Looks like I'll be doing some make-work inventorying crap at Touro Hospital next week. That's rent, at least. After that, apparently, the military work is supposed to start, always assuming of course that my interview with them goes well and my federal background check goes OK (which it should).
I bought a suit coat this afternoon. I seem to have lost all the previous suit coats I've owned in one way or another. I've had two or three before now, but I haven't seen any of them in years. I suspect they were left at ex-girlfriends' places, in boxes in my dad's garage, or just plain lost in the shuffle during the chaos of the last several years. I find it, er, morally distasteful to wear a suit, so I don't mind having lost a few over the years, but I'm somewhat irked that I had buy a new one. People in suits do bad things, and I'd prefer to refrain from doing bad things.
At least that bloated fuck, Jerry Falwell, is dead. That's one less person in a suit doing and saying bad things in the world.
Wearing a suit also provides me with a constant reminder of my maleness. I can usually ignore it, but when I wear a suit, it seems to be an admittance of being male. That makes me want to bash my head against a wall. I had nice dreams of being female last night; I get these once in a while. Usually in them, I find myself pregnant, but not in last night's dream. It was a nice respite from the everyday grind of gender dysphoria. If I had a choice, I'd be a normal woman. Barring that, a normal man. Anything but a tranny. I can't decide if the options available for transitioning to one's desired gender are a boon or a scourge, because even if I did everything available to be more female, up to and including SRS, I'd still have the wrong chromosomes.
Chromosomes. They're the real locked door in gender dysphoria's attic.
I still have my dreams, of course. But they're all I've got. Otherwise I'm just a line in a barcode, one line next to an infinite number of other lines, when all I want is to be a circle. You know? I have the capacity to change, just not the power to do so.
capacity to change
I can't resist my list of final words
so this is the final word
this is the final call
how I resent the urge to try so hard
when you don't try so hard
can you explain
we're not the same
I bought a suit coat this afternoon. I seem to have lost all the previous suit coats I've owned in one way or another. I've had two or three before now, but I haven't seen any of them in years. I suspect they were left at ex-girlfriends' places, in boxes in my dad's garage, or just plain lost in the shuffle during the chaos of the last several years. I find it, er, morally distasteful to wear a suit, so I don't mind having lost a few over the years, but I'm somewhat irked that I had buy a new one. People in suits do bad things, and I'd prefer to refrain from doing bad things.
At least that bloated fuck, Jerry Falwell, is dead. That's one less person in a suit doing and saying bad things in the world.
Wearing a suit also provides me with a constant reminder of my maleness. I can usually ignore it, but when I wear a suit, it seems to be an admittance of being male. That makes me want to bash my head against a wall. I had nice dreams of being female last night; I get these once in a while. Usually in them, I find myself pregnant, but not in last night's dream. It was a nice respite from the everyday grind of gender dysphoria. If I had a choice, I'd be a normal woman. Barring that, a normal man. Anything but a tranny. I can't decide if the options available for transitioning to one's desired gender are a boon or a scourge, because even if I did everything available to be more female, up to and including SRS, I'd still have the wrong chromosomes.
Chromosomes. They're the real locked door in gender dysphoria's attic.
I still have my dreams, of course. But they're all I've got. Otherwise I'm just a line in a barcode, one line next to an infinite number of other lines, when all I want is to be a circle. You know? I have the capacity to change, just not the power to do so.
capacity to change
I can't resist my list of final words
so this is the final word
this is the final call
how I resent the urge to try so hard
when you don't try so hard
can you explain
we're not the same