The next 50 years

There's a movie quote that became a meme.  "I know you think you can do these things and you really want to try, but the fact is, you just can't!"  This from a mother to her child who is "differently abled" and trying to find her abilities. In the meme, it's communicated that this is an instantly horrifying quote. That it shocks people that a mother would say such a thing.  Yet it sounds quite normal to me. Even to this day my family are deciding, before I've had time or practice to get good at something, that I can't do it well enough and I shouldn't be supported in order to drive me away from fruitless endeavour for my own good. Meaning I get no support.  Then they also consider me a quitter.  They say things like "you can't do it.  You don't put the time in and that's why, and you'll never get any good at it because you just don't practice enough."  Even while dropping support for a fruitless endeavour, saying...

I was a disabled child with an invisible disability. Nonetheless I was certainly brought into the support system quite young, at age 8.  Every time I had difficulty with something one or both of my parents would become exasperated and quit on me, leaving me to sort it out myself and then laying shame on me for not doing so. that's how I learned a "can't do" attitude.  When I thought of things I might like to try, they'd vet my choices against some strange preconceived notions of what I should or shouldn't do, not against my proclivities and inabilities, and they'd tell me I can't. countless times I approached people with the dilemma of figuring out what to be when I graduated school and got "you can't" from them.  Then out in the world, still not prepared for adulthood, still not "being something" and people kept telling me my problem was that I had a "can't" attitude and gave up too early.  Still, nobody ever trie...

if I don't own the title racist, it's because of my fragility. I just can't face the truth. If I do own my racism, or if I don't, I'm a racist. Which leads to a lot of aggressive disrespect.  Which also leads to a confirmation bias in which every act you make is either proof of your racism or a momentary slip, an exception. The more ignorant you are, the more of these proofs you'll provide. If you get angry at being so deeply examined, that too is proof. I'm ignorant. I've done and said racist things and I remember the ignorance behind them. I remember when I learned it wrong and where I learned it wrong, and I remember also when i corrected that database upon learning better.  I know too as I encounter other ideas about other people in my head from my childhood, that they also are to be questioned. I question them. I know that everyone is an exception to every rule and that rules are naught but descriptors to help us remember things.  The trouble happe...

I really want to talk about the changes I've noticed with someone but nobody wants to hear about it.  I've been on testosterone since november now, that's about four months.  I don't percieve a vocal change, though I often have a huskier voice than I expect. Mind you I often go days without talking above a murmur, talking to myself, except a word here or there in response to Dan. Anyway, I don't see it changing yet.  However, there's one weird change.  I smell different.  It's logical but surprising.  I don't smell different in my sweat, but my crotch!  My vagina was left behind after all the surgery and I guess it can still ooze lube or whatever.  It had dried out before the surgery due to the cancer killing the ovaries.  With the testosterone it started up again and I have been getting that "snail trail" effect intermittently. Some days my underwear stays damp.  Gross but natural and nothing to be done. Well it doens't smell like mushr...

he highlights my faults and dismisses his own. He highlights his virtues and dismisses mine. All to make me seem like the abuser.  he keeps me on edge and agitated all the time, putting me at my worst. Being tense causes me to be less fun and more grouchy.  It makes me clumsier and less careful and less attentive to detail. it makes me "lazy" because I'm frequently disabled by stress.  it has multiple outcomes that feed cyclicly into the stress pattern. Like how being stressed stops me from irrigating which bungs me up and causes me to feel ill. This also causes me worry.  Stress on it's own does health damage.  Even my dreams are becoming poisoned by this insane dynamic. All my positives are treated like exceptions and all his faults are treated like exceptions. Neither are balanced, it's good vs bad.  My complaints are then dismissed as fallacious and my feelings are dismissed as my bad choices. I choose to feel angry. I choose to feel abused. I choose t...

For thirty or so years I tried to earn income by finding work. By giving away my work. By getting institutional help to find work. I've tried contract work, black market work.  I've tried websites that sell your hand work,.  I've tried putting my pics on knick knacks to sell. I've tried selling my hand work on the street.  I am even now turning to fundraising. I've harvested a lot of bad advice so far. I really don't get it.  Why is it so damn hard for me to earn any money? it kind of lends creedence to my growing suspicion that money is a supernatural deity with a conscious awareness of me.  That I am being shut out by same because I so virulently speak out against it. But nobody ever hears me so... ~sigh~ My doggy needs his teeth done. He's on pain killers now. I can't even pay the fucking bills on time. it couldn't possibly be the worst time of year for it, but come on, I can only earn money for physical labour jobs intended for kids and I'm ...

Yep, I'm now at that age where I'm having health issues and it's annoying. Very. I had to go to ER after 24 hours of vomiting.  Because of an "adhesion" point on my bowel I can get blocked by too much of the wrong stuff and not enough of the right. It'sa formula.  I'm not far off the thing so it's a tuning issue and discipline issue rather than an education issue.  but monday night to thursday night in a very crowded ward full of friendly talkative people mixed with utterly miserable people have left me emotionally paid out. But now I can't stop running at the mouth. I want to tell about so much and I want to think aloud.  Most of the time with people I've been thinking super hard trying to remember to throw the conversation back at them and to hear what they're talking about and make the right faces at them. I haven't a clue what body language I'm using, that's past my line of ability, LOL  I know I use it, but not how or what ...