also kind of lazy, and entertaining a visitor was probably like, the perfect excuse for him to avoid doing things. It is just how he do.

Today has been lovely and cool and grey and wet, and I have a corned beef cooking and am about to embark on a journey into Count Zero that will hopefully get me through what is easily my most hated time of the week (Sunday afternoon) without making me want to kill myself. The washing has been done and the house is clean and the cat is upset and everything is right in the world. These are the kind of days I bust my arse working for.

Batman Chess

I finished the chess set today. I am not sure if I have ever talked about it before, so I will tell you everything you need to know about it right now: one, it is Batman themed, which is obviously something that is going to very effectively tug on my heart strings. Two, it was delivered monthly over the course of a year and a half, and my ex was the one who originally signed up for the subscription before I took it over almost a year after we separated. And three, it would’ve been finished a month ago, but Batwoman had been broken into multiple pieces.

Three drove me insane. Like, I’ll concede that these figures aren’t great quality; a lot of the time, with things like this, the paint jobs can be (and often are) rushed and hasty, and I can think of at least two characters who have sustained minor damage off the top of my head that you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it. But when that Batwoman figured arrived, she was already in two fucking pieces! She came to me broken, not just a little damaged, but entirely and completely structurally unsound. We tried to fix her, me and my stepfather. And we failed.

After the first fix failed, but before I could get it around to my mum’s house to try repairing it again, the arm fell off, apropos of nothing. Then the head fell off when I wasn’t looking shortly after, the weak glue that they had evidently used just giving up in the face of total adversity. At this point there just was no fixing it, at all. It was totally ruined. Our favourite lesbian caped crusader was just completely and totally fucked, so it was time to explore my last and least favourable option: call the company who managed the subscription and demand a replacement.

I didn’t like my chances, and of course, it wasn’t easy. They couldn’t just take my word for it, they actually had me physically send it back to them, as if I made a habit of collecting figurines over the course of years and then claiming that just one of them was broken. They were onto my scam, see! So on a shitty Saturday afternoon I took the little figure to the post office and packed it into the smallest box they had with bubble wrap for flavour, and sent it off to the reply-paid address and prayed. I honestly thought I’d never hear from the company again, especially because I had cancelled my subscription at the same time, as the chess set was otherwise complete. That was about a month ago.

All my pessimism was for nothing though! The last piece had been delivered to mum’s sometime in the last week, and now the chess set is finally done. It is a riotous thing, filled with colour and insanity on one side and dark restrained urges on the other, and I am kind of excited to see it completed, after all these long months. So, without further ado, Batman chess:

photo 1
Our intrepid heroes!

photo 2
Our dastardly villians!

photo 3
The whole set, completed (plus special edition Joker and Batman figures, and Superman for some reason).

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