Last night I got to see Watchmen. (For free!)

( Spoilers for both the movie and the comic )



So, in conclusion, I recommend the movie.

In other news, as you know, I've been trying to buy a binder. rockeandroll told me that it's easier if you can get someone else to measure you, so I asked my mom when I was at her house last night. At first, I tried to avoid telling her exactly what I was going to buy (she's supportive but still not entirely comfortable, and I feel that the less I share about my specific plans, the better for both of us), but I wasn't going to lie, and so the truth came out. Then, I was babbling on about all the difficulties of measuring, and the irritation of trying to return anything, and the possibility of physical pain, when my mother interrupted and asked why I didn't just get breast reduction surgery. A little surprised, I explained that I'm planning on getting a double mastectomy somewhere down the line. She then asked me why I didn't just get the reduction first. She bluntly points out, "Your boobs are too big." (And she's right, in that I'm not particularly proportional.) She notes that while I'd have to pay for a double mastectomy myself, we might be able to get insurance to cover a reduction. (I do have backaches. The cause has not so far been pinpointed. But strain from my breasts makes sense.) I'm still decidedly surprised, and I begin babbling about our insurance. (Essentially, we pay a really high deductible, then after we meet that, everything's free.) This billing year, we're fine because my mom's husband's cancer treatment easily met the deductible, but next billing year, we'll be back to paying for everything. When I noted that we'd have to pay full price, she just said, "Not if you get it before July first." At that point I moved beyond surprise into shock. She has a coworker who had the surgery, and she'll call her on Monday.

My mom's mostly focusing on the reduction as a matter of pure physical comfort (No more backaches, yay!), rather than the transgender aspect, but if that makes her more comfortable, then that's fine with me.

I'm getting all excited about this, I hope it doesn't fall through.

Argh, so much shit to do, but let's fit a post in.

We're reading Stone Butch Blues in my lesbian lit class. It's the third time I've read it. What's really interesting is the different way it's affected me each time. The first time I read it, I was thirteen or fourteen and just beginning to understand myself as queer, and it shaped my understanding of queer history and culture. (I still find myself surprised when I meet someone in the community who doesn't understand the basics of butch/femme dynamics.) The second time I read it, well, mostly, it really depressed me. Being queer isn't puppies and sunshine right now, but at least no one's going to arrest me because I'm not wearing three pieces of woman's clothing. But this time... this time it didn't make me sad at all. It made me feel proud of who I am. And more than that, it made me feel ready to stop thinking about what I want to do in the future and start thinking about what I'm going to do right now.

I've been looking up the necessary steps for a name change in Colorado. Bloody complicated and expensive, I'll tell you that. But I'm tired of that little flinch I feel whenever I use my birth name. So, I'm going with a gender neutral shortening of my birth name, and my middle name will no longer be the very girly "Marie," but the gender neutral "Leslie." (Yes, after the author of Stone Butch Blues.) I will be left with completely gender neutral name. I'm planning on starting on that over spring break, with my mother's help. (She's a paralegal, and so knows far more about law than I do.)

Speaking of my mother, I keep forgetting that she's not the same judgmental, bigot that she used to be. I mean, sure, she still blames herself for my queerness, and may very well believe to her dying day that my transgenderism is a phase, but that matters far less to me than the fact she's being supportive and helpful. I was really nervous about telling her about the name change, but she was great.

What's really amazing is that she feels she can joke about it. She told me that instead of Leslie, I should change my middle name to Mario, as it would only require changing one letter.Also, she thinks that I should change my first name to "Bosco." See, that's what she and my dad called me before they knew what sex I was going to be. (Which was so very helpful in the long run.)

The other thing I'm trying to do is buy a binder. Not a three ring binder, I mean something to bind my breasts. This is a bit troublesome. First, there's deciding what to get. I've decided to get something from Underworks, which has experience with ftm (female to male) clients. There's still several choices though. I've narrowed it down to the Power Compression Vest. We then get to my biggest problem: measuring myself. It turns out that I am as incompetent at this as I am at everything else. I'm pretty sure that "under the bust line" is 29 inches, but the site tells me to measure "over
the fullest part of your chest. Again not too tight but not too loose." I do not know what too tight or too loose is! I'm pretty sure that the most accurate average of the two measurements is 31.5 inches, but there's some margin of error there. This is problematic since an extra small is 29 to 31 inches, and a small is 32 to 34. And if I can wear a small, then I can get the double layer vest, which offers more compression. I'm probably going to call their helpline tomorrow and ask for advice. I really don't want to get this wrong, considering the expense.

Being transgender: a bloody awful lot of work.

Er, anyway, I have paper to write.

This weekend I was supposed to go on the OASOS camping trip. I had been planning it for months. Then I screwed up my schedule at work, and couldn't go. It's disappointing. The camping trip was one of the few things I still really like about OASOS, and this was my last year to go. But I think it's telling that I'm only a little disappointed. OASOS saved my life, but I've moved on. I don't connect with the other members (they're 13-15 mostly; how much connecting can there be?) and I'm continually frustrated with not being able to relate to the facilitators as adults. The only real question remaining is whether or not I'll wait until September to leave.

Within the span of a few days, I made and devoured a batch of coconut macaroons. I hope this recent baking trend continues. I've long had the desire to make things, but I'm hopeless at all things visual arts related, and I've been stagnate on the poetry front for months and months. I'm surprised at how easy so many things are to make. To me, coconut macaroons seem like they should be difficult, but it's just mix the ingredients, drop them on the tin foil covered cookie sheet, and pop them in the oven. Bourbon balls, the treat I'm making for livelongnmarry, are just as simple, especially if you have a food processor. As my mother said, the vanilla wafer people have done the hardest part by making the cookies. She mentioned finding a recipe for "quick and easy" bourbon balls, and I cracked, "Is that when you buy the vanilla wafers pre-crushed?"

I'm currently baking, but I'm still not cooking. Everything I make at home comes from a box or a can, and when I work I always eat at Taco Bell. (I know, and I am deeply shamed. But it tastes good!) I feel bad about it, but cooking is such a hassle. So many freaking ingredients! I never have what I need, and then I have to buy too much, because a can't find a decent portion size for one person that isn't heavily packaged, so the extra rots. And then I end up doing something wrong, and it's just all very frustrating.

Oh, and here's something I should have alerted you folks to a long time ago: my mom's husband has cancer. But don't freak out! He's responding really well to chemo, and things are currently looking ok. But it's still really hard on both him and my mom. My mom already had to go through this once with my dad. (She wasn't in love with him anymore, but she did love him.) I wish things were easier on my mom. Her life has been one big hectic mess for years. She still frustrates (frustrate is the word of the day, apparently) me though. I found out the other day that she still thinks that she did something wrong and "made" me queer. At this point though, I find it more perversely amusing than offensive.

Finally, the song I'm listening to now: "First We Take Manhattan" performed by Jennifer Warnes? I'm freaking addicted to it. I've been listening to it nearly nonstop for days.

First of all, I would like to thank everyone for all the love and support you've given me. I'm truly grateful.

Boulder Bookstore called me. I turned in a resume about month ago, and now I've scheduled an interview. This is awesome, fantastic news. I really want to work in a bookstore, and Boulder Bookstore would be the best of all. I really want to work in an independent place, as opposed to a chain, and Boulder Bookstore is a far shorter commute than The Tattered Cover in Denver.

Now, it's just an interview, and there's a good chance that I won't get hired, but the fact that they called me is awesome. The interview is scheduled for tomorrow. (I'm so glad I'm not working that day.)

My first impulse after getting the phone call was to call my mother, which I couldn't do because she's on a motorcycle ride. My second thought...was how much I'd like to share this with my dad. He would have been so happy for me.

God, I miss him.

My dad died a few hours ago.

Oh, daddy.

Molly Ivins just died.

Goddess. I didn't even know she was sick.

Yesterday I was thinking lovely thoughts about global warming, destruction of the environment, and other such cheerful thoughts. I decided that I wanted to go for a hike in the mountains. I tried to think about who I'd like to go with, and the first person to pop into my mind was my dad. Then I realized that I may never be able to do that with him. He's going onto some heavy duty chemo, and may not be able to do much. The chemo is supposed to shrink the tumor enough so that an operation is possible. If it doesn't...

I don't want my dad to die.

I hear a voice
"Your must learn to stand up for yourself
Cause I can't always be around"
He says
When you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change my dear

So, I think most of the people reading this journal are aware that my dad has cancer. I think most people are also aware that he's Boulder County Commissioner. Two days he held a press conference making the news officially public. I read the news articles that were written about it, and it just sort of hit me all over again. I'm largely in denial about it; I don't want to think about my dad dying, but reading it in the news made it unavoidable.

