She Returns

Gee, that was a long time coming, wasn't it?

I managed to survive from February to July at the Good Samaritan House at Westgate. This is a Christian-run facility for homeless men. Yep, I put away my feminine things for a time and went undercover, as it were, into an all-male community. That was the longest five months of my life.

Early in April, I started working as a helper for my friend Rob Mulcahey at his business, R & S Floors. That has been an adventure, and not always the fun and exciting kind. It has brought me money, which has allowed me to move into a new place. Back before this situation arose, my therapist told me of Apalachee Center's Satellite Apartments. The rent is cheap, but one needs a source of income, which I didn't have at the time. As of the middle of July, this is no longer the case, and I happily reside there.

Because I work Monday to Friday, I spend most of those days in dude mode, but I have my weekends free to be myself. Those two days a week en femme are liberating, to say the least. I'd love to discuss all this with my therapist, but she has been on indefinite leave since just before I moved. I don't know when she'll return, and this has begun to worry me. It's been a little more than three years since my depression landed me in the hospital, and after all this time I am no closer to my goal (transition) than I was then. The situation has to move forward, or I'm going to have to find another place to support me.

Anyway, I'll post more (and in more detail soon).

Another Year

That wasn't supposed to happen.  I let six months elapse between blog posts, though I suppose that's somewhat appropriate, being that the last message was entitled "Six Months".  Ba-dum tish.  I wish I could say that I've been busy, but that's only partially true.  The truth is, I've been distracted, by all manner of things.  I wanted to post a few different times in the interim, but I could never get my thoughts organized quite to my satisfaction.  I was also having trouble trying to describe events without making the participants (myself included) sound like assholes.

I managed to go the whole year without a proper job.  Along the way I learned that my not getting hired was not due to my credit history, but a criminal charge I was completely unaware of.  Suffice to say, I now have a misdemeanor conviction for fraud, for which I am currently on probation.  I also have court costs and other fees to pay, but at least I'm not in jail.

In August, I narrowly escaped becoming homeless.  My therapist helped me apply for a berth in a reputable homeless shelter, but I needed someplace to crash until said berth opened up.  My friends Troy and River stepped up and let me stay in their spare bedroom for about a month.  Around the same time, River's dad entered the hospital.  He's 91, and suffers from a lot of things, but is hobbled by dementia.  I spent a night with him in the hospital, and we hit it off somewhat.  When he was released, he needed someone to stay with him 24/7, and I was asked to take on the job.  That gave me both a place to live and some income.

Having a base and spending money brought my femme self back out of the closet.  My housemate accepted me as a woman, and I've spent the last three months sliding back and forth between my personae.  I've presented myself as male when I needed to, as when I appeared in court, reported to my probation officer, etc, and have tried to spend the balance of my time en femme.  I've expanded my wardrobe, and made new friends and contacts.  I've met with a lot of acceptance, but also weathered a bit of ribbing and more recently, some nasty street harassment.  It's ironic.  In the last couple of weeks, a number of drivers or passengers have rolled alongside me to shout something, but they're going too fast or something, because I've not understood a word of it.  I hear the tones, and I know derogation when I hear it, but other than a muttered "faggot" and a lot of laughter, I haven't heard the substance of most of the slurs.  I guess my MP3 player is good for hearing protection after all.  ;)

Anyway, as I enter the new year, I find myself almost returned to my situation of a few months ago.  My aged companion has announced that he is ready (at long last) to enter assisted living, and when he goes, I will be back out on the street.  Maybe the shelter will still take me in.  I'm just not sure how I want to go.  When I first applied, I was looking at going into the male dorm.  All my feminine trappings were in storage, and I didn't know when I'd see them again.  I was willing to put up with that experience to keep a roof over my head.  After the freedom of this last season, I am not sure that I am willing to go without.  I don't think I am feminine enough to get a spot in the female dorms, but I don't know if I can put on the rough airs I might need to weather the male spaces, either.

Whatever happens in the near future, I will try to do better at updating this blog on a regular basis.

