Confessions of a Broken Girl

I don’t know. I have things to do today, that I should be looking forward to, but I can’t muster up the energy or enthusiasm to do literally anything, let alone the totally productive things I have planned on doing. I cooked butter-y mushrooms on toast for breakfast, I guess that counts as a thing, but I found my way to the couch after that and have since stopped, unable to do anything but watch the seconds and the minutes and the hours slip by as my life becomes ever more grey and dull. I feel like this might be the ultimate expression of ennui.

It is going to be a busy week for me, and when the week is over I will either be staring down the next, final step to undergo SRS or I will be a broken person, destroyed by my own pride and hubris. It all hinges on Thursday, when I go to see the psychiatrist and get my final psychiatric approval to undergo the operation, and though I’m 90% sure I’ll be fine, I still have my doubts. Another trans girl I spoke to once had a terrible time with the psychiatrist I will be seeing, after all, but that girl was also a fucking mess in her own special way so it’s like idk man, maybe her problems were not with the psychiatrist in question. The last psychiatrist I went to could not find anything wrong with me worth getting excited about and signed off on my surgery in less than forty-five minutes as well, which gives me hope but like, so much of my life has changed since I saw her last so I might have become a less attractive proposition for surgery since, like, maybe something has changed for the worse?

I can’t even, my life moves on fast-forward, always. Since I got my last psychiatric approval I’ve discovered sex with men, and recognised and acknowledged that I’m not really interested in women in general. I’ve made a few attempts at dating and I’ve started on little blue pills that stop my diseased mind from conjuring up images of suicide and death whenever life gets me down. I’ve become a vegetarian! They’re all little things, almost insignificant things, but they could all tip the balance in one way or another via some esoteric formula plebs like me don’t get to and will never know, and that worries me. I am like a tightly wounded ball of anxious and nervous energy right now. I just want this process to be over so I can go on living my life.

I drove my own car for work again yesterday, and it was less fun than it had been on Thursday. My little Accent just did not have the space for the workload I was given yesterday; it had fared fine on Sleepy Thursday but Frantic Friday was too much for it, I literally had no space to put anything outside of the area encompassing and directly adjacent to the driver’s seat. I was also on-edge for most of the day, which was annoying, and I know why too: lots of complicated jobs and lots of very long presentations to give amongst a fucking circus of errors and mistakes and fuck-ups, all while The Bat-Hound was texting things I felt were borderline-inappropriate but was too weak to tell him to stop or do anything less than play along. It was a weird day already but that put the cherry on it, regardless I meet him tomorrow and I’ll know for sure if he is a keeper then or if this was just a brief flirtation that got intense and weird before it finally fizzled. Whatever. At least I’ll be at The Dale, drinking good coffee, right? Hmph.

I want to sleep forever. I feel down and out and crappy and I feel like a long, unproductive period of unconsciousness is exactly what I need. Last night I had a lovely dream about an MMO I could build one day, though. In it you could play as one of five classes, and could change them essentially at will. Each class had its own skill tree but you might only play as one class long enough to obtain a specific skill before moving on to another, for example. The classes themselves would focus on different stats, there would have been five, though I only remember what one was: The Dreamer class, which was more balanced than the rest but had slower stat growth as a result. It seemed really cool at the time. A shame I’ll never make it.

Self-Validation Power Hour

I’m a vegetarian.

I’m transgender.

I’m a woman.

I’m the personal servant to a cat named Pimmy.

I’m damn good at my job and apologise to no one for being proud of that fact.

I’m incredibly hard to get along with when I put my mind to it.

I’m straight, because I like men.

I’m a little bit gay, because sometimes I like women.

I’m bad at reading books but I’m good at reading useless pop-culture essays for hours and hours and hours.

I am not sure what I’m meant to be even doing on Twitter.

I’m suspicious of people who proclaim themselves an ‘ally’ of any cause.

I’m not a fan of the word ‘queer’ in any LGBT context.

I’m not a representative of all trans people, and resent people who expect me to be such.

I’m tired, and I’m hungry, and I’m bored.

I’m falling for a boy I haven’t met who I suspect is only in it for a lay.

I’m not sure how I feel about that, but I hope it’s gonna turn out okay.

I’m going to bed.

Swings and Roundabouts!

Today was weird. I know I say that a lot but today was proper weird, like, shit happened today that is not meant to ever happen, and happily, when it was all over and all the cards had fallen where all the cards were going to, none of the things were my fault! Usually when the world goes pear-shaped around me it is a direct result of actions or inactions on my part but this time I am totally in the clear. Go Team Molly!

The morning started okay, but I was then struck by this strange sadness and ennui out of nowhere that didn’t really abate until I left the office and started texting the Bat-Hound…only for me to notice that there was something wrong with my van, terribly wrong in fact, so I bought some lollies at the servo I had gotten to and told the boss I was coming back to the office so he could try and troubleshoot. He tried his darnedest to fix it, him and his son tackled the problem like a well oiled-machine and I thought the problem had been solved.

I went out and completed exactly one job before realising that the whole thing was a joke, it was not gonna work. I took it back to the office, put my entire van into my personal car because there was still work to do and it wasn’t gonna fucking gonna do itself, and then things improved. For me, mainly! Actually just for me. The van’s prognosis was much grimmer. The timing chain was royally and catastrophically fucked on it, and while it was salvageable, it was not gonna be back on the road any time soon. I did not find out any of this until the afternoon however, because I was out doing jobs, and it was great! I had a fantastic time.

