The last week has been a little more exciting than a lot of those preceding. Sunday we went to Carrabelle Beach. I presented male, and wore swim trunks and a baggy tee shirt. I got waist-deep in the ocean and decided I'd had enough. I then spent the rest of the afternoon reading and taking pictures.
Monday I went out and put in some more job applications. I also received a call about an interview at a hotel where I applied more than a month ago.
Tuesday I went to the interview. It went great for the first twenty minutes or so. As long as we chatted about my experience and some of the skills I have, I was fine. Then the GM asked me about a specific situation, and I imploded. I could not recall in any detail a single incident that could illustrate my skills. He then asked me for a different example, and I couldn't remember a damned thing! I could (and do) remember a whole slew of negative experiences, but the memories of all the people I've helped and taken care of evaporated. The rest of the interview was perfunctory stuff. He told me about the company, and their benefits, and whatnot, and said they'd make a decision by Friday. Needless to say, I did not hear from them yesterday.
Wednesday and Thursday were mostly idle days, with my usual patterns of sleep, internet and Xbox broken only by running some errands with Nate.
I did get a phone call Friday afternoon, but not from the people I saw on Tuesday. It was another interview request, this time for next Monday. It's from a chain I have worked with before, but don't list on my resume. It was not a happy experience. That was seven years ago, though. I'm willing to let bygones be, in the service of finding myself gainfully employed again. This idleness is killing me.
Somewhere in the middle I saw my new trans "friend" again. She creeps me out, and illustrates all the reasons why they have steps a person is supposed to follow, and why. I mentioned before that she's taking hormones without regular supervision from a doctor. She told me that when I'm ready to start my own therapy, to let her know, and she'll hook me up with a doctor who will provide me, up front, with a year's prescription for maximum-dose hormones. This doctor is reportedly located in the nearby (and aptly named) town of Panacea. Talking to the lady makes my skin crawl. I don't like to take strong pain meds without they say-so of a doctor; why would I risk any sort of damage by fooling around with estrogen?
A positive outcome of that encounter was that I had the longest talk ever with Nate about being trans. He still can't quite get his head around it, but I think he was reassured that we feel the same way about this other person.