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wearsthelettuce's LiveJournal:
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| Tuesday, July 3rd, 2007 | | 9:36 am |
ugh
I'll be surprised if anyone still reads this, but I just want to write it down. I don't think I'm living my life. I'm still so terrified of ... something... that I'm hiding in my home with a selective memory, a job with weird hours (that I'm so massively overqualified for it hurts), and an active lack of ambition about doing any of the things that sound like fun to me. I've been hiding from Jen because she gets me out of my shell. That makes me feel really strange. I didn't do anything this pride weekend even though I knew what was going on, and I knew I really wanted to go. I'm afraid of fitting in, afraid of sticking out, afraid of being boring, afraid of being too interesting... I just suck right now. I don't know what to do about it either. I remember college fondly because I may have been a bit of a shut-in, but at least I was shut in with people. Now... I know where people are, and I know that I want to see them. But that phone looks so heavy... Also, my car was stolen two days ago. I drove it home for work, went back out two hours later to pick up Jesse, and it was gone. No trace, no broken glass, nothing. And the insurance on it had lapsed, because Progressive couldn't get a hold of me. Which is bullshit. I KNOW I gave them our new address, I KNOW I gave them our new phone numbers. Fuck this life. | | Wednesday, December 13th, 2006 | | 4:19 pm |
I have a neck!
I didn't really say this at the time, but, I have a neck!! And I like it! A lot! At first it was swollen. There were little sticky bandaidima things on it, and it hurt when I turned my head too much. But, the swelling went down, the bandaids came off, I snipped the bit of stiching that was outside my body, and it's back to not being hurty. And I love it! I've never bought something so large for myself. But, I'm SO glad I did. I could have wasted that money on a car, and the car would be a bigger boon in the short term. But, it would also be a stressor, and eventually it would break down. My neck isn't going anywhere. At worst, I'll die before I get to enjoy it much, but even then my neck will be there with me until the end. I feel about 18,349 times as safe, and confident, and attractive as I did when I was fretting constantly about the shape, and the bump, and how obvious it was at any given moment. I still try to have good posture, but I no longer feel like if I slack off for 8 seconds everyone and their daughter will be staring at me intently, looking for a lie under my skin. I feel like curling up under a tree and purring. Or going out in public and dancing like no one is looking. Or just stretching, seeing how far I can go. I have a neck! -Madeleine | | Thursday, August 17th, 2006 | | 5:56 pm |
HSTS!
Okay, so this is totally belated, but I totally have a driver's license now that has a big fat F on it. Woot! | | Monday, July 24th, 2006 | | 5:51 pm |
Yikes!
So, we're now getting grape sized hail (with some larger stuff mixed in) coming down in the middle of July. And Jesse is somewhere out there, having a therapy appointment. Fuck... | | Wednesday, June 14th, 2006 | | 10:25 pm |
You fit in with:
Agnosticism
Your ideals mostly resemble those of an Agnostic. You are fairly ambivalent towards any religion or spiritual connection. You lead a very busy life and find that religion and spirituality are unnecessary to your life.
80% scientific.
40% reason-oriented.
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Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com
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| | 10:23 pm |
Your Social Dysfunction:
Avoidant
You are excessively sensitive to potential rejection, humiliation or shame. You tend to be socially withdrawn, in spite of desire for acceptance from others.
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Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com
Please note that we aren't, nor do we claim to be, psychologists. This quiz is for fun and entertainment only. Try not to freak out about your results.
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| | Friday, June 2nd, 2006 | | 11:41 pm |
Stolen from Jen who stole it from Issa
1. Your Full Name: 2. Age: 3. Single or Taken: 4. Favorite Movie: 5. Favorite Song: 6. Favorite Band/Rapper/Artist: 7. Kinky or Clean: 8. Tattoos and/or Piercings: HERE COMES THE FUN ... ... ... 1. Do we know each other outside of myspace? 2. Whats your philosophy on life?? 3. Would you have my back in a fight? 4. Would you keep a secret from me if you thought it was in my best interest? 5. What is your favorite memory of us? 6. Have we ever been drunk/stoned together? 7. Would you give me a kidney? 8. Tell me one odd/interesting fact about you: 9. Would you take care of me when I'm sick? 10. Can we get together and make a cake? 11. have you heard any rumors of me lately ? 12. Do you/have you talk(ed) crap about me? 13. Do you think I'm a good person? 14. Would you drive across country with me? 15. Do you think I'm attractive? 16. Have I seen you naked? Would you want to? 17. If you could change anything about me, would you? what would it be? 18. What do I wear to sleep? 19.Would you come over for no reason just to hang out? 20. Would you go on a date with me if i asked you? (If taken, would you if you were single?) 21. Will you post this so I can fill it out for you? | | Monday, April 10th, 2006 | | 8:11 pm |
| | 8:09 pm |
I'm an actuary?