Now for the amusing part. During the conference, my dad mentioned my brother and me. He said that he had two children, and mentioned our names. My name, in its shortened form, is androgynous. Apparently one reporter didn't bother to fact check, because he wrote that my father had two teenage boys. As most of you know (there's that phrase again), I'm transgendered, and while I identify as genderqueer (i.e. neither a man or a woman) I prefer male pronouns. (Actually, I prefer gender neutral pronouns, like ze and zir, but I take what I can get.) So it was bad journalism, yet oddly accurate.

Uh, that is all.

without fail. I put off writing the paper until the very last minute, and then I'm too tired to focus. I hate my life. I'm not going to get good grades. I'm praying for B's in social psych and English. My mom made it very clear that I was to get an A in psych, but screw that. I'm a worthless slacker. I'm so fed up with my English class I could scream.

If I don't get good grades, I might not be able to transfer to CU, which would mean another semester of Metro. At Metro, I can't work on the major I want.

My mother will throw a fit, I'll feel like shit, she'll go one about how worthless I am.

My father... well, if you're looking for ways to up your self-esteem, disappointing a loving, supportive father who also happens to be a cancer patient is not the way to do it.

I hate myself. I hate school. I don't know what I'm going to do.

Ever since my dad wound up in the hospital, people have been asking what's wrong with him. I kept feeling stupid and ignorant when this question was asked, because I didn't really know. All I could say was that something was wrong with his stomach and that he'd had his appendix and part of his colon removed. Well, today I figured out why I didn't know anything. It was because no one was telling me anything.

My father has cancer.

They say his chances are good. He's relatively young and healthy. His type of cancer can't be cured, but it can go into remission.

Oh god. My father has cancer and it can't be cured. Oh god.

Everyone else has known since Wednesday, but no one wanted to tell me. They wanted me to go to the conference without worrying about it. I called Kara on Friday and asked how he was. She told me that he was more lucid than he had been when I saw him last, and that he was walking around a bit. That was all she told me.

So, I got home (to my dad's) tonight and found a message to call my mother. I did so, and she told me we were going to visit my dad. I was feeling really tired, and I had homework that was due at 9:00 PM, but she was insistent.

Our conversation in the car was as follows:

Mom: So, what did Kara tell you?

Me: Just that he was feeling more lucid and was walking around a bit.

Mom: So, you know he has cancer--

Me: WHAT!?

I'm not sure how she thought I could possibly know. We actually started cracking up about it later. About how lucidity is the first sign of cancer, and "walking around" is the latest code word. She admitted that it was a major non sequitur.

My mother's bedside manner leaves something to be desired.

I did not end up doing my homework.

My father's in the hospital. There's something wrong with his stomach, though I'm not entirely clear on what. He had his appendix removed and part of his colon. He was rather amusing when I visited though. All that morphine.


( But here's something that cheers me up )

I'm not sure if people remember, but I've been fights with my mother over how I present myself and what I'm going to have to change in order to be successful. We just had another one of these lovely little conversations, and I'm angry all over again.

My mom is terrified of difference. Gay is bad, trans is bad because they're different. (Different, of course, means deviating from the high holy standard of straight, cisgendered, and white.) If you have to be different, then for god's sake don't show it! If you're trans, then dear god put on a skirt! (Unless you're male-bodied, in which case, dear god put on a suit.) If you're black, then act white! If you're Jewish, never ever show it!

I'm not kidding here. She's all but begged me to put on a skirt and makeup for job interviews, and when describing the various ways in which it is a basic necessity to pretend to be someone you're not, she mentions that a Jewish person shouldn't wear a Star of David. When I made the point that Christians wear crosses all the time, she just looked at me. It was a stupid thing to say anyway. I should know that Christianity is good and right and natural, while Judaism is different. I wonder what her reaction would been if I suggested wearing a pentacle.

She doesn't care if I'm happy. That's not teen angst talking. For a while I've been telling myself that she wants me to be happy, but she can't understand that anyone could be happy in a way other she can imagine. However, while we were arguing, I said that I understand that she wants me to be happy. Her response: "I want you to be successful." She went on to say that she wasn't concerned with me being happy. She kept talking about high paying jobs I could get in business. I don't want to work in business!