Six Months

Today marks six months (to the day) since I lost my last job.  I've had three interviews in as many weeks, but none of them have amounted to anything.  One of the jobs did lead to a job offer, but then I didn't pass their background check.  Apparently credit checks are now employers' great equalizer.  Never mind that poor pay and unemployment contribute to people getting behind on their bills.  Bad credit means one is not trustworthy, so these checks are used to deny employment.  Big, theatrical SIGH.

It's also been almost three months since the last time I got out of doors en femme.  My therapist has been waiting for me to come back to her dressed, but the opportunity hasn't really presented itself.  Next week I might make the effort, if only to see if my makeup can withstand the wicked humidity we get here.  I wasn't sure I could last this long, but my ongoing unemployment has altered the limits of everything I feel that I might have to endure.

Not all my news is bad.  I was at Apalachee Center a couple of weeks back getting a scrip refilled, and I stepped onto a scale in the nurse's office.  I'm down to 185 pounds.  That's the lightest I have been since high school.  I'm still a tetch over what I should be according to the Body Mass Index, but if I can keep the rest off, a tetch is acceptable.

The Search Continues

After last week's upset, I thought I might stumble in my job search.  Not to worry.  I've filled out at least one application nearly every day since then, and I had an interview this morning, with another lined up (with a different employer) tomorrow morning.  I'm going to beat this.  As with everything else, there is no way but forward.

Oops!

That was scary.  I accidentally attempted to log into Blogger using my other Gmail, the one that doesn't have anything attached.  For a moment I thought someone had hijacked my account and deleted everything.  We now return you to your regularly unscheduled blog, already in progress.

Definitely Not

All that fuss of a few weeks ago turned out for nought.  I went back to the business to see exactly what had become of my application/background check, and was told that I had been declined, based on something discovered in the course of the check.  They declined to hire me, based on the findings of an anonymous third-party agency.  When I asked why, they couldn't tell me, so it's all on the anonymous agency.
That's okay.  I didn't want to work there anyway.

Bullshit.  I'd take anything on offer at this point.  Crap jobs, shit jobs (and there is a difference), anything available, so long as they pay something.

The last time I was out of work this long, I started thinking about self-harm.  That's enough of that.

Or Maybe Not

Last week, I went for an interview at the place that I thought had hired me.  They told me to come back Monday morning for a second interview.  I went there prepared to interview, along with another candidate.  Instead of an interview, I found myself (and the other fellow) filling out a slough of new-hire paperwork.  WTF?  I've been out of work since December, so I didn't let it faze me.  After a brief run-through of the documents, they told me to come back Tuesday and begin training.

Tuesday morning I went in prepared to train, only to be told that they weren't quite ready, and "Could I please come back at 1700?".  I went back to my sister's store and chilled out for a few hours.  I went back to the job site in the afternoon, only to be told that I can't begin my training until my background check comes back.  One of the trainers made me a milkshake, so it wasn't a totally wasted trip.  They told me to come back on the morrow, at the same time.

Wednesday I trundled out there only to discover that I still couldn't train, because the background check hadn't come back.  Worse still, no background check was submitted because that form was missing from my new-hire packet.  I filled out the missing form, and now I'm waiting.  My background is clean, so I'm not worried about anything, but it's frustrating to have been so close to work again, only to be forced to wait.  Have I ever mentioned how much I hate waiting?

Back to the Old Grind

I finally found a job.  If I had known how easy getting this one would be, I would have applied ages ago.  Mind you, it isn't what I envisioned for myself when I ended up out of work, but hey, a job is a job.

Their application says that the company does not discriminate against all of the usual things (race, nationality, religion, etc.) with regard to their hiring.  In addition, they do not discriminate against "sexual preference and sexual identity".  That doesn't help me right this minute, but if I continue to work for them, it may come in handy down the road.

This company also has rather strict guidelines about how employees are supposed to communicate about the business and their practices, and I plan to comply, so for the time being, I don't think I will even reveal where I'm working.

Why?