It’s cheat day so I indulged every food sin that struck my fancy, and was also riding high on the little thrill that is sexting at work while your boss repairs a spark plug for you (I’m so sorry boss). The work went well, it was all fairly straightforward as far as I could figure, and my little Accent performed admirably the whole time, kicking arse and taking names and doing so while not breaking the speed limit (in any populated areas in which speed cameras are known to lurk) even once. When I got back to the office at the end of the day I felt great! I had had a good time, despite the abominable start to the day. And then the kicker!

The kicker was that my boss has offered to financially compensate me for the little applications I have created for the business! It is exceptionally nice of him I thought, even if it is kind of just him closing a legal-loophole that could get him or his business into trouble in a terrible, dark future, and I am not quite sure what to think. I mean, I made the applications gratis, because I love my job and I love my bosses and I want to make their lives as easy as possible, and now he is talking about facts and figures and I’m not sure what I would’ve charged for them, or what I should charge, or if I should charge at all! It is all very overwhelming, so I did the only thing I could to make sense of the situation:

I bought a big pizza and a mini pizza for myself and two cans of catfood for Pimmy and we gorged ourselves until our bellies hurt and now I feel incredible and I can only assume she does too. I’m still not quite sure what to do about this application situation but I’m also not quite sure I care right now. Mmm. Pizza.

Sex and Pizza

I want pizza. I want a hot, cheese-y, gooey pizza with heaps of olives and maybe some feta and definitely some tomato slices and I want it ten minutes ago. My whole night, my whole world even, since I got home, has been motherfucking pizza and yet I don’t have any, and I will continue to not have any until tomorrow night, because I cannot afford it calorifically or financially and that is just the terrible fucking world we apparently live in. I have spoken about how addicted I am to pizza before and that addiction has not reduced since, this raging boiling pot of desire cannot and will not be reduced to a simmer. Everything is terrible. I am pizzually frustrated.

Tomorrow I will have pizza though, because despite the absolute horror show that was yesterday’s weak attempt at kilojoule control I will still be having my Thursday cheat day because just try and fucking stop me man, pizza is involved. I am excited! I am so excited. I’m not sure yet whether I’m gonna get Dominos or shell out some big bucks for Il Castellos but either way it’s gonna be pretty great. If I go Dominos I think I will make the fucker from scratch using the tools they foolishly made available to the public that make creating disgustingly cheap and disgustingly unhealthy pizzas disgustingly easy. If I go Il Castellos it’s definitely time for a vegetarian pizza and maybe a margherita calzone. Mmmm. If you are sitting there and thinking to yourself, “Fuck, bitch is serious about pizza tonight!” it is because I am. Right now pizza is my Everything. Or part of my everything, at least.

The other part of my everything, if you could not guess from the last few days of posts, is The Bat-Hound. I have not even met him yet but just the idea of meeting him on Sunday is distracting me terribly and I have this feeling in my gut that whatever is going to happen with him is going to be a good thing, even if it just for the day. His text messages make me smile and he makes me all awkward and blushy when he is brought up, and if I am being completely honest nobody has ever made me feel like that at all before so this is all new and thrilling to me! I am beginning to think that the problem wasn’t my previous partners (well…not entirely at least) and maybe that I was possibly batting for the wrong team back then. I’m just not that into girls apparently, who knew? Not me, that’s for sure.

At some point I have to break this news to my father, which just like…I’m not excited. The poor bastard has only just begun to finalise the process of absorbing the last coming out I did to him, now I’m gonna go over there and be like “Hey dad, I’m straight (lol) and I might have a boyfriend! Also I have slept with men and it’s pretty great, not even joking.” and just rock his fucking world. I mean, I will not deliver it so bluntly of course, that would be unnecessarily cruel and also not nearly as funny in real life as it all sounds in my head but it is something I am going to have to do eventually and I have no idea how to go about it. Last time I came out on accident man, I didn’t even mean to, so I think it is fair to say that coming out to 50-something men on purpose and with forethought is not a skill I possess. I’m hoping he just figures it out on his own and it kind of becomes an unspoken thing so I will never have the confront the situation. But he wont’t. He never does.


Mid Day Musings

I am laying on my back on a picnic table in Springwood, and am so bored I could probably die and not even notice. Today has been weird, the work has been coming in strange fits and bursts but none of it is interesting enough or exciting enough to capture my attention for any longer than absolutely necessary so it feels like I’ve done nothing at all. I’m watching the clock and wishing it would move faster but it refuses to, most likely out of spite. Dick.

The Bat-Hound is meeting me for coffee on Sunday at The Dale, a venue chosen because he decided to let his feminist flag fly and force me to ask him out…which is kind of admirable because feminism but kind of annoying also because like, I take a crazy submissive role in relationships and being forced to take the initiative makes me uncomfortable. I like being told what to do! I enjoy relinquishing control. Being a control freak all the time in the rest of my life can be so exhausting. But at least I’ll finally be meeting him I guess? Silver linings.

I got IPL done on my face last night because I felt like it had become necessary, and will be getting my…lower half (why do I get so coy when talking about this??) done again on Saturday afternoon because fuck I hate body hair. I mean, I get some hairs on my belly and of course I get hair on my legs and armpits, but the stuff down there gets to me. I hate it so much, and quite frankly if there is the possibility of a man being in my life that makes me hate it more. All up the IPL this week will cost me $300, and truthfully I can’t really afford it, but that is basically what transition is: a long journey that costs more than it ought but is absolutely necessary in ways that cannot be constrained to dollars and cents.

Anyway, I have work to do. It’s gonna be great.

© 2014 Molly Speechley