melancholy and the infinite sadness

I bought a new dress. It has a Pac-Man theme on it and it’s really interesting and pretty. I get it tomorrow when my coworker delivers it (he picked it up from the factory for me in another part of Brisbane) and it will be the best thing to happen to me all week, because this week has fucking sucked. Everyone I love or respect has disappointed me or, alternatively, me them. I just want it to be the weekend so I can go to dad’s and eat his fruit and wear my new dress and feel like a person again, hell, I might ask Josh out, if I have both the time and nerve. That’d be nice, regardless of the outcome.

Something will probably happen later in the week, I guess. No transition means my life has become totally devoid of structure or meaning. I have no interest in studying or even trying to study. A long shadow is being cast over this humble blog, is this the end of days? I don’t think so. But the end of days for daily posts has clearly come and gone. Whatever. It’s Adventure Time time.

It never ends, adventure time!

I have a crush and I’m not sure what to do about it. I mean, I like the guy, and he is gentle and quiet and likes dumb cartoons and is a chef but like…I worry. I never really knew what dating would look like after transition; I had an idea but for the most part I was totally in the dark. The reality is that once a dude finds out you are post op transgender shit can go in any direction and seemingly few of them are in my favour as far as continued flirting and possible dating can go. Probably only 5% of the times the dude in question doesn’t run screaming and 100% of the times he sticks around the dude in question is either poly and not really serious about dating, or some depressive nut bar who thinks they’re too tough and strong and manly to see a fucking psychologist.

But the crush! The crush is neither of those people I just described, the crush works for my friend Kate and every time I think I might be getting over him a little bit he comes out and he smiles all goofy-like and does something that makes me go “dawwwwww I want to cuddle you all of the times even when you’re smoking dope”. I feel like if anything were to happen I would have to make the first move regardless of whether my vagina was stock standard or an aftermarket part but he has known me for so long, since I was fat and since I was a lot more masculine in appearance and manner and I don’t know if he can reconcile my past with my present and I don’t want to make shit awks for Kate either so I’m left like, fucking paralysed and kind of gazing at him wistfully over an empty coffee cup. Ridiculous.

Honestly it would be much more ideal if he just asked me out and saved me all this pathos but I don’t think that is going to happen any time soon to be honest. I’m not even sure how I would broach the subject with him, and there is a small part of me that is screaming to just ask Kate for advice while the rest of me shouts it down by saying “no arsehole then she will know our secretses!!!” She is clever though, and if she doesn’t know already I would be honestly surprised. Stupid dumb cute Josh. How dare he be so cute and goofy and tall. The fucking nerve of it all. Sigh.

lazy bitches of the world unite

It has rained literally all day, it has barely stopped for even a moment. In light of this, and also (mainly) because I’m lazy, I didn’t to do any of my Friday afternoon jobs because it was too wet and then proceeded to go home before the boss could shake his head in disappointment at me in person. The repercussions for this bald-faced refusal of responsibilities may or may not catch up with me on Monday but I don’t care, it was raining and it was wet and yucky and I wanted to go home and do something that wasn’t ‘being at work’. I stand by my decision, even though it was dumb.

I’ve been exercising consistently, studying regularly and eating well. Tonight I’m buying pizza(s) and watching cartoons while playing WoW. I’ve earned it.

My Personal Depression Cure

I got home today and I was excited, truly giddy with anticipation, at the entirely mundane thought of maybe, perhaps, being able to exercise. And I did, I really truly did! For the first time in over a month I got to exercise and move my limbs and work up a sweat and I feel so good for having done it; I had no idea how much I had been missing it and being able to exercise again just fills me with energy. I never used to be the kind of person who got excited about working out and I’m not sure I’ll ever be like, totes made for fitness, but just being able to get on my bike and sweat and purge my body and soul is so liberating for me that I am just full of glee right now. I can exercise again! Everything is gonna be great.

I had been worried that it would hurt a lot because of the surgery but in practice I sit most heavily on my bony fucking arse when pedalling so it didn’t factor in as much as I thought it would. I will admit to a little discomfort from the surgical site but it was nothing compared to what I had been mentally expecting, and even though I was compulsively checking the timer – as usual – and even though my knees and ankles screamed and kicked and moaned at having to move for no good reason – which is their wont – I know I’ll be back on the bike again tomorrow. It just fills me with joy, and makes all the terrible things that have happened or that could happen go away. Love it.

Two years ago I was basically still a boy, and I ate a shit-ton of meat and I shirked exercise for fear it would kill me. I drank soft drink and energy drinks compulsively, I smoked like it was going out of fashion (because it was, and it is), and I was probably twenty to thirty kilograms heavier than I am now because I ate nothing but shit food. Those are all things that are facts about me, or at least, the person I was! I’m proud of how far I’ve come. Koo used to joke that I treat me body like a temple (of doom) and it was the truth, but nowadays I treat my body like some final holy resting place for a benevolent god. It’s the only body I’m gonna get, so I want it to last.

just eat

I am exhausted, but I don’t know why. Bad luck, maybe, there’s a bit of that going around (or so I tell my clients). Maybe I’ve angered some eldritch lord of restfulness and this is my punishment. Maybe I just had shitty sleep (though I don’t think I did). I’m not sure, but if I had to guess it’s probably the eldritch lord thing. That seems to make a strange kind of sense to me right now.

I have a busy weekend ahead of me and I’m not overly-thrilled about it. Birthday parties and doctor’s appointments and visits to dear friends and etc etc etc and like, don’t get me wrong, taken singularly I could deal with all this shit with aplomb but all at once, all on the same day even? It’s gonna be rough. I’m harbouring secret fantasies about sleeping forever on Saturday night once it is all over, and I tell you what, if I don’t manage to summon up any restfulness tonight those fantasies are going to take on exciting new dimensions. They will become ancient prophecies, found hewn into the mausoleum walls of some once-great king or god. I will hit the pillow on Saturday night and know no pain and no fear and no stress, only all-consuming nothing. I will sleep so hard that for eight hours I will sleep my consciousness out of existence!

…but that is only if tonight ends up being dud for sleep of course. There is every possibility that I will sleep fine and Saturday will be a breeze. We’ll see.

I signed up for the Cert IV in Training and Assessment course I have been telling people about for the last six months, I paid $500 for the privilege and now it is up to the training organisation to get me started. I haven’t heard a skerrick of information about my license yet so I’m living every day like everything is fine and nothing is broken. What else am I to do? I just wait, and pray.

© 2015 Molly Speechley