Decidedly Obscure Human Complaints.

… pondering deeply about such things like what position I’d prefer to be in if I ended up in The Human Centipede, when I will go buy more wet food for Evilbunny (my cat) and a bleach pen for the white Hanes© shirts I wear every day, getting mula for school books, and whatnot - eventually the realisation of how seriously lucky I am in the tranny department comes creeping in.

Prior to starting hormone therapy a few years ago, I had literally resolved to stop dating. Zilch, done, ~fin~. It was just, too painful and triggering. Every attempt was an incredibly potent reminder of how I was trapped in a body that felt disconnected and uncomfortable. It wasn’t worth crying every single time and spiralling into weeks of hopelessness. Without intimacy, I could bind and never look at myself in the nude. Easy peasy. Solution foreva!

But, the idea of hormones sounded almost as awful. Losing my androgyny and looking like a boring ol’ greasy cisgender dude? Eff no. Heading down a path that insurance companies and numerous doctors explicitly exclude? Uh, no. Increasing my testosterone levels that are associated with shaving years off one’s life, increasing cancer risk, liver damage, increased cholesterol, acne, etc.? No, no, and no.

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For almost three years now I’ve been self-injecting. The very first time my hand quivered and I literally couldn’t do it - but every injection since then? No problem. It had become such a menial automaton task that when I switched from bi-weekly injection to every week it wasn’t no thang.

But then, something happened. About a month ago.

I don’t know what the hell it was, but when I went to self-inject, I just … couldn’t do it. This was a little over a month ago. I remember feeling extremely frustrated and confused over the whole ordeal and eventually cracked and had a friend help me.

I figured that this was just a one-time anomalous incident. But no! Ever since, every Thursday, I can’t self-inject. I couldn’t even look until last week.

What the hell?

Seriously.

So this morning I wake up, determined to self-inject. I get the needle ready, cleanse the injection site with an alcohol wipe, go for the plunge and… nothing. Couldn’t do it. I felt closer this time, but still froze up. So my dad woked, poked, and it was a done deal.

But I’m so frustrated. Why would I be able to self-inject with absolutely no problem for almost three years and then bang! start freezing up? It’s bizarre to me. By next week, hopefully, this little phase will be over with. Maybe it’s just school stress or not enough strawberries in my diet or who knows the hell what. Somethun.

At the rate at which I’ve been spoiled throughout this recovery… I’m tempted to come up with excuses for a major surgery every week! For example, whenever I sit on my recliner chair I obnoxiously whimper: “help. help. help. help.” and my adorable mom will come lift the foot rest for me. Which I quite literally can’t do on my own - but still, she does this for me about a hundred freaking times a day and night. And then places a furry blanket on me. It’s a disturbing sight and I’m above and beyond lucky to have my parents and kitties and pup here for me.

I also don’t have a choice. For example, the other night I woke up around 4 am, as my mom seemingly slumbered in the recliner chair next to mine. I didn’t want to wake her, so I did my best to slowly lean forward and to quietly lower the foot rest (I can lower it, just can’t pull it up). As I stood in the darkness I suddenly hear: “What’re you doing? Where’re you going? What do you need?”

There’s no escaping the radar of a mother, that’s for sure. It’s like I’m post-op James Caan in a really distorted, lovey version of Misery.

My dad got me soy pudding and yogurt, gummy bunnies, split pea soup (for the much-needed pain-killer fighting fiber!), and minestrone soup… I have seasons 3, 4, and 5 of Dexter, kitty cuddles, video games… this is just, messed up. My parents are pretty much the best care takers ever.

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I tried to make a little webcam vlog shindig via my blatantly super enthusiastic voice — but, alas, something went amiss and the audio isn’t being captured. wonk wonk.

Which means — I’ll blog it! … for now. I want to make a giddy vlog about this, too, damnit. In the meantime…

I just made my final payment for surgery.

It is now paid for and the way swell “receptionist” (<—?), is mailing out my how-to-prepare-for-surgery-and-what-to-expect packet today.

This is entirely surreal. To actually have it paid for and to know, for sure, this is happening. I can’t thank everyone enough who has donated, helped with my fund-raiser, and supported me throughout all of this. If I could cry (I haven’t once since transitioning - wtf!), I would. ;)

Today’s 30 Days to a Better Man task revolves around having gratitude:

The ungrateful man is callous; he’s come to think that all the good things that happen to him and all the service rendered him are an automatic response to his impeachable awesomeness. He deserves all that stuff and more….

The grateful man is a humble man. He has no illusions of his grandeur. He knows that bad things happen to good people. He knows how easily a rally can turn into a slump. He knows how much worse off many others are than he is. He understands the sacrifices others make on his behalf. And he deeply, deeply appreciates them. (art of manliness)

This is a vast improvement over yesterdays. I like it - since, ya know, gratitude is applicable to everyone. Today’s task is two-fold: (1) make a list of 10 things that you’re grateful for and (2) give 3 thank you’s to 3 different people today. Done and done.

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… and I celebrated by going to birthday breakfast! I initially planned on going to the Utah Renaissance Festival and Fantasy Faire, but then grew increasingly anxious about an important paper that’s due tomorrow. So - I postponed it for a day that will work way better! I’ve received the greatest presents ever.

This bag from Jude:

This envelope, sealed with a kiss:

This creepy doll from Shenan that I now call “Dexter’s love monkey” who opens his mouth into a perfect little O and sings when squeezed. It’s a perfect fit. Plus, Gany really, reeeeeally wants to gut the voice box out of this little guy:

A gift card to Nordstrom Rack for a new pair of shorts from Jude, who can’t stand the basketball shorts I romp around in daily and has been complaining about them since last summer. But the most important gift of all? The adorable company of and lovins from my friends and family last Thursday and this morning, of course!

Oh, and the best gift? My dad’s post on my Facebook wall:

Still just as cute as the first time I saw your little head pop out 29 years ago. Love, Pops. :)

, who later added:

It was a very strange experience. I always thought I was a rational person. I was certain I would retain complete objectivity when Dexter was born. But, the instant he appeared I was overwhelmed with a sense of euphoria. I knew I had no objectivity at all. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

Awww!