Sunday, May 8, 2011

Hello, blog, it's been a while.

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I've been busy doing Tumblr things and forum things and kinda forgot this was here. Huh.

So first of all, let's talk names. I am no longer an Anthony or a Connor. Hell, after spending a semester getting bitched at by the name Connor, I kinda don't wanna hear that name ever again. The name I've picked out now is Sawyer. It's sticking. I've decided that I want to keep my initials, because they've always been initials I am fond of (SEC, and I'm a Hogs football fan, you do the math), so now all I have to do is come up with a middle name. That's...harder than it sounds.

I asked my mom tonight whether she knew if I was going to be a boy or a girl when I was born. She said no, that she didn't wanna know for me or my brother. I then asked her if I would have had my brother's name had I been a boy; he's named after our grandfathers. She said no, that if I'd been a boy, she would have named me David Michael. I always did like the name David. I considered both of these names, actually. I don't think I'm going to use either of them, but...it's something I've always wondered, and the subject came up tonight.

My gender is getting weird. I've joined Bigender.net finally, after months and months of debating. I'm getting to the point where my gender isn't something I flip out about. It's just...there. I think about it a lot more than any cisgender person would, but at this point, it's not all-consuming for me. I know I want a more boyish body. I'm rethinking whether I wanna try and get on T, because the things I don't want are pretty fairly balanced with the things I do, so that makes the decision tough. I know I eventually do want top surgery still, though. That's a for-sure; I want a flat chest. I know my sex is more masculine-androgynous than feminine-androgynous. My gender...it's all over the place. And I'm okay with that.

I've told at least a couple of my friends that I'm okay with them using whichever names and pronouns they want to with me. I go by so many names, it doesn't much matter. It's kind of a selective list, though--the ones who have tried the hardest to keep up with my name and gender and pronouns, the ones who have been there and who have supported me, they're the ones who I don't care what they call me. Those who have never tried, who still call me by my female name and by female pronouns, well. They can learn to call me what I've ASKED they call me, or they can GTFO. (My friends call me male pronouns around these people just to keep the confusion to a minimum, in case you were wondering.) I know it's a complicated situation, but I don't feel my gender is exactly male or female or androgyne or neutral or anything else, and I'm still learning, so it's more comfortable to me for people to call me what they want instead of worrying, but only those who understand all I've tried to explain and learn about my own gender.

Maybe I'm being picky or bitchy. That's okay.

In unrelated news, I finished my damn thesis and presented it on Friday. I hope it went well. I really honestly have no idea. I'm just glad I can stop stressing and go back to writing whatever I want instead of worrying about having to write this ONE THING every moment of my life.

Forums are taking over my life (er, again?) and Tumblr is keeping me busy. I'm even getting bad at updating Twitter, so no promises on when the next post here at my 'real' blog will be.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

This doesn't have a title.

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The girl and I had a fight last night.

Now, I don't know what you consider a fight, but what I consider a fight is any discussion in which two people disagree to the point that voices are raised or tones become cold or one or both parties end up crying. This was all three, so I consider it a pretty significant fight, even if it wasn't over anything significant at all, or even over anything either of us wanted to happen. Which I realise is all very vague, but then you have to understand that what I mean is that we were fighting because she needed to leave and go stay someplace that wasn't at my house and she didn't want to leave and I didn't really want her to leave and my being torn about this ended in me yelling at her and her getting upset with me.

You'll be happy to know that things are okay now, because we have this funny way of crying all over each other (on my end, it apparently usually only happens when she's wearing my shirts) and then we cuddle and we're fine. Last night was made all the better by watching videos of adorable puppies and kittens and Green Brothers (we are Nerdfighters, for the curious) on YouTube. And then cuddling. And kissing. And doing all that sort of sickly 'relationship' stuff.

In bigger news, I've been talking with the girl and with Pookie and with Pookie's boy, and we're planning--cross our fingers, knock on wood--on moving into a place of our own by mid-summer. It looks entirely possible. Which is insanely exciting and terrifying.

I've come to learn that you only have to see a therapist for three months according to current standards of healthcare for them to be able to recommend you to start HRT. Now I'm at the dilemma of how to time it out. Which isn't even a very big concern right now because I can't see a therapist until I have my own insurance or the money for regular visits. All in good time.

The name issue and the plural/median issue and the gender-fluid issue and all this other stuff keeps cropping up, but in general, I'm trying to learn to not think about it too much.

Now if you'll excuse me, this is all the update you get since--what, September?--because it's officially Christmas Day, even if it's nearly 3 AM, and I have writing to do before I can even think about sleeping. Reading so late at night (and finishing a book, especially) will tend to do that to my brain.
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