1. Double Digits And Upwards? That Makes You A Prolific Fic Author, My Friend! (And I’m All For Having

Piano

The more I learn about playing the piano, the more I am convinced that it it is fundamentally analogous to Dance Dance Revolution - but with ten legs, and eighty-eight pads...

ADHD

Ah, so.

What can I say?

My daughter was diagnosed with inattentive-type ADHD this year. I also have three adult friends that are very open about their struggles with the disorder. Between the four of them, I've learned a great deal about the issue.

As often happens in these sorts of situations, I started to see the kind of symptoms they were describing in myself. It went from "Ah, I can relate" to "Why am I in this picture?" to "Wow, I seriously need to get myself checked out". (The straw that broke the proverbial camel's back was a set of compliance courses my employer requires be completed each quarter. The courses themselves are, empirically-speaking, poorly designed; but I struggled with them to such an extent - and my peers did not - that it really highlighted that we weren't having the same experience.)

There has already been an initial assessment; and the takeaway was that I most likely had ADHD too and that a fuller assessment was warranted (which is now scheduled for February).

In the interim, well: in the last three years I've transitioned; begun treatment for PTSD; and now, apparently, discovered that I require treatment for ADHD also.

I am familiar with the gross unfairness of only getting the help I need with the first two so late in life; and fully expect the same sort of feelings to hit me at some point regarding the latter. This hasn't happened yet; but we shall see.

(Not to mention: how the hell did I make it this far in life - let alone remain sufficiently functional to build a career and support my family - with three major irregularities in my brain structure and chemistry? I'm honestly nonplussed.)

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!

Night surprise

Our three eldest cats have a simple routine: play, eat, sleep. For whatever reason, the youngest cat is the opposite: sleep, eat, play.

She is also very smart. She loves the laser pointer, and knows that it lives next to our bedside table; and will sit on the aforesaid table and sing to us when she wants to play.

This is all very cute except at nighttime, as we would like to sleep and she would like to play. This was the case last night, and unfortunately the cat would not listen to our polite requests to desist and so she was shut out of the room.

What then followed was a twenty-minute admixture of singing from the hallway and banging on the door. Eventually she grew bored, and decided to revisit another of her favorite pastimes (trying to pry the under-sink closet in the bathroom open; a process that involves more loud banging).

In the middle of the night, I visit the bathroom and as I’m sitting there in the dark, doing my thing, the youngest cat just casually strolls out of the closet like Samara crawling out of the television!

Transition-focused

Sometimes I worry that I come across as overly focused on the subject of my transition.

“So what have you been up to?” “Oh, you know. [Transition stuff].”

In project management parlance, transitioning is a multi-year project with multiple tasks, all of which have their own sub-tasks, and so on. Resources must be acquired; unforeseeable issues spontaneously arise and must be resolved.

I would not necessarily call this timeconsuming or overwhelming (although transitioning can be these things at times); but it’s pervasive. It touches every part of my life and requires constant care and attention.

A simple example: I wanted to change my legal name. In America, this generally means going to the county probate court and getting an order to that effect.

Every county has its own process and paperwork (although the vast majority at least try to adhere to some kind of nationally-distributed model process). All together, there were five forms.

I also needed to provide notarized copies of various personal records, so I had to get those.

Once everything was submitted, I had to wait for an invoice from the local legal news publisher; and then pay them to release a statement recording the name change.

I had to talk to the court and the publisher multiple times for input on what to do; to check up on the status of my case (”Oh, sorry - the person that mails out the confirmation was on vacation for two weeks”); and so on.

Eventually the court order was created, and I could pick up my copy of this incredibly important legal document.

Having done all this...

...I now get to reach out to the dozens and dozens of organizations that keep track of my legal identity and inform them that it has, in fact, changed.

...And some of them have their own requirements for updating their records; which necessitates addressing certain organizations in a certain order (BMV; Social Security; employer)...

All of this, all of this merely to change my name. One of a multitude of tasks.

Overall, this has been one of the most rewarding processes of my life; I would repeat it in a heartbeat. If however I do come across as eternally preoccupied with my transition, it’s because - at least for now - it constantly effects me, every day and in all ways (physically, mentally, emotionally, socially, legally) and I have no choice but to dedicate the necessary brainpower to managing these things.

There's a point of discussion that comes up periodically in transgender advocacy circles. To paraphrase:

Do you love transgender people? Or do you hate transphobes?

That is to say: those that claim allyship with the transgender community should be motivated by love; for love begets help and support.

Conversely: those that are motivated by hate will seek, first and foremost, to attack others. While there is a time and place for opposing transphobia (violently so, even), this cannot be the preeminent response to any and all issues.

...

Mat Ward's tenure as a named codex author drew mixed responses. His overhaul of Necron lore, for instance, is generally considered a positive turning point for the faction. (His heavy-handed promotion of the Ultramarines, less so.)