I seem to have passed this exam. I didn't pwn it. But I passed. What the hell happens next? | | Friday, March 31st, 2006 | | 9:15 pm |
today was a bad bad day
so, today on my bus ride to work I had a terrible horrible no good very bad experience. This little 16 year old boy at the bus stop where I transfer in downtown St Paul clocked me as I was walking by. So, he seems to think this is the most important thing since sliced bread, lets his two friends "in on the secret" and the three of them proceed to heckle, insult and threaten me with violence at the top of their lungs at the bus stop. This is topped off by them walking past the bus after I'd gotten on, loudly asking each other "what the hell IS that" and then exclaiming that they won't ride the bus with that freak. I just wanted to die. Or, more accurately, I wanted them to die. Some days, I hate people/life/this culture so much I feel trapped in hell. Fuck it all. | | Wednesday, March 15th, 2006 | | 8:25 pm |
It's my naming day!
Today, I stood up in court and declared myself. Madeleine Samantha Miles is now my legal name. All hail the storm of extra work this will cause! But, it still feels like swimming in happy... | | Saturday, March 4th, 2006 | | 7:29 pm |
Inner dialogue
This is why I shouldn't be left alone: "Where is Lloyd?" "He's not here anymore" "What do you mean, he's not here? That's who I am, right?" "No, Lloyd is a thing of the past. We killed him, remember? We destroyed the life he'd been building, broke his heart, and buried his pieces in my brain, where no one can find them" "But, I liked Lloyd. So did other people." "No, you didn't. We could barely tolerate being Lloyd. It made him sick, made me furious to be me, whenever I stopped to think about it." "Bullshit. There were lows, but everyone feels like that sometimes. On the whole, I liked being me." "I'm still me, but I'm Madeleine now, not Lloyd." "What's the difference? Aside from some changes to the flesh, the fact that I'm somewhat more effeminate, where have I stopped being Lloyd and started being someone new? Madeleine, or whoever." "I don't know, except that we're adamant about it. We can't seem to find the difference, but we're ready to write off people who have had trouble adjusting. Maybe we can ask them what the difference is, between who you are and who I was." "Maybe they just don't like being told that I'm dead and gone, that I'm someone new. Maybe it's too much work, getting to know me again. Maybe they were waiting for an excuse to get rid of me, cause they didn't like me so much in the first place. I can be a prick. Or a cunt. Whatever the difference is." "There is no body. It's all in your head. No one else feels this is a big deal. Either they don't care about the distinction and will simply make the change, or else they think you're not worth their time in any incarnation. Your life before this was not a lie. He is still there, in all your glory, looking back at you from that mirror. You are still him." "When do I get to be her?" "Meaningless. Your gender is the same it has always been. It just doesn't quite fit into He or She. We've been using He to describe us for so long it has become habit. If I want a new habit, it'll be just that, a habit. You can try to play at being She, just like you played at being He. In the end, it will be a waste of time, because I won't fit. I still won't care about how I'm supposed to be. But I'll give myself an ulcer until I can realize that." "I'd rather be a genderfuck female than a genderfuck male." "Idiot. They're the same thing. You just want boobs and a cunt. You probably shouldn't be allowed to have them. You'd stay home masturbating all day." "When will my bumps become boobs? I can't see my genitals ever changing." "Just like Lara and you would never part? I need to get over ourself." Actually, that felt really good. I guess it helps to be able to tell yourself out loud that you're being a mopey idiot. | | Friday, March 3rd, 2006 | | 7:06 pm |
So fucking low
I don't like this feeling. Not just the pain of it, but the emptiness. I don't like feeling like I need to tell people how this feels because maybe the can make something warm fit this void. I let you go today, half shocked, wishing now you were still here, or I was with you. That letter, what it triggers, what it represents, was still half read, half understood, an idea half chewed in the back of my head, waiting for a moments peace to start screaming it's futile rage. How can they be like this? How can they defend each other with such fury, and for me have nothing but scorn? In case you are reading this from the outside of my head, I got a letter today from my grandfather. He was... unhappy about the way things are going with my parents. But, it was more than that. What he wrote was more than that. Even now, only a scant few hours after I read his letter, I'm only dimly aware already of what he's feeling. Mostly, I feel my own reaction to this mess of a family life. I only asked them for a simple thing. It was something they had promised me, countless times. I asked them to love me, no matter what happened. I didn't kill someone. I didn't spill oil on baby seals for sport, or toy with someone's heart, then break it for the hell of it. I tried to be true to myself, and in a way that is done by about 3 billion people, worldwide. And now, after an endless stream of bullshit, I'm some horrid monster, slavering through people's lives, ripping out their hearts for my amusement, crushing hopes and dreams for no reason at all, just doing it. Now people are in a rage at me for being a woman, and for, um, inflicting my womanhood into their lives. I broke my life apart because I could not honestly refuse who and what I am. And for that, they want to ... I don't really know what they want to do to me. I know that they profess love out of one side of their mouths, and spew hate out of the other. I know that they think I lack character, lack introspection, lack a mind and soul that is making a life, as opposed to just getting by, day to day. Not once have any of them put aside their personal reaction