Professional Wrestling Is A Strange Blend Of Fact And Fiction; A Form Of Theater In Which The Characters

Unexpected HRT side-effect #14

I have a lot of insecurity about is my hairline. I am, in retrospect, very lucky; I had very thick hair growing up, and even though it thinned over the years, I avoided the male-pattern baldness that struck my siblings. That’s no meager blessing for a trans woman that began her journey late in life.

However; at the time I began my transition, it had thinned extensively; especially at the peak. This really didn’t do any favors for my self-consciousness at the time.

Now, strictly speaking, some level of hair restoration is not uncommon with HRT; however, it’s far from guaranteed, and there’s no set timeline in which it might happen. After a year, I felt like very little had changed (which I attributed to the original loss being caused by damage, and not years of testosterone poisoning).

Imagine my surprise then at seeing an older picture of myself, and realizing that the problem then was a lot more severe than it is now. It’s a very difficult thing to gauge, but it feels like maybe a few long-dormant follicles have sprung back to life!

More generally, it seems that many of the hair-related side effects of HRT just take a long, long time to kick in. I had some hairs on my shoulders and upper arms; and as they were still present six months into my HRT regimen, I planned on having them removed. I recently discovered that they seem to have mainly disappeared of their own accord; so evidently I just need to be patient about these things!

Blank lines

I would like to meet the Microsoft employee that oversaw the inclusion of Visual Studio's infamous "Apply Cut or Copy to blank lines when there is no selection" feature and shake them firmly by the C5 vertebrae.

Ramen

During the initial months of quarantine, the tent pole of my day was making ramen for lunch. I make no claim that the end product was particularly authentic; but it was a nice way of breaking up the monotony of working from home.

(I will however give a big shout-out to my friend J for teaching me how to make immaculately soft-boiled eggs.)

At this time, my go-to addition was thick-sliced ham - it's a relatively inexpensive and plentiful protein. This also pleased our two youngest cats, who adore ham and would converge on the kitchen on an intercept course for the purpose of acquiring their own cured pork off-cuts.

In due course, I moved on to making other things for lunch and the older of the two - Gracie - took this change in stride and left me to my own cooking devices.

Not Karkat though! She is definition of "High intelligence, low wisdom" - no matter what I am doing in the kitchen, she has determined that it could be at least slightly ham-related.

This is both cute... and rather inconvenient, as her chosen method of communicating her desire for ham is to circle my legs and rub up on them while meowing loudly (which is all good and well until I'm carrying a hot and / or heavy pan).

So... this is my life now. All cooking will, on a go-forward basis, involve delicately stepping around an insane kitten - like some kind of cuisine-themed, cat-based version of a sword dance!

Me

And the photoshoot results are in!

It's not often I do something like this - I'm still very self-conscious about my appearance - but it's nice once in a while to see how far I've come.

This is long overdue; but thanks to @ghastspidergwen for the tag! 🙂

...

Last song: Lust For Lies, by The New Division.

Favorite color(s): they change periodically; currently in are dark reds, greens, and teals!

Currently watching: whatever delightfully absurd game-streaming compilation my kiddo chooses to share with me. (The most recent was PointCrow trekking a straight line across the entire Legend Of Zelda: Tears Of The Kingdom map, sans upgrades.)

Sweet / savory / spicy: all of the above! My only corollary is that I quickly find too much of either sweet or savory to be overpowering; and need to alternate between the two.

Relationship status: currently celebrating my 20th year of marriage!

Current obsession: I recently reignited my passion for customizing the 8" figures from the short-lived GI Joe: Sigma 6 line (and just finished indexing a 200-page notebook specifically to record my ideas in).

(Honorable mentions: learning to play the blues on the guitar; learning to play Elgar's Variation IX (Adagio) "Nimrod" on the piano; creating updated versions of the Warhammer: 40,000 Chaos Champions I originally converted in my youth; downsizing my not-insignificant stockpile of nerdy collectibles.)

...

There's zero pressure to join in; but the following people routinely brighten my dashboard, and I would love to know more about them! 🙂

@cronnissar,

@foone,

@owlrageousjones,

@transmechanicus,

@socialistexan,

@whenflowersfade.

