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Went to visit my mother. She was extremely concerned with how I looked and talked to me a lot about my weight. She said that both she and her sister used to be underweight as well (under what weight? We’re all under 5”4. What’re we supposed to weigh?) and that she would forget to eat.

I didn’t know how to explain to her my issues with food. First, there’s the piscan vegetarian thing. Then there’s the fact that I’m not too fond of vegetables either. Most of the time, when I eat, I’ve got to distract myself, too, or else I can’t eat more than a few bites. Also, I can’t eat if I’m tired, upset, angry, extremely sad, anxious, too cold, or too warm. Iunno- I just don’t really like food, I guess! Feeling full is not comfortable for me.

Anyway, I promised her I’d do something about it, but that didn’t stop my mom from actually walking to her closet and crying. Actually crying because she saw me stepping out of my dress pants. I should’ve known it was a bad idea for her to see my legs- they’re the worst of the lot in this issue. She said she couldn’t stand to see me that way. Now that’s something; when your own ma is crying because of you.

I need to do something about eating, and I spoke to my doctor about it. I've got some foods I'm supposed to eat, protein powder I'm supposed to put into drinks and have twice a day. Supposed to set phone alarms to eat and carry food with me wherever I go. That's sort of a problem for a person who seems to have "food osmosis" and who will often get full just by cooking something.

At the moment, I’m finishing up on a journal entry about body type from what I suppose many people would call a “privileged perspective”. I want to put up a warning about this entry beforehand because I’m going to be talking very, very openly about being skinny. And that’s a tough subject to write about because thinness is openly celebrated in the first world. I know it is, honestly I do. I can’t imagine what it’d be like if it was considered ok to openly ridicule something about myself...

Alright, abort sentence, start a new. I seriously didn’t mean for that to be snarky!

What I mean to say is that I can’t imagine if there was something about me that was a constant target of taunting without consequence. If the thing I was struggling with was all over newspapers and magazines with “here’s how to fix it!”. If people could joke about it without fear of being called a bigoted, closed minded Fred Phelps. Hell, people who are ”big” don’t get told “You’re so brave, I am your ally”, do they? They don’t get any support because you can’t tell just by looking at someone if their weight is because of genetics or something else.

So, I do know that it isn’t easy for the opposite end of the spectrum. I just want to talk about the difficulties that do happen over here, Not begrudge anyone for their body. I’m writing what I know.

Skin Slips like Sheets of Paper

Super late in posting this. Worsham is claiming I still need my TB shot, but I already got that, though I haven't yet had my hepatitis shot... waiting on Ma for that one, since she'll do it for free.

Ma's like that. Ever since I was a little kid, whenever I needed blood tests or shots, Ma's the one who's done it. Even when I was a bit older and went in for shots, she'd always insist on being in the room when I got them. Shots I don't mind so much, but blood tests I dreaded. Nothing put me off of breakfast quicker than going to the kitchen and seeing the little capped needle, purple topped test tube, and that horrid faded yellow rubber tourniquet. And I never quite knew when those bastards would show up either. Even now, I can't see much of a pattern. Maybe when there were things going around? It stopped a lot when I moved on to High School proper.

It sounds like the storyline from a sci-fi series, but I am half convinced believe that if my mom could have had her way, she'd have left my dad, had me on her own, and had me as a convenient medical tool. Nothing too sinister- mostly just using my blood as constants in medical experiments, throat swab cultures and maybe (I'm not kidding) fitting or replacing an arm or leg with some kind of mechanical device (Ma likes machines). Richard (who is in such a glass house on this issue that it's hilay-lay) says that's depressing and gross, but I think it's really fantastic. Dad wanted kids, but I'm not sure that she did (he is constantly hinting that she wanted me aborted; like that's supposed to upset me), and with the "running off and using the kid" scenario, it's like she'd have found a use for me. I'm not saying I don't think she liked me! Just saying I wouldn't have minded. Actually wish she had. Medical stuff is the only way I can really talk to her now without feeling weird and awkward. It'd be great if we could work in the same hospital one day.

E is going on vacation for a while, so I won't be going into the Morgue until maybe mid-June. I'll do my best to remember everything I was supposed to report.

Skin SlippageCollapse )

In The Morgue

My mother met a very nice funeral director (I'll refer to her as Miss W) that was willing to let me contact her. We spoke on Saturday, and she invited me to her funeral home to watch an embalming the very next day.

I should not have expected so much of myself, I guess. My thought was that I'd go in and nothing would bother me- really! So I was very disappointed with myself when I went into the back room to change into scrubs and was greeted with the sight of two dead bