I feel better…

…than I have in what seems like months.

Last week I finally managed to decafinate.  And by ‘finally manage’ I mean that when the ice storms hit and the weather got drunk, I had migraines so bad that I didn’t remember to drink tea or ask Arr to get any other caffinated beverages — and I was too busy being in pain to think about it, anyway.

At some point weather-related migraines and caffiene-withdrawl migraines probably doubled up, but you know what:  The Worst Head Pain Ever times The Head Worst Pain Ever still just equals The Worst Head Pain Ever, so I didn’t notice.

I’ve had mild weather related headaches since then, and that’s likely to continue.  (Seriously, the weather here is drunk.  It can’t decide if it is winter or spring.)  But in the lulls where my head doesn’t hurt, I feel practically normal.

That has been a long time in coming.  Yesterday, durring a mild headache, I happily did the outlines for the next three chapters of MNML and some brainstorming for the fourth (A Jamie side chapter, perhaps?).  I couldn’t bring myself to actually start writing because, well, my head hurt and I find it difficult to make myself go that deep into being creative when I’m in pain.  But I have high hopes for today.

I read an article recently that posited that motivation happens when you have both a goal and a plan that your subconcious accepts as capable of success.  I think there might be something to that idea, because I’ve recently scrapped my usual plan of ‘make yourself write every day’ — I know that eventually I will derail on that and then I’ll go into a funk because I ‘failed,’ even though there are plenty of reasons (I have a freaking energy-sapping tumor, for God’s sake!  Plus, you know: Trump needs to be protested, my family needs to be supported, there is all kinds of suffering in the world that needs to be dealt with and pretty much all of it is more immediate or more vital than my getting some writing time in — and leaves me too drained to do any writing, after) to slip up for a day.

Instead, I’m focusing on a plan that I can genuinely believe is workable, without that constant low level nag of ‘this has always come apart, eventually, in the past.’  And that ‘plan’ is to focus more on what I’m capable of in the moment.  If my head hurts or I’m tired or I’m too worn out to get into my writing headspace, I’m going to try to outline the next few chapters so that when I do get to them, they are easier to write.

I don’t think I’ll outline more than a few chapters ahead other than very broad ‘this is where the story is going’ notes, though, because my characters have a tendancy to hijack things in the moment. >.>

Anyway, I wanted to share that bit of good personal news, because I know that a lot of what I’ve had to express lately has been negative, and I know that there’s a lot out there these days that’s frustrating as hell.  (I’m debating if I should avoid FB and the news until specific times of the day, to keep from spiralling down on how fucked up The United States’ political scene has become.  I think that’s a good idea, because while being informed is important and standing up to injustice is critical there’s a lot of time when I literally cannot do anything about what I might be reading — like when I’m at work — except feel bad/frustrated/angry/depressed, and that’s not exactly helpful either.

I guess that’s all for the moment.  Although I do feel ‘normal,’ I still have really low energy reserves.  I’m not getting physically depleted just by walking up a flight of stairs anymore (which I’m taking to mean that I need to get on the ball and start building my stamina back up, since it has suffered significantly from my time being sedentary due to illness and medication side effects) but I do tire quickly when I’m active.  Like: I’m starting to get that ‘I need sleep’ headache, even though I’m not sleepy and I’m not exhausted.

I’ve been doing a lot of meditation at times like that — which I personally think is an improvement over having to do a lot of napping — in order to get back into top form.

If you’re familiar with spoon theory, then I guess it feels sort of like when I’m in top shape I have a full drawer of spoons to spend — but instead of spending one per thing I do, I’m spending one and setting aside four, so the drawer empties out super damn fast… even though 4/5ths of the spoons aren’t actually spent, they’re just sort of sitting there waiting for me to take a rest and put them back in the drawer.

Right.  So, that’s all for reals now.  I hope this finds you all happy and healthy.  Be well.

–Eren Reverie


It feels like it’s been a while…

…since I’ve posted an update, and I’m not even sure whether or not that’s accurate.  I’ll have to check the date of the last post: everything has been bluring together lately.

I feel like I’ve been complaining about life a lot of late, which makes me reluctant to write about it.  I don’t want to be that person, who’s always gloom-and-doom and spoiling everyone’s good days.  But, the fact of the matter is that all the stressors I’ve been dealing with haven’t really been abating.  In fact, over the Christmas season Jae, Arr and I have each gotten sick at least once.  It’s been stressful and that stress keeps piling up so that we’re no longer getting rest so much as we’re trying to get recovery.

There has been some fun going on.  As a group we finally beat “Pandemic: The Cure” (a fun, reasonably quick co-op board game) and I destroyed everyone at Carcassonne.  (What?  I have a surprisingly vicious competitive streak.)  I’m looking forward to managing a trip out shopping, at some point: hopefully to get a winter jacket and some more work clothes.  Which, let’s be honest: I have so few female outfits that work clothes are pretty exciting for me when I get them, heh.

I’m also scheduled to start seeing a therapist again tomorrow.  And it’s probably well past time.  As near as I’ve been able to process things, while I was with my last one she was mostly concerned with diagnosing my gender dysphoria and getting me on medication for the anxiety and helping me get started on transitioning.  Which is all well and good, except that I never really learned any healthy ways of coping with stress (since prior to the anxiety medications and promises not to hurt myself, my principle relief from stress was various forms of self harm).

So, hopefully that process will help.  We’re also looking at getting another bed, to help improve sleeping conditions (right now we have too many people in too small an apartment.  It’ll still be too small an apartment, but at least there’ll be more options for palces to sleep if one room or another is occupied by someone who needs the lights on or is watching TV or something).  And my most recent medication seems to have helped significantly with my feeling tired all the time.  I still get tired super easily, and I’ve found I take at least two naps a day — but I’ve adjusted my work schedule to make sure I have time for those.

I’m still having a lot of trouble with motivation, at home and at work, largely because I feel like I’m constantly in “recovery” mode because I never seem to deal with enough stressors to actually get to “resting” time.  There is a distinct difference between recovery and rest, and one does not replace the other.

Writing has been dificult.  Both because of lacking the necessary emotional energy to get into that mindspace, and because being tired has a significant negative impact on my self confidence.  Furthermore, without the momentum of ongoing regular updates behind me I start questioning whether or not the last chapter was any good, and not just if what I’m currently writing — or planning to write — qualifies as better than crap.  It’s not at all rational, based on the feedback I’ve gotten, but it’s a self-doubt I have to deal with none the less.  Or perhaps all the more.

I’ve employed a lawyer to manage my name change and filled out the necessary court documents, so that’s something.  I’m supposed to meet with her on Wednesday for more of an update on that, so maybe I’ll have good news to share then.  It should be pretty exciting, but with as tired as I constantly am I haven’t actually been enthusiastic about it.  Rather, I’ve been almost fatalistic: with the current political climate, it feels like I’m in a ‘now or never’ situation for getting my identity documents updated, and I’m not even sure the courts will allow my corrections now.  But then, I also don’t know that I have the energy to really get my hopes up, so maybe it won’t be as crushing if they are dashed?  That’s a truly twisted sort of silver lining, and I doubt it would work that way in actuality.  Hopefully everything goes through and I never find out.  But I do wish I could feel more excited about the process and positive about my chances, in the now.

Anyway, I guess that’s it.  I’m going to wrap up here, since otherwise who knows how long I’d ramble.

As always, I hope all of you keep safe, happy and well.  Thanks for reading.


Today, in the life of Eren...

Vague grumbles…

…are all I want to post.  But vaguebooking sucks, and I need to vent too much to just not say anything.

One of my roomates threw an ego fit a few days ago.  Unfoortunately for him, everyone was to emotionally exhausted to coddle him.  Now, I get it: he’s been through a lot of crap, he’s been taken advantage of, etc.  But the instigating incident was him picking at semantics, and we are now in evening three of his snit-fit bullshit.

I mean: it’s below freezing and he won’t accept a ride.  He’s insisted on biking to an event, and probably won’t accept one home.  My wife — <em>his girlfriend</em> — has been freaking out with worry that he’s going to get hurt, which he doesn’t seem to care about anywhere near as much as continuing to prove how hurt he is that “we were mean to him,” I guess?

I’m too tired to maintain any kind of anger.  To an extent, I can’t even make myself care — except there’s no recovering.  Every little bit of energy I do scrounge up gets sucked away as soon as I interact with him or anyone who’s also been caught in the shit storm.

I am so fucking tired, and this is the third night that there’s been so much emotional shrappnel flying around that I havent been able to get anything done.  Hell: yesterday I (and I am a teetotaler) had a mug of rum-and-cider at the social justice organization event I went to.  (Although, that worked out: I was too tipsy to give a shit about embarassing myself, so I actually talked and contributed.  A lot. On stage, even, when the small groups were sharing to the whole crowd.)

That’s all for now.  Thanks for listening.  Keep safe, happy and well, everybody.


Thinking about the day job….

…and you know what?  I would totally aply for a position as a professional cuddler — if I weren’t pretty sure that, as a transgender woman, it would basically just amount to assisted suicide.

Oh well.  Back to the drawing board.  (Or rather, job search boards?  I’m really tired of cubicle walls!)

Today, in the life of Eren...

Something to say…

I went to a rally last week.  In part it was a protest of Trump, but more importantly it was a protest of the things he positioned himself to stand through durring the campaigning cycle.  It was people gathering to say: “We do not hate.”

When the speakers were done, they opened the mic for anyone who had anything they wanted to say or share.  I waffled back and forth on whether or not I would go up.  I wanted to, but a lifetime of fear held me back, even in a place that I knew was affirming and accepting.

I wondered: How much would what I have to say matter?  Wouldn’t it just detract from what everyone else said?  Would I even be up there for the right reason, or would I just be trying to make something — for even a moment — be all about me?

I don’t know.

But this blog is all about me, when you get down to it, so…

This is what I was going to say:

….My name is Emily.  The law doesn’t recognize that name, but it is mine.

I am transgender.

I have always tried to keep that fairly low key.  I only came out publicly about a year ago.  I haven’t made a fuss or spectacle of it.  If a bathroom bill had passed in my state, I probably would’ve gone back in the closet for my public life rather than tried to fight it.  And after a few more years, if it wasn’t repealed, I probably would have killed myself.

Because that was where I was, when I finally came out.  Unable to tolerate living a lie any longer, and asking myself: What is more radical?  Living as who I really am, or ending my life so I don’t have to live as who I am not?

When I saw the election results coming in, I was horrified.  I knew what they would mean for people like me, and I could only imagine what they would mean for people of the ethnic and religious groups who had been targeted by Trump’s hate speeches on the campaign trail; by his campaign promises.

I felt despair.  Getting a legal name change?  Getting my gender markers changed?  Being myself?  I saw the chances for all of that going away.  An article popped up in my feed about a transgender veteran who’s truck had been spray painted ‘Trump’ and lit on fire outside her house, and I saw my safety — already far too tenuous — draining away.  And I knew it was the same for anyone that Trump’s supporters could target — the same for anyone who was despised by the bigots, mysoginists; racists his election vindicated and “legitimized.”

More than once, I saw posts with suicide hotlines being shared.  I conscidered calling one, but I didn’t want to have to explain to my wife why I needed the cell phone right then, when she was using it to follow her own news feeds and facebook posts and skype conversations.

It didn’t matter, anyway: Far too many people depended on me for me to justify taking the easiest way out of this life.  That’s kept me alive more than once in the past, and although I felt despair — for myself, for others; for my nation — I had not been ground down the way depression had done in the past.  It was just as well that I didn’t call: it would leave the line open to someone who genuinely needed it….

At the rally, I meant to conclude with something along the lines that while I’d been thinking of my family when I reflected on the people who relied on me, the truth was that the circle needed to be drawn bigger.  That in the face of president elect Trump, we all must rely on each other.  We need to defend everyone’s rights — not just our own.  It was the people who thought only of themselves who won the election for Trump.  The people who could afford to be “okay” with his blatant racism and mysogony, because they were confident that it would not affect them — the people who didn’t care about those who would suffer.

I would have meant for it to be a message of unity.  A reminder that we shouldn’t give in to despair; that we all rely on others to protect our rights, just as they rely on us.  That we need to shore up our strength so that we can be relied on, because we are facing a long, hard struggle to preserve our rights and legal protections.

But the fact of the matter is: I’m not really that strong, myself.  I waffled, unable, in the end, to speak up to a crowd.  Not even to share a message I knew they’d support.  So how can I pretend I’ll be strong enough to stand up when I witness someone acting out of hate?  When legislation starts to change?


I’m tired.  I ache: my body, from the last weekend.  And my heart, from the last week.  I’m tired.  Not physically — my newest medication is helping quite a bit with that.  But emotionally.  It was hard enough for me to overcome my anxiety enough to get medications and come out as transgender to begin with.  Now?

I just want to sleep.

But people still depend on me.