Why is it that big, seemingly momentous events always take place after my therapy sessions?  I suppose that it must be so that I don't do anything rash.  I have twelve days to think on things before I go back to see Cassandra.  The truth is that I don't deal very well with the here-and-now.  Decisions made in the heat of the moment always seem to backfire, and I'm not in a very good spot to deal with that sort of thing.  Rash actions always have unforseen repercussions, and I do not need anything more unforseen or worse, undesired.  Anyway, before I go back, I'm supposed to write something about my dreams for the future.  Ha!  I don't know that I do that anymore.

I used to have what I thought were visions.  I thought I could actually see some events in the future.  The problem was, it was only ever the most mundane of occurrences, and I only experienced the feeling of "deja vu" after the fact.  When I was in the seventh grade, I walked up the my history teacher's desk and caught a coffee cup that was teetering on the edge.  Boing!  There was that feeling, that twinge of otherness.  It didn't come again until I was twenty-one.  Riding up the escalator from the NY subway into the daylight of Manhattan.  Boing!  I can't say that I have felt that sort of cognitive dissonance at any time since.  What's the use of precognition if all one can see is humdrum everyday stuff?

The Depths of Despair

I can deal with unemployment, such as that is.  Getting the internet in drips and drabs is also proving survivable.  Six days ago, my Xbox 360 went on the fritz, and that, ladies and gentles, may be the death of me.

I'm still taking my meds (I got back onto Abilify, and it's done wonders).  I've got my therapy with Cassandra every two weeks, and through the auspices of a co-op with the Bond Clinic, I've had a physical and some blood work done.  My general health has been a little surprising.  My weight is down to about 204, and my height is 5'11.5" (I shrunk an inch and a quarter!).  Blood tests reveal that I have normal blood pressure, am not diabetic, and am HIV-negative.  My body mass index is a tetch high, and don't get me started on the Body Surface Index.  BMI makes a certain kind of sense, but who thought it was a good idea to tell folks how many square meters one's skin will cover?

When I'm not looking for work, books and videos fill my time.  I've always read a lot, but I am finishing books at a rate which is prodigious.  The local library has a respectable DVD collection, and I've been catching up on movies from the last five or six years.

Yes, I Am Alive

I really didn't mean to go another month without posting, but life has a way of interfering with plans.  The cable's off at home, so I've been getting by on public terminals (That's a Mass Effect 2 reference, if anyone cares).  My job search continues, so far without any positive results, but I am still hopeful.

My therapy was on hold for a few weeks because Cassandra was traveling, but we had a good session yesterday, and we're back on schedule for the next couple of months.  Remember that "chuffed" feeling I had a while ago?  When I arrived yesterday, the receptionist let her know by saying, "Jaye is here for her appointment".  It's nice to be known as myself.

That Was the Year I Knew the Panic Was Over

With apologies to Ellie Goulding.

2012 was a year in which I learned, yet again, that anything could happen.  I lost my Dad in April.  I lost my job in December.  Sometime in the middle I learned to overcome my fear of the future.  It's not that I'm no longer afraid. It's just that that fear is overwhelmed by my terror of what will become of me if I keep putting things off.

Affirmation

Last Saturday, I was invited to a party held by my friends Troy and River.  They called it the "Post-Mayan Apocalypse Zombie Solstice Party".  What a name, eh?  I attended the party they held last year in my male guise.  As I have been trying to get out more in my femme persona, that's how I went this time around.

I wore a "Christmas" sweater which has languished in my closet since last year.  It's teal and it glitters.  I wore the sweater over a pair of purple skinny jeans, with my grey boots.  I've got one decent picture of myself from that night:

I did my nails specially for the night: one coat of Spoiled "I Don't Drink Cheap Wine" (sort of magenta) and a second coat of Spoiled "Ants in My Pants" (clear red with glitter).  I was pleased with the effect.

Where they live is not far off one of the major bus routes, so I knew I could get there using public transportation.  Halfway to my transfer point, the bus broke down.  A nice gentleman from Star Metro came out and picked me up along with another passenger in a van, and promised to deliver us to our destinations.  Through the whole experience, the transit guy spoke of me as "that woman, her and she" and addressed me as "Ma'am".  Not all of my encounters with government employees have been so polite, or so positive.  Can
I borrow a phrase from my British friends and say that I was chuffed, or is that too masculine?