If you are motivated by a love of the Warhammer: 40,000 game and setting, then you might wish that some of Mat Ward's more controversial contributions be corrected. As his work was published in what is now the distant past, it is also likely that your wish has already been granted.

As such, it does not make sense to expend energy on what is effectively now a non-issue.

If you are motivated by hate, however, then you might perceive Mat Ward's failings as forever unforgivable; his mockery and harassment not merely permissible, but necessary; and his departure from Games Workshop, a hard-won victory.

...

In this respect, @ladymirdan's 'Mat Ward Test' is an excellent barometer of an individual's motivations; and whether they are rooted in a love for the hobby, or hate in search of a purportedly acceptable target.

With this in mind:

I strive to research an issue prior to rendering judgement. In this particular instance (the introduction of female Custodes), I made a point of leafing through the blogs of those most vocally opposed, looking to understand their motives and character.

Time and again, I came across posts in which these people openly delighted in the heartless ridicule of others; justified upon the flimsiest of pretexts.

They do not love Warhammer: 40,000; but rather, are simply seeking excuses to exercise their hatred - of which Mat Ward, and now those championing Custodian Calladyce Taurovalia Kesh, have proven aptly suitable victims.

So I didn't take my own advice and started playing chess with the pigeons.

And my ultimate litmus test for a 40k player once again proved to work. I didnt even have to bring it up (they alway do that themselves).

And that is their opinion on Mat Ward.

This test has never failed me. He is the alt-right 40k boogieman, they haaaate him with a passion for some reason, but they never know anything about him. He has literally written the most popular characters in all of 40k and is responsible for a shit ton of 40k computer games and he incidentally is the reason why they don't print the name of the writer (guess the fuck why. *hint they send Ward actual death threats for changing the lore).

It has gotten to a point that I just block people talking shit about Ward after one warning. Because people who have this opinion has gotten it somewhere. Usually from hanging out with guys like this who think representation ruins the hobby.

I still have to make that “Why people are wrong about Mat Ward and he deserves better”-post/vid.

Good thing

I did a good thing today.

It makes me think... maybe I have value after all.

Another night terror

I had another terror episode last night. As with the previous episode, it was quite absurd in nature. I am mixed on whether this signifies a dearth of creativity on the anxiety-driven part of my brain, or that it is now entering some kind of postmodern phase.

Initially I dreamt that I was in my bed; and that it was nighttime, but there was just enough light to cast shadows. These shadows were sufficiently menacing (and there was a distinct impression that they were trying to resolve into the shape of people) that it became imperative that I extinguish all sources of light.

Enter into this scenario: an aquarium-themed night light (the same one that had kept my daughter company during her infant days). Not only was this thing on full brightness, but it had cunningly placed itself on my wife’s side of the bed - just out of reach.

That’s when my brain pressed the Adrenaline Dump button and I screamed awake.

Here’s the part that confuses me: I wasn’t terrified by the possibility that the night light would bring these Shadow People into being; I was terrified of the night light itself. Now how the hell does that work, brain?!

It’s bad enough I have these episodes. Could they at least be something genuinely scary?

Routines

I have a trans friend named ‘G’. She started her transition when she was 58; and it was perhaps three years after that I began my own journey and we started talking. She has been an incredible source of advice on the subject of hormone therapy, for which I am eternally grateful.

(She is also the recipient of a painting I recently completed; one of the few small ways in which I could think to pay her back.)

The two of us having been discussing for some time the strange phenomenon of when we can (or can’t) see our female selves in the mirror. I’m not sure if this is something that affects a large proportion of trans women or is perhaps more limited to just the older crowd; but it’s definitely something we both deal with.

I have a routine in the morning (or did; I’ve recently been struck down by a non-COVID virus and I’m waiting to see how that shakes out). It looks something like this:

Put up hair,

Reinstall helix clicker rings,

Apply makeup,

Let down and style hair.

During stages (1) through (3), I am acutely aware of every facial feature that I cannot currently control and broadcasts masculinity. As soon as I get to stage (4) however and the hair drops, suddenly I can see myself again in fully female form.

It’s interesting because the first set of feelings are not, per se, dysphoric in nature. Rather, it feels like... imposter syndrome? G and I have discussed how our preparatory routines are, in some respects, akin to a magic act; so perhaps seeing the mechanisms by which the tricks are achieved causes ones suspension of disbelief to temporarily halt?

What we do both know is that the more time passes, the more we both become comfortable in our new identities. This is why I wonder whether age plays a factor in the phenomenon - almost as if the adoption of a new gender requires clearing the (significant) backlog of experience as a prior gender...

New shoes

Exactly what it says on the tin. I got new shoes!

Purchased from NerdyKeppie (not an affiliate link; I just like to share neat stuff). I did see some comments about the high-tops running small, but I wear a US women’s 10 and they fit me perfectly.

(I will note however that unlike regular Chucks, they don’t have that little canvas loop on the back - so getting them on can be a battle.)

Love me some subtle trans pride!