Nine people i'd like to get to know better:

Tagged by: @bell-of-indecision, thank you so much for tagging me <3

Last Song: Gmfu by Odetari,6arelyhuman

Favourite colour: Dark red, violet, pink

Currently watching: Death note, ep6

Spicy/Savoury/Sweet: Spicy

Relationship status: Single

Current Obsession: Mbti types and cognitive functions.

Tagging: @somin-yin @a-cloud-for-dreams @axepen @hinsaa-paramo-dharma @basic-bitch-alkali @rhysaka @blackknight-100 @squishywizardd @reykalot

Test

Last week I was at Minneapolis' very own CONvergence convention. A fantastic time was had! Obviously, attending a large public event in the current viral climate is not without risk; but I felt considerably more secure in matters given that (a) the organizers had capped attendance at 3,500 (half the size of the previous year), (b) required all attendees show proof of vaccination and (c) instituted a mask mandate.

Unfortunately, post-event, it was determined that an attendee has tested positive for COVID and had informed the organizers as such. They in turn notified all other event-goers, and provided information on the afflicted individual's path through the convention for contract-tracing purposes.

Unfortunately, it transpired that the two of us had attended a panel together; and despite the extremely unlikely possibility of having contracted COVID from this person, the sensible course of action was to go get tested myself.

This did not fill me with joy. As I have previously documented, there is a facet of my younger self - splintered by trauma - that bristles at certain medical interventions... And I knew this would be one of them.

At the start of the pandemic, my spouse required a routine medical procedure; and in advance of that, was required to get a COVID test. I drove them to the in-car test site, and my spouse rolled down the passenger-side window to talk to a fully geared-up nurse.

As many are no doubt aware, those first COVID tests required collecting a sample from the very, very furthest reaches of the sinuses; using what is essentially an extremely long Q-Tip. While not necessarily a painful experience, it can be irritating at best and deeply unpleasant at worst.

Both my spouse and I were a little taken aback when the nurse instructed them to tilt their head back and place their hands firmly on their knees because, and I quote, "Trust me, you will try to stop me".

The nurse swabbed my spouse's sinuses, and it was fine, and other than my spouse feeling like they had been somehow poked in the back of the eyeball, all was good. I, however, was a nervous wreck; because this act had in my mind overstepped the threshold of acceptable bodily integrity violation.

(How does that work? I can't say, as it isn't rational. I am pro-science, pro-safety, pro-vaccine; but the damaged part of me responds viscerally and insensibly to certain medical procedures - evidently of which, this was one.)

Later, my spouse experienced a terrible cold; and their general practitioner recommended another COVID test to be safe. This was at a walk-in clinic, and even though I remained in the car, I still ended up shaking at the thought that my beloved was being harmed in some way.

I have spent far too much time since then conceiving of how I might be required to submit to a COVID test myself some day, and how that would effect me. Fast-forward to that day.

There was a no-appointment clinic near our house. They have a rather slick online registration system; there were some issues completing the process, but a person met me at the parking lot and helped finalize matters. Then they went to retrieve their test apparatus.

Now, to the credit of the test manufacturers: they had clearly taken steps to improve the (deservedly-maligned) collection kit. The swab was a little shorter; no longer needed to reach the very back of the sinuses; featured a very slim, flexible stem (particularly helpful for deviated septum-sufferers); and the cotton tip had been replaced by a small, gentle sponge.

The technician was very nice and explained that they would gently hold the swab in place for the count of five, and in turn I explained that I'm sure everything would be fine and painless - but there was a possibility that I might become upset afterwards and that it was absolutely not their fault.

Then I scrunched up my eyes and held my hedgehog friend very tightly and the technician inserted the swab in my nose and ran it about inside my head and true to her word, the experience was not in the slightest bit unpleasant.

I then proceeded to thank her, albeit stutteringly, because as predicted this invasion of my bodily space had still had a triggering effect. I received my results less than an hour later and they were, of course, negative. Three hours after that, I stopped crying.