The party was great.  Troy and River have lots of friends, and there was a lot of food and drink, and a bonfire and...  Yeah, it was great. I had a wonderful conversation with a woman there whose child is Ftm.  I got a few compliments on my outfit.  The food was incredible.  A good time was had by all.

Yesterday was my third therapy session.  By mutual agreement with her, I attended en femme.  It was COLD yesterday, so I dressed simply in a blue sweater, skinny jeans (not the purple ones) and my boots.  At the start of our session, she told me that I seemed the most like myself of all the times I had come to see her.  Our discussion was wide-ranging, covering many topics, and not just those related to being trans.  I did speak a bit about that, though.  We talked about music, and dancing.  She gave me a "homework" assignment: I am to dance for at least fifteen minutes every day.  Would that all of my past homework assignments were so easy.

On Transfolk

Here's a link to a thoughtful, well-written piece from a writer I very much admire.  Please give it a read:

On Transfolk

Going Forward, Finally

Back in May I wrote a piece I called Beginning Again, For the First Time, wherein I expressed hopeful feelings about my future, and expected developments in my transition.  Well, to make the long story short, spring became summer and eventually autumn, and no progress was made of any kind.  At least not the kind intended.  I think I've said before that depression is all kinds of fun, and I failed to treat mine in a responsible fashion.  That is now in the past.

In November, I started attending the meetings of Transgender Tallahassee, the local support group.  Later in the month, I went back to Apalachee Center to refill my scrips, and discovered that my case worker had retired.  I got to meet my new case worker, and she immediately scheduled me to see a counselor.  We've had two sessions, and I'm going back to see her next week.

In the midst of all this goodness, I lost my job.  Yes, again.  Back in October, a guest vaguely complained that I was "rude and unprofessional".  I don't remember it that way, but the complaint came in the form of a guest survey, so the event generated a written warning and my working hours were slashed.  After a couple of weeks of working two or three shifts, I was informed of more complaints and given the boot.  I had about sixty seconds of dark, dark thinking, but I took a couple of deep breaths and kept going.  I've registered with the local employment agency and have dropped applications and resumes at all of the hotels in the neighborhood of the old place.  I've even applied at non-hotel jobs, because I need to work.

I think I understand the AA theory of taking things one day at a time.

Not That Bad, Really

Depression is a funny thing.  I don't mean that it's entertaining, though I suppose that it can be.  What I do mean is that it's an up-and-down situation.  Last Sunday I was feeling down on myself, but Saturday was actually a pretty good day, and it took some introspection to recognize it for what it was.  20/20 hindsight is nice, but I wouldn't mind being able to seeing the good for what it is, when it is.

Last Saturday I spent my time at the first ever Florida Secular Rally.  We got off to a bit of a late start (the stage wasn't delivered until late), but a good time was had by all.  There were speeches from various luminaries of the secular/atheist movement, entertainment by Shelley Segal and Greydon Square.  We had some of the best food truck catering on the planet, courtesy of Sir Cheezy and The Great American Sandwich Station.  I got to spend the day with some really awesome people, all of whom were totally okay with me en femme (and they all used the correct pronouns).

Oddly enough, there was one trans blogger there, and I watched her presentation, but somehow never worked up the nerve to introduce myself.  That was Zinnia Jones, and you'll find a link to her blog on the right side of the page here.  I am embarrassed that I had never heard of her before this event was organized.  Months ago, I was asked if I knew any LGBT bloggers who wrote about the secular life, and I all but drew a blank.  I knew of Greta Christina, but knowing of is not knowing, if you know what I mean.  The months whizzed by, and one of the organizers told me they got Zinnia Jones, and I said "Who?"  Anyway, her bit is on Youtube, and you can see it here.

True story: all night long, people came up to me at the after party and told me they loved my presentation.  Zinnia looked to be about six inches shorter than me, with long dark hair.  I was dressed all in black, with only my flaming red hair to break up the monochromatic theme.  I don't know how anyone could have confused us, but if I must resemble someone else, I could do a lot worse.