So I have to keep on going.


Ugh.  Despite all that, I’m afraid I can’t keep up with it.  I’m depressed again.  I know I’m depressed.  I know what it feels like; recognize the signs.  I don’t have a lot of hope anymore.

My day job measures productivity in three minute incriments.  Yay for the amazing things you can do when computers time stamp everything, right?  And I’m struggling.  I’m struggling to work at all.  I’m horrified because the company I work for has branches that work with the government, and since I contribute to the company I am contributing to the Trump presidency.

I’ve always been disheartened by the amount of time I have to put into the day job just to keep financially afloat, but now I have to swallow the fact that the time I put in is going to provide support for the policies and activities of a president who will be actively undermining my safety and well being.

I can’t stomach that.  I know that I need to start applying for jobs elsewhere, but now I’m even more afraid of losing my insurance if it doesn’t work out at a different place.  And I’m just so. fucking. depressed.  I’ve been struggling just to keep up with getting my current medications and make my doctor’s appointments.

Putting together a resume?  Putting out applications?

I’d planned on doing that after getting my legal name and gender marker changes, so I wouldn’t have to go through the “by the way, I’m transgender.  My preferred name is…” conversation with everyone.  Wouldn’t have to struggle with HR to get the correct name on my email and keycard (if I had one) and all of that.


I seriously conscidered going back in the closet.  Just for four years.  Just for safety’s sake.

I want to cry more.  Thinking about this to write about it, that’s enough to make me want to cry more.  I’ve been trying not to; trying to tell myself that it would be okay — that even if everyone else can’t necessarily count on me because I’m depressed and broken, I can still count on other people to stand up for my rights.  That at least that much of what I’d wanted to say at the rally was true.

But the fact is…

I feel like it isn’t.

Isn’t true.

I feel like I was counting on everyone else to stand up for my rights, for hispanic rights; for religious freedom.  To stand against hatred and bigotry.

I counted on people for that.  And I cast my votes to support them, because they could count on me.

And the people of this country gave me Trump, anyway.

And I can’t even process that.  I don’t know what it means.

But even though the vote seemed so very close…

I feel so alone.

And betrayed.

…and afraid.


Author's Ramblings, Today, in the life of Eren...

I am in shock…

I don’t know how else to describe it.  Misogony, racism, rape culture, anti-intellectualism, hate, fear, and selfishness carried the American election last night.  I am terrified of what the future might hold.  Even for those who despise both major party candidates… what about the supreme court?  Republican obstructionists successfully prevented President Obama from appointing a judge.  Who wants to bet that they’ll keep that up for the next four years, with a “republican” in office?

Who here thinks that Transgender rights stand a chance in hell of winning out in the court we’re going to end up with?

But as much as that terrifies me, and as much as I am horrified by all of the other things that the president elect has campaigned on and the damage that a conservative court can do to the hard won rights of recent history, what had me in tears last night was the economy.

I work a full time job.  The only reason I don’t work an “official” second one is that the corporation I work for frowns upon such ‘split loyalties.’  MNML and my writing is the most viable option I have, there.  I have advanced in my company as far as I can without changing from a technical track and moving into management — or going back for even more education, which I cannot afford without going into crippling debt.  And despite the fact that I am at the top of the non-managerial technical track, I am living paycheck to paycheck and barely managing my responcibilities to my family.

I looked for expenses I could cut, recently.  I canceled the kindle unlimited subscription I got to distract myself when I was diagnosed with my tumor.  And that was all I had.  More often than not I’m eating 25 cent instant soup for lunch.  For caffeine I’ve been relying on the cheapest tea I can buy and trying to develop the taste for taking it unsweetened.  I hold a position of modest importance within my office — and I think it’s been over five years since I’ve had anything resembling real savings.

Watching the market futures plummet last night, I excused myself to the bathroom and cried.  If our economy goes into recession again, I don’t know how I’ll be able to support my family.  I don’t know how I’ll be able to cover my healthcare!  And I’m not talking about transitioning, which is neessary to my mental health, but which I know a stupid amount of people conscider ‘volountary.’  I’m talking about medical treatment for the tumor.

So, I’m in shock.  I don’t know what my future will hold, but it looks a lot darker than it has since any point since I started taking medication for anxiety and depression.  To the point that I don’t really think this is depression talking.  And that… that legitimacy terrifies me.

I really, really want to just give up now.


Some days…

…you just reeeeeeally could use a nice flogging.

Today is one of those days.  >.>

Today, in the life of Eren...

today has been… okay?

I mean, nothing bad has happened.  But around noon I started feeling… down?  Numb, which I’ve come to understand is me suppressing something.  I don’t know what it is.  Thinking about it, itself, is kind of hard.  Just… fuzzy.  I have a lot of nervous, twitchy energy that’s just as unfocused.  I think I feel sad, but I’m not sure why.  Maybe because I feel like I haven’t been advancing in my goals lately.  I’m just waiting for my appointment with the lawyer  for my name and gender change.  I really don’t like coasting, but there’s nothing more I can really actively do.  Especially when I’m trudging away at work.

Amyway…  yeah.  That’s where I’ve been floating lately.  I wish my motivations weren’t built around ideas of productivity; that might help.

Anyway, that’s all for the moment.


Self Awareness is Hard.

I think I would qualify how I’m doing as ‘okay.’ I engaged in a lot of escapism for a while (hence the long absense) while things just seeemed to keep piling up. It all kind of culminated last weekend in a truly epic breakdown. (Seriously, I was in tears four or five times that day.)

Fortunately, an all-day crying fest seemed to provide the catharsis I needed to get out of my escapism and start… I don’t know how to describe it exactly. Facing my issues, I guess is the closest. Anyway, since then I’ve pulled myself together enough to start eating better (a bad habit of mine from my childhood: when I’m stressed I can’t tell the difference between being hungry and being nauseous so I just don’t eat) and basically taking proper care of myself. I also took a long look at all the problems that I can and can’t do anything about, and started making some real plans, accordingly.

For instance: I’d been forced to cancel meeting with a lawyer about my legal name and gender marker changes back when Jae’s first grandmother died and I was going in for that MRI to see if I had a tumor. I hadn’t rescheduled since then… but now I have. So that first consultation will be later this week. It’s something I can do something about, so I am.

I’ve known for a while that I never really developed healthy coping techniques.  The self harm Abby engages in in MNML is all based on my own experiences with scalding, holding my breath until I’ve passed out, etc.  But, even knowing that, I’ve never made much headway into doing anything about it.  The only really significant things were when I swore off doing self harm, which I did more for Jae than myself, and when I started accepting that I was — completely independantly from bad, self-abusive habits — rather masochistic.  For the past few years, getting an occasional flogging has generally been my only real source of emotional catharsis short of having a break down.

Unfortunately, the therapist I saw for my anxiety and gender dysphoria seems to have been much more focused on the gender dysphoria side of things than anything else.  I never really talked about other things that have contributed to my anxieties and depressions — and with medication treating my anxiety and having gotten onto HRT and coming out as transgender to help with the dysphoria, my sessions with her rather rapidly trailed off.  I think I’ve learned more about how I work and how to cope with my emotions andd burdens from talking with Jae about her sessions than I ever did from going in for my own!

But, the point of bringing up all of that is that after my big day-long break down  (and seriously, it was bad.  I sat for hours doing absolutely nothing, interspersed with uncontrolled sobbing) I had a few really long talks with Jae.  In fact, we spent most of the next day together — and and over the course of it I started to realize how much stuff I’ve been holding on to that has no place in my life anymore.

Surprisingly, an activist event Jae and I went to (about raising awareness of institutionalized racism) helped a lot with that, too.   There was a fairly long segment where we broke into small groups and discussed socialization — and while the focus was on how white dominance is socialized into people often without their realizing it, the exercises we did for examining how we had been socialized in how we saw race relations also easily adapt to looking at how someone has been socialized in regards to any number of things.

After the event I spent some time looking at the messages I had picked up as a child about who I was, who I was supposed to be, and what my self-worth was.  It, like the event itself, was eye-opening.

I’m not that closeted kid with no idea what’s with ‘him’, anymore.  I know I’m transgender, a masochist, and a sadist — and that those things are all okay so long as anyone involved in the masochism or sadism is doing so consensually, and we’re keeping things safe.  Tumor or not, my body isn’t this hideous thing I’m trapped in, belonging to the wrong gender and a person I don’t want to be — I’m actually starting to like how I look and how I feel in it.  And all of those bad habits I developed when I thought I was this hideous, evil little freak don’t aply to the woman I’ve become — or the self-confident, put-together, self-determined, adult person I’d like to be.