My mother hates me. That's not teen angst either. That's a quote. The whole quote is "I love you, and you drive me crazy, and I hate you." My mother hates me. How am I supposed to deal with that?

My mother hates me and doesn't care if I'm happy.

I decided I wanted to go into a little more detail about my vacation. So I will. Muahahaha!

.....Anyway, New York. Technically we stayed in New Jersey with a friend of my dad, but it was only a twenty minute train ride to NYC. We saw musicals, but I already mentioned that. A lot of the trip was in the eating. We went to a lot of really nice restaurants.

Another major part was my dad buying me stuff. (Yeah, I'm going to be blunt.) We went to an anime shop that we go to every year, and I got: two Saiyuki double barrel volumes (which means I've watched all of the Gensoumaden Saiyuki anime), an Utena soundtrack CD (I don't remember which), and a miniature fan with a picture of Okita from Peacemaker Kurogane on it. Later, he got me Sandman volume seven, which ruled. It did sort of send me to a bad place emotionally though. Long exposure to Delirium will do that to me.

After we left New York/Jersey, we went to Virginia to visit relatives. Which is fun. (The previous sentence contains lots of sarcasm.) A lot of time is spent visiting my grandmother, who is senile and spends most of the visit complaining about how tired she is. We stayed with my aunt and uncle. my aunt is... intense. I like her, and we get along, but I spent a lot of my time with her a bit confused and slightly overwhelmed. My uncle is an interesting person, but is one of the most self-absorbed people I've ever met. When my dad and I left, my uncle told me that he was glad we had been able to connect, but I have to wonder how well two people can connect when only of them does any talking. He is interesting, and no one finds him more interesting then he does. The only time I said anything about myself to him was when I was giving him and my aunt a mini-lecture on transgender issues, and even then, it was less about my life than about the subject at hand.

Well, I did have fun in the end.

Also picked up my monthly manga yesterday. Bought Saiyuki Reload 1 and Yami no Matsuei 8. God, I love Saiyuki. The whole volume was great, but the side story about Goku and snow was such a great picture of the Sanzo-ikkou's relationship with each other. And, oh my god, the omake bit at the end. Kougaiji in a playboy bunny outfit! Best image ever! (Well, next to half naked Kanzeon Bosatsu.) YnM was very good too, of course. Kyoto arc is good stuff.

Aaand that's it! Oh, wait, there's this too.

On Monday I had to miss the very last Trans-form meeting because I had a driving lesson. I went down to a local high school where I was supposed to meet the instructor, only when I got there, I wasn't sure where I was supposed to go. I waited right near the edge of the parking lot, figuring I would see anyone who came driving by. I also perused the parking lot itself. I couldn't find anyone. Finally, after about twenty minutes, I see a car driving past me that says Colorado Driving Institute. I have no idea how I missed it. I guess I didn't check the area very thoroughly because I was worried that the car would drive in while I was away, and I would miss it. (I guess I do have an idea how I missed it, then.) So, I didn't have my lesson. I would been better off hanging out with the t-form people. Not only that, but there was a thirty-five dollar fee for the missed lesson. So that was fun. At least my mom wasn't mad like I thought she'd be. She just called me an idiot. (Thanks, ma.)

I also had to give a presentation in Japanese. I had a partner, but I ended up doing all the work. It actually all balances out fairly from my end, as on the last project that was assigned did I did none off the work, while my partner did it all. So it's karma.

Also on Monday (boy, Monday sure was eventful, wasn't it?) I was supposed to turn in my final AAC. Except I didn't have it. I had forgotten it at home. And it was due that day, and the professor had very clearly said that no late papers would be accepted. And if you don't turn all those in, then you can't pass the class. Needless to say, I panicked. The professor noticed me panicking outside the classroom as she walked up and asked what was wrong. I told her, and, miracle of miracles, she gave me an extension. I think it's because I have an A in the class, and she sort of trusts me.

On Tuesday I turned in my paper. It was a class late, and not only that, it also sucked majorly. Yeah, that went badly.

Today I had a job interview for the library page job. Heh, it looks like leaving the queer stuff on didn't hurt me after all. Of course, when I told my mother this, she just said that they must have kept me on because they were afraid I would sue them if I got rejected. Yeah, it couldn't have been because I'm actually qualified. I think the interview went ok. I really want this job.

I should be studying for finals.

If That Woman expects me to be such a fucking adult, then maybe, just maybe, she should stop trying to run my life.

