Decidedly Obscure Human Complaints.

Alright, now it's hitting me a bit. There's a little nugget of dread throbbing in my stomach, ready to pOp and let out a whole can of panicky worms - but I won't let it, dag nabbit. No way, no how. The little nugget manifested around the time I finally slowed down and got home, where I was greeted by my excited little furry feline friends, Theseus and Evilbunny (I named him when I was 12. Don't judge.) and my little rat friend, Ben. I immediately felt this twinge of failure stir in my gut and creep up my throat. I'm a horrible guardian , I thought. I have a responsibility towards my companion animals who are 100% dependent on me and they entirely deserve the security I've promised them . They were entirely oblivious to my guilt and just super uber happy to see me, purring and ready for treats and cuddles. I'd spent the day with my mom. She made me lunch and beamed all happy mom-style and we went to the gym together. It was nice. My brother took me to din...

I got laid off today. Earlier today when I went stumbling into work the first thing that was said to me was, " A lot of people have been laid off today. " I could feel the aura of tension, anxiety, and sadness in the air. Numerous people were teary eyed and solemn. Then, before I even had a chance to login to my computer my work phone started ringing on my desk. The name of the H.R. person popped up on the caller ID. Ah damnit , I thought. When I answered he asked, " Hey Mel. Would you mind coming up to my office? " I immediately knew that this was the call. I've never experienced being laid off or fired before, so I couldn't at all predict how I'd react. Surprisingly, I didn't feel a wave of emotion. No fear or anxiety, or even shock. I didn't feel like it was surreal or that I was stunned, either. Just, that I'm one person out of millions that are have become unemployed in the United States. It's something I have no control o...

I noticed yesterday while typing away furiously at work that I smelled like, well, mold . My own potent odor was distracting, in fact. Flattering bit of information to share, I'm aware. But it's true. And some times, the truth just isn't all that flattering. Especially a little over 3 months after starting hormone therapy. Prior to injecting myself with goop that has transformed me into an awkward acne-ridden greasy perspiring slightly hairier and horny 200 lbs mess of a thing, I could get away with showering once every few days. Longer if I really felt like it. It was no big thang. I could wash a pair of jeans and re-wear those jeans multiple times, only washing them when the filth became visibly apparent. Same logic applied to shirts. I could peddle around furiously on my bicycle, no problem. Even on the hottest days in the summer. I could work out in the morning and then go to work without showering. I didn't sweat profusely and had no potent, grody odor, n...

Ooo ooo! Just a moment ago, the very.first.thing a project manager who I haven't worked with in some time said after I asked, What can I do ya for? was: " Your voice sounds deep today. Are you sick or something? "

My visit to the doctor last Friday wasn't as satisfying as I'd anticipated. Essentially, she's incredibly blunt and honest. She doesn't do the usual " don't worry " vague doctor shindig, but instead opts to tell me how it is. This is a good thing and I appreciate it, but, on the toss side, the news is rarely encouraging or what I'd prefer to hear. For example, I explained to her how I actually want to attempt to preserve a semblance of functioning and health in my reproductive organs throughout this process. She instantly assumed that I wanted to remain fertile (Gah! NO!), so I tried to clarify that I only care about not having them atrophy into my stomach or something - and, more importantly, to be able to function enough that they'll produce hormones and menstruate when I stop testosterone therapy. I suspect she's not used to necessarily caring about the preservation or monitoring of a trans guy's ovaries and uterus since, in most t...

Today is hectic and I only have time to post a total of two spiffy things! First, Gender Outlaw started up a site called The Transman Mapping Project The idea is simple: just add your name or alias (it can be anonymous) and a marker to the map so that we can create a bird’s eye view of how transmen are spread out around the world. If you’ve ever had that feeling of being alone in your transition, a quick look at the map will show you otherwise. We really are everywhere! -Gender Outlaw Second and not at all related to this blog, my friend sent me a link to the neatest thing since vegan marshmallows earlier today - an article about this amazing quadruped robot called "BigDog". Watching it move around in the video is super surreal. Neat.

Injection time went well last night! I've got that shizzit down like a pirate knows how to fire cannons through portholes. I didn't get home until a little after midnight, but that whole ' Is this what jonesing feels like? " sensation I experienced last time wasn't present. Whew! Last time I injected into my left thigh (I'd always been injecting into my right) with the idea that I'm going to alternate between thighs. So last night I injected into my right thigh and, for some reason, it's become a bit painful. I can feel the needle slide through every layer of muscle like it's thicker or hardened when it used to have a seamless, slide-in-like-butta sensation going on. I just need to develop a little bot like this to do injections for me! Then I can just lay back and think about buttery textures and juicy centers while the bot determines the softest point of entry before sticking n' injecting! Genius. Anyway, right after work last night...