I have to remind myself of that a lot.  It’s become something of my mantra, this past week.  “You’re not that kid trapped in the wrong role anymore.  You don’t have to forgo food to save money.  You aren’t evil.  You don’t deserve to be punished for who you are.”  I repeat that to myself almost habitually, now, whether I feel like I’m about to slip into a bad habit or depressed thoughts or not — just to head off the former trains of thought that drove me to despair, if nothing else.

I’ve made myself a handy-dandy checklist of basic things that I need to do every day.  Well, actually, there’s about four lists, all strung together.  Each one only has three or four things on it, and takes less than fifteen minutes to get through… but they’re all things that I need to do, like taking my medications, eating a real breakfast… even some really basic self care stuff, like brushing my teeth after dinner and taking a shower before bed.  Things I’ve been known to neglect when I’ve been depressed, so I’m now trying to build good habits around by tying them into routines: when I wake up, do these three things in this order.  When I get home from work, do these four things in this order.  After dinner?  These three.  Before bed? The last four.  For the last week, that’s worked really well for keeping me on track.

It broke down a bit over the weekend: not having to go in for my day job seemed to throw all my routines out the window.  :/  I’ll have to do better about that next weekend.  But I do have dedicated writing time scheduled every Sunday, now.

I’ve also started trying to be more accepting and open with my emotions.  Society attempted to socialize me as male, complete with the whole “men don’t have feelings” bullshit you see all over the place.  So I would suppress things, and pack them down… and eventually have a nervous collapse, like I did last weekend.  Well, fuck that noise!  It’s a little bit weird, though, because now when I’m actually trying to acknowledge how I feel… half the time I actually, legitimately, don’t know.  I’ve been so invested in disregarding my own emotions that more often than not I can’t really tell what they are, and the best I can do is acknowledge that I’m having them.  So that’s a bit of a work in progress still, but… it seems to be helping.  Over all I’ve been happier, more active, and more responcible in my self-care this past week than I have been in months.  Certainly since somewhen before I got that tumor diagnosis and started packing down all the associated anxiety, fear and depression.

It hasn’t all been uphill since the breakdown, though.  I ended up having to break off a relationship I’d been building online.  It sucks: love may be unconditional, but relationships aren’t — and the relationship wasn’t working.  We both needed too much to be good for each other on that level; it just meant that when the other couldn’t meet the need, we would trigger each other badly.  I really hope we can remain friends — for now we’ve backed off to sort out the feelings involved, but we always were at our best with each other when we were just hanging out and playing games, rather than trying to be each other’s support systems.

Well, I guess that covers most of how I’ve been.  This is already a lot longer than I was originally thinking it would be — and it still doesn’t really cover everything that’s been going on in my head lately.  I hope everyone else has been in better shape than I have been, heh.

As always, take care and thanks for reading!


Today, in the life of Eren...

I am not a nice person when I’m tired…

…or, at least, I have much more trouble putting g on a polite front.  But you know what?  Fuck it.  Mr. Step-Father-In-Law (The jackass mentioned in the previous post) came along to lunch, and promptly dead named me while I was holding the door for people.  I got to the table, sat; he sat across from me.  I got up, said I wasn’t sitting g next to him — angrily, I admit — and moved.  He said “I’m male, get over it,” which wasn’t the fucking problem at all: so I replied “you’re a jackass.” Then I told everyone else that the problem was that he’d deadnamed me, and had been doing so — while outing me — yesterday.

I am writing this at the table.  I ordered food so I wouldn’t be seen as ‘making a fuss’ or some BS.  Jae had a panic attack (she has plenty of history with this guy being a dick and her mom defending him) so we went to the restroom to deal with that in private.

The stupid thing is that right now I’m really hungry, but I have absolutely no desire to eat.  I’m ignoring everyone to write this, and I’m just going to throw my “meal” (the smallest, cheapest thing on the menu, because fuck owing them for this shitty experience) in a box.  Eventually I’m sure I’ll choke it down on the road.

I really wish my mother in law would stop trying to pretend we’re all a big happy family and dragging this jackass everywhere she goes.  It was bad enough that I had to bite my lip and “not make a scene” about him outing me and dead naming me to people yesterday — fuck, I even had to sit next to the fucker at the fellowship gathering afterward, just to keep some space between him and Jae.  Yeah.  I am sick of stomaching that guy… And I’m way too tired to put up with it.

Anyway, thanks for listening.