Pulling the Plug

I don't know if anyone still reads this thing, but I am thinking of quitting.  My writing has been the most sporadic since I started this thing, despite almost my almost universal access to the web.  It's not that I don't have anything else to say; it's just that I don't know if anyone is reading the blog.  My last few posts generated a little feedback on Facebook, and a few of them have picked up +1s from Google+, but I don't think anyone is reading the actual blog.  I haven't fielded a single comment all year, and that hurts.

I realize that I began this blog as yet another trans blog (did you know there is an actual Yet Another Trans Girl Blog out there?) in a crowd that was already jam-packed.  Starting a blog was not the wellspring of inspiration I thought it would be.  I thought that having an outlet for my writing would be enough, and for a time it was.  My Muse bailed on me, though, and lately I have lacked the will to scale Parnassus to find her.  See what I just wrote there?  I CAN do this, it's just grown so damned hard.  I could write, ad infinitum, about my ongoing love of video games, but I've gotten the sense no one wants to read that stuff here.  There are scores of dedicated gamer blogs, blessedly unencumbered by the author's gender identity hang-ups.  Ditto for any of the other things that have captured my fancy over the years.  There are other sources for that stuff.  Anything new to see here?  Probably not.

The end of this blog isn't set in stone or anything.  I just need to know if I still have an audience.  I'm likely to write a little something later this month, if for no other reason because Bioware are releasing a new downloadable content pack for Mass Effect 3, and I may feel compelled to say a little something about it.  If anyone actually is still reading me, please, please drop me a line.  I'd even accept a well-worded rant at this point.

Something I'm Not Gonna Talk About

The internet in all its myriad forms has been up in arms these last few weeks regarding a statement made by the president of a fast food chain.  The kerfuffle has spilled over into the physical world, with talk of boycotts, protests and counter-protests.  I'm not going to say anything about it, other than to share this rather well-written piece by another blogger.

The Chicken Fellatio

Please don't let the title put you off.  If it grabs your attention, then the work is done.  The author puts everything into glaring clarity, far better than I could ever have expressed.

I'm Walkin'

I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before all the walking I do.  Some of the walking I do is necessary.  For instance, the nearest bus stop to home is 1.4 miles away,  I do this particular walk four or five times per week, either going to the stop, or heading home.  I've reached a point where I can usually do this distance in about twenty minutes.

That's what I did today, but it wasn't fast enough.  I got held up waiting for traffic at the crosswalk at Capital Circle.  As I crossed the road, I saw my bus (early, naturally) making the turn into the stop, and it pulled away before I could catch up with it.  The next bus wasn't due for another forty minutes.  The routes don't sync up on the weekends the way they do on weekdays, and I was worried that I'd miss the transfer bus which carries me to work.  I made a snap decision, and started walking toward the connection stop.  I wasn't sure of the distance.  I wasn't certain that I could make it, but I wasn't willing to hang around and take my chances with the next bus.

Google Maps tells me that the distance from my usual stop to the transfer point is 2.7 miles.  I did that walk in a little under forty minutes.  I made it to the stop with about ten minutes to spare.  A few minutes after I arrived, so too did the bus I was afraid would miss the transfer.  It arrived about five minutes before the bus I wanted to catch, even though the schedule shows it arriving later than that bus.  I could have waited, I suppose, but I would have missed a heck of a walk.

The weather was beautiful today.  It was sunny and hot, but there was a nice breeze.  The last couple of times I went walking, it rained.  Not so today.  I did get a bit hot, especially toward the end of my walk, but the activity felt good.  This was my second outing in a pair of sneakers I picked up at Payless this week.  I think they're well broken-in now.

Beginning Again, for the First Time

This blog is full of my dissembling about transition.  I've always said that I intend to transition, but in three years I have not taken one action to further that process.  Sure, there have been some obstacles thrown into my way, but I could still have at least spoken to someone in a position to help me, and I haven't.  Well, there will be no more of that.  Last week I spoke to my case worker at Apalachee Center about finding a specialist in gender identity, and he said he would find me one.  I've got my follow-up appointment in June, and we'll see what he comes up with.