to transsexuality and been a fucking loving family. And all this is like a flood, threatening to drown me, dyked (tee hee!) by a wall of mixed anger and refusal to accept that my very life is the crisis they are so desperate to paint it as. And every time I have to hear one of them go on and on about how my fucking life is an attack on them, how my very existance is "too hard for me to deal with" how just by being I am making them hurt/outraged/furious I feel the waters slipping over the dyke, feel the waters flooding over this dyke, drowning her in loathing, and anger, and murderous anger for this group of people that claimed they felt unconditional love for me. I feel like a hollowed out version of me. All the soft, squishy, happy parts have been set aside, packaged up, swept away to make room for an angry emptiness, where I can feel nothing, where my rage can be purely cerebral. I sit and think hate, but I feel nothing, want nothing, am nothing. And Jesse, my sweet Jesse, is not here. I can't hear him speak the brutal thoughts, but with real heat. I can't let my reaction to him prove the lie of every thought of vengeance. I can't let him show me that the softness is still here, hiding in the absence of another's voice. | | 5:26 pm |
 A dreamer. You are the Faerie of the Moonlight. A calm spirit who feels alone. You sometimes find yourself crying, but can not figure out the reason. You have a fear of being used. People have hurt you, and you do not know if you can trust them. You lose yourself in writing or reading, a very creative faerie. People want to be your friend, but you don't know if you want to be theirs. Sometimes you classify yourself as an outcast, but you try to be content with your tears. At least you'll always have your fantasies.. What's your inner Faerie? brought to you by Quizilla | | Thursday, January 19th, 2006 | | 3:36 pm |
Oh, the lost time...
So, I'm in the QSCC today, and I was Tuesday, too. Today, I spent the morning talking to and getting lunch with Dan (the tall one). He seems like a pretty cool guy. And he was so funny, drooling over hot manmeat. This afternoon, I watched the L Word with Queer Women and then hung out with Jen and Tim between classes. On Tuesday I was in here too, hanging out with all the gay boys, doing (a little) studying, just chilling out. I also had about a two hour talk with Daniel, all about our trans experiences, our lives, what was going on, what he'd like to do with Tranarchy and what I would like to see/be a part of. It's funny, but I never got this involved with the QSCC when I went to school here. I occasionally hung out, but not even that all that often. I never wanted to get involved with a member group (even after coming out, the trans and queer women groups seemed too scary). Now, I'm finding I really, really like it here. It's fun, and it's relaxed, and the people here are SOOOO gay, and it's fun to hang around them and be that queer with them, and share that part of me freely. I had two hour+ conversations about being trans and what that's been like with people I barely know in a space devoted to making both of us feel comfortable with who and what we are. I don't even know how that feels right now. I mean, I know how I feel, but I don't know how to relate that to anything else. Community rocks. I miss being on campus. I miss the days that are a crabby mix of getting to class, hanging out, going out, and everything else. I like bieng around a lot of people all the time. I think moving off campus my fourth year, or even moving into more private housing my third was an idiotic thing to do. People are my lifeblood, which is kind of at odds with my need for privacy. I like to have a place to retreat to, but being off in la la land the way I feel much of the time is like being cut off from air. I feel like I"m on life support sometimes, and the past couple of days I've been able to breathe. This is a very hard thing to feel for me. Much as I would like to be able to come back and be involved and entrenched at the QSCC, I'm past that, logistically. The QSCC exists during the day, and on campus, and its populace is largely defined by the school experience. I am not, anymore. I don't go to class, I don't deal with professors, and hopefully before too long I'll be working full time (i.e. during QSCC hours). I don't mind the potential strangeness of being older than the people I chill with, but I wouldn't be able to build what I'd want at the QSCC. It's too late for that, for me. I'm really looking forward to Tranarchy in about 90 minutes. I want to share the info I gathered with Daniel, and find out if I succeeded in stealing him from PHS. And I want to hang out here with Jesse, who cannot do that because of hours. I want to have more friends I can invite over, be invited by, and be open with. I'm sure I'll never be as open with my friends as I'd like, and most of my friends don't really try to build a wall out of our differences, but it's hard to relate to their straight, mono, relatively asexual experiences within the mainstream of accepted behavior. I like having friends who are strange, and who break the rules of social interaction, and who can talk about the queerest parts of my life and contribute to the conversation. I know there are people who have not had my experiences who could nevertheless be open and communicative with me about it, but I don't think I know those people. Most of my friends up til now have either been too casual or else don't have that shared language. Bleah. I would love to be able to live the last six years over. I would like to be able to spend those six years being honest with myself about what's important, what I want, and how I want to be. I started following the crowd way too soon, and the place that crowd went is somewhere I'm only marginally interested in. I'm glad that I've managed to come to where I am. I'm glad that I can be who I want to be, to some degree. I just wish that I'd taken advantage of collge in the way that I wanted to take advantage of it. | | Friday, January 13th, 2006 | | 11:07 pm |
What in the world is that noise?