It's so strange - yesterday I had laser hair removal; and per my request, the technician turned the power up quite high. There were some moments when it really stung; but... nothing. Not a trigger. Likewise, in a few days I have to get my second HPV immunization; and despite knowing that it will sting (the manufacturer attests this to the "Virus-like particles" it contains), that should be fine too.

Why am I freaked out by some medical procedures, and not others? I really don't know. Probably there's a logic to it; but if there's a pattern, I've yet to discern it...

Phone

Today I went bra-shopping at the mall. At one point I put my phone down and thought to myself:

"This is just like that one coworker of yours - the one that leaves his phone laying around all the time. Glad I'm not like that!"

It was therefore inevitable that a few minutes later, I realized I no longer had my phone on me. Fortuitously, some kind soul had handed it into security; which I knew the second I walked into the security office as it was sitting right there on their reception desk.

What follows is, verbatim, the conversation that took place between myself and the security officer on duty:

Me: "Hello! I was going to ask if anyone handed in an iPhone 7 in a black case, but that appears to be it right there. Probably you want to verify it's mine; so I think you'll find the unlock code is ████."

Security: "Ah. Well. Can you tell me what the image is" - proceeds to hold phone very close to face, like a hand of poker - "...on the lock screen?"

Me: "Yes; that will be a picture of me and my daughter."

Security: "..."

Me: "...Of course, I look very different now. I don't have a beard, for one thing."

Security: "..."

Me: "..."

Security: "What was that code again?"

Anyway, I got my phone back!

Identity crisis: addendum

As a follow-up to my earlier post:

I have a friend that lives in Texas. He is eighteen; and was in the process of learning to drive when the pandemic struck. He recently visited the state DMV to renew his learner’s permit; and much to his surprise, was given a full driver’s license instead.

I get it; they are trying to keep the system working under a difficult set of circumstances. All the same, my friend is attempting to continue on with his driving education, for what he holds in legal capability, he lacks in actual practical experience and confidence.

This is what it feels like to become an entirely different gender at 37. I’m legally a woman, but I have no idea what I’m doing.

Parallel

Recently, there has been a spate of articles in the following format: "Anti-vaccination, anti-mask advocate dies from COVID complications". Sometimes as often as one or two a day.

I don't take pleasure in the passing of others; even those that are ideologically opposed to me. From the perspective of our collective well-being, they are at best dangerously misguided and at worst, sociopathic. However, they also had friends, family, loved ones; and they will be missed.

I do feel it appropriate to note that the net value of humanity has gone up in their absence; which I consider a sufficiently damning indictment.

More so however, an interesting parallel has presented itself:

The onset of the AIDS epidemic claimed the lives of numerous gay men; men that could have gone on to become speakers, organizers, leaders in their community. They were handed a death sentence by a disease they had no forewarning of, no knowledge as to how they might protect themselves; and as a result, an entire generation of the 'G' portion of LGBT advocacy is simply... missing.

President Ronald Reagan's slothful response to the issue, and the general mischaracterization of AIDS by social regressives as a wrathful, immorality-seeking illness are well documented.

There is now an irony to be found: that these same people are seeing their membership chipped away by a virus that they deny is real, is contagious, is dangerous.

There is a key difference, of course: these people have been offered all of the tools necessary to protect themselves; they simply have chosen not to use them.

Again, I don't delight in their suffering. I am, however, interested to see how the landscape of conservative advocacy will be reshaped by the needless loss of these people.

Purges

A friend introduced me to Andrea Jenkins and her powerful work “Eighteen”; and I recall thinking to myself “Well, at least I can be thankful I never purged my belongings.

Then I remembered that I threw out my dress because I was convinced I wasn’t going to live much longer (i.e. experiencing a particularly strong episode of passive suicidal ideation) and needed to make sure nobody would find it when sorting through my belongings.

The more I think about this, the more I realize there have been other times in my pre-out life when I’ve permanently disposed of items; either because my self-esteem had hit rock bottom and I was in full “I’m a monster” mode, or because I feared their discovery (or both).

I suppose it’s better that I’m being honest about this with myself; but all the same, it’s not a happy set of realizations.