I wish I could remember my dreams more clearly, but I can usually only recall them in spurts.

Dream the first: I actually had this one a couple of nights ago, and was a pretty meaningful one, even if I don't completely understand it. In the dream, I was staying at my dad's house, and we all lived in this very small, very strange town. The dream started on my birthday, and I was told that now that I had gotten to this age, I wasn't allowed to eat. As you can imagine, I was horrified, but what was even worse was that my step-mother completely went along with it. I felt incredibly betrayed, hurt, and angry. I don't the lack of food would have killed me, but I was horribly hungry and uncomfortable. I started sneaking food, and the whole time I was terrified that someone would catch me.

What does this dream mean? Well, for me, parts of it are pretty clear. The whole "now that it's your birthday, you can't eat anymore" is directly from my mother's obsession with me growing up, and my fear of it. Not being allowed to eat is really the whole host of things my mother has been shoving on me. From this we can deduce that the step-mother in my dream was just a representation of my mother. So why didn't I just dream about my mother? That, I'm not totally sure about. Maybe my subconscious is just that afraid and/or attached to my mother? How very Freudian. I'm fairly sure that the mysterious town came directly from Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World.

I also had at least two dreams last night. The first was just sort of goofy, though I can't remember much from it. I had to housesit for tekararogue, so I show up at her house fairly late at night, prepared to spend the night there. I stay up writing, and at about midnight I decided I wanted to get something from my dad's house. It was only when I got there that it occurred to me that midnight wasn't the time to go into the house, so I went back to tekararogue's. Somehow, by the time I had walked the one block between our houses, it was seven in the morning. (I didn't look at my watch, I just knew.) When I went into the house, I found tekararogue's mother playing the piano. She screamed. I screamed. It turned out that I had the days wrong. They were leaving that evening. Why no one in the family noticed me hanging around in their house at night, I have no idea.

I don't there's much deep meaning to be found there.

I've seen people review fanfic with "this will give me nightmares," but I don't think it often happens. It certainly never happened to me. At least, not until last night. My second dream took place in ravenbell's 30_tortures fanfic universe. If you haven't read this, and you know YnM, then you need to read it right now. Then you'll have read great fanfic, and you'll also understand why I'm slightly traumatized by this. It was.. gah. Very creepy and disturbing, to say the least. Muraki is in my head! He's in my subconscious! Help me!

I (finally) had an appointment with my psychiatrist today. We discussed a lot of things, and eventually decided to add another medication to my treatment. A very low dose of another mood stabilizer. I can't remember the name off-hand. It works a bit more as an antidepressant, and also aids sleep. I'm nervous, of course. I have a very bad history with medication. However, I do not want to repeat of that depressive spell that went on for weeks.

So, I tell my mother this. I expect her to be apprehensive, after all, she's seen what medication can do to me. I did not expect her to completely dismiss it. (Though, in retrospect I should have.) In my mother's eyes, all of my problems would disappear if I would only stop procrastinating. Would that help my stress level go down? Undoubtedly. But not all of my problems have to do with stress.

Getting behind in school can cause me to have anxiety attacks so bad that I need to leave school. That's not what happened these past few weeks. I wasn't anxious, I was depressed. (Not that anybody noticed, right?)

She tells me that she's nervous about medication, and that she thinks I don't do nearly enough to manage my moods. That isn't fair. What am a supposed to do about the fact that I freak out when strangers touch me? Not go outside? I'm getting annoyed. She always does this. First she lectures me about treatment and medication, and then she turns completely around and tells me that I need to be responsible for my choices, and I shouldn't let what she says influence me.

I tell myself to calm down. She hasn't said any of the second part yet, and there's no guarantee that she will.

Anyway, after she says all this, she tells me "I'm not objecting, but..." Well, I'm a bit nonplussed.

"For someone who isn't objecting..." I trail off. Then she flips out.

"There's no need to get angry! Ultimately, you have to be responsible for you medication. I can't make decisions for you! I'm allowed and obligated to give advice, but you don't have to take it. You can just tell yourself that I'm wrong. You don't have to convince me of that."

Lets take this statement apart, shall we? All right, she did give the responsibility lecture. Who called it? I called it.

She can't make decisions for me, but she sure can try!

Also notice that I'm not allowed to tell her that she's wrong. We can't have that.

To sum it all up, my mother annoys me.