Ugh. So, today the kittens decided to be very bad kittens. They discovered Lori's knitting bag, or more specifically the yarn in Lori's knitting bag. They dragged it out and unrolled it all over the place. RRRRgh. So, give them a loud, decisive "No!" reroll the yarn, stuff it in the bag, forget it. 20 minutes later, the kittens have the yarn out again. This time they have it tangled on the chair. This time they get a louder "No!", a spank, and are tossed out of the room. I reroll the yarn, tuck it in the bag so it is secure, and ignore. 30 minutes later, I hear a loud crash. Looking over, I see the kittens having a ball with the ball of yarn, playing and grinning and stringing it all over. It has, incidentally, knocked a breakable item off a shelf (why we still have anything in our house that isn't a heavy plastic box is beyond me, since kittens have proven an ability to destroy everything else). By now I'm getting really tired of this, and pissed to boot. For reasons that escape me I was particularly pissed about this episode. Why the hell can't the kittens go a single fucking day without being little bitches? Why can't they be even a LITTLE sedate? Why do they seemingly wait only long enough for our backs to turn before they do exactly what they know they are not supposed to do? I know they know that they aren't supposed to get into trouble, because if you catch them at it they will take off running and hiding before you even make a move. They know it's bad kitten behavior, they know it drives me crazy and they do it anyway. So, I'm feeling unreasonably upset about the kittens, and they've just gotten into trouble with the yarn for the 3rd time. So I grabbed the nearest one, threw her in the air and swatted her out of the room while shrieking something incoherent. Only, shriek might be the wrong word. A shriek implies something high pitched. Shrill, even. The noise I made would more accurately be described as a roar. It sounded like some sort of insane guy yelling at the furniture. After tossing the other kitten out the door and shutting it I stumped back to my desk and started bitching to myself. Then I stopped, hearing what I sounded like. I've gotten to where I have some confidence in my voice. It sounds okay, most of the time. I can yell accross the bank at some mindless ninny who has forgotten his keys, or his ID, or the $20,000 dollars he came in to get. and when I do, I think I sound okay. Today, I did not sound okay. It was like a year of working, straining and struggling to improve my pitch and add a little bit of melody just flew out the window. Suddenly I was that grumpy old man I always claimed to be, raging at poor little kittens and grumbling like a sailor in a flat bass. What stupid joke of fate is it, that made my voice drop not just like a rock, but like a ton of bricks? Why do I have about the lowest voice of anyone I know, when I talk where it's most comfortable? Most of the time, my voice hovers in between if I'm not paying attention, and I have to force it up or down. I've met guys with high, pretty, expressive voices. Why the hell am I stuck sounding like the narrator from a bad horror film? How the hell is it that girls and boys grow up sounding so different? Why do girls (wow, the generalizations are thick today) learn to sound pretty, and boys learn to sound ugly? And why did I get stuck learning to sound ugly, when most of the other girls learned to sound pretty? And where the hell did I get this rage at the kittens? Usually, when they get in trouble I giggle and say "aw, cute." Clearly, instead of therapy for transgender, I should be in anger management. | | Wednesday, January 11th, 2006 | | 3:01 pm |
| | 2:21 pm |
It seems today is a live journal day. And if only the eunuch part were true.
| You Are 50% Boyish and 50% Girlish |
You are pretty evenly split down the middle - a total eunuch.
Okay, kidding about the eunuch part. But you do get along with both sexes.
You reject traditional gender roles. However, you don't actively fight them.
You're just you. You don't try to be what people expect you to be. |
| | Tuesday, January 10th, 2006 | | 5:15 pm |
| | Monday, January 9th, 2006 | | 10:28 am |
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wearsthelettuce's journal
