chico and the man

I am filled with all kinds of crazy energy. I miss writing. I realize now that I have to write to feel ok. I have been keeping notes here and there in my paper journal, but it’s not the same. There has been so much to write about, but I haven’t had the ambition to do anything. I plan on cleaning my apartment today since I really haven’t cleaned well in two months. four out of the last eight weeks were spent away and I was fighting yet more health problems.

I had taken antibiotics to help me get rid of the nagging tonsillitis that wouldn’t seem to go away on its own. The antibiotics upset the balance of my intestinal flora and as a result my digestive system didn’t work anymore. I lost all my normal water weight and felt weak all the time. I have eaten lots of yoghurt and yoghurt cultures to attempt to get myself back in order. The original sickness started as a sinus infection and then evolved into tonsillitis, and then gastroenteritis. The tonsillitis was apparently caused by an imbalance in the bacteria in my throat and tongue. I had a yellow tongue for a couple of weeks. Normally the body will be able to get the balance back naturally. My job stresses led to burnout and I guess the recovery is going to take more than a couple of months.

I often long to find a hair from her in my stuff when I get home and unpack. I’m sure there are lots of hairs from me everywhere for her to find. It may seem silly and insignificant, but for some reason I quietly obsess over it. Little things that remind me of her. Maybe its because it is an actual piece of her that I would be able to touch when distance separates us.

I was promised that I will have my evaluations for surgery in hand before the December holidays. I hope to have everything I need to apply and submit it all before xmas. I still need to get examinations by the endocrinologist, urologist, and my physician. I had to write a self assessment for my therapist to illustrate my understanding of the risks and impact that sex reassignment surgery could have on me. Some of the issues that I had to write about were very upsetting. I wrote the document over a week, struggling with things I didn’t want to think about and then having to put the feelings into words was not fun. In the end I had four pages of mostly raw emotion. Two weeks after submitting it I had to make a couple of corrections and clarifications. While trying to eliminate a vague sentence, I decided on a totally different thought and instead of one sentence I had three. I still feel it is a bit scatterbrained, probably because it is just lots of feelings. It is not so easy to arrange feeling into neat categories. My therapist and all that have read it have given me very positive feedback. I almost want to go back and edit it again, but I think i will just try to leave it alone. It’s done. Finito

I don’t necessarily enjoy reading my own writing, but it seems that those that read it seem to like it. Writing is something that I have always excelled in whether it be technical or creative. I usually have a little fear that I won’t know what to write when I set out to write something. I try to compromise with myself to get the process in motion. I will usually start by just writing random thoughts which act like little incisions. The words and thoughts then come trickling out like the crimson blood that flows from the incisions. Not all of what I write I would describe so metaphorically. I have thought about putting some effort into a serious writing project of some kind, something publishable. The problem is that I don’t have an idea of what to write about. It was suggested by my therapist that I could write my transition memoirs, but that is a fairly mundane topic to me. I would like more to write about sex/gender/queer/trans as I experience it today. Most of the trans books that I am reading or have read are all ten years or older. The world is a much different place now than it was ten years ago. I guess the danger is always that the content would be outdated as soon as it is published.

I have been experiencing a different side of the world that I find very stimulating. I have spent lots of time in the underground or underwater as the case may be. Its sort of like liberalist extremism in some ways. But the difference to me between conservative extremism and liberalist is to inflict injury on the system by using its own means against it. This sort of life living demands constant action, however small, to keep pushing for real change. it is no longer a life of convenience and consumerism, but one of vigilance. It is no longer acceptable to me to just let the conditions of the world just wash over me without doing anything about what is wrong with it. Cutting dependence on meat, supporting only just companies, and lending a hand where needed. Small steps to freedom.

I had a debate recently about shoplifting, or taking back from the man what is yours. I have met some people recently that believe that shoplifting is a form of protest. I haven’t made up my mind of how I feel about it. I wouldn’t do it because I don’t feel I need to, and I don’t like the risk of losing my personal freedom, even for the few hours it takes to get booked.

More to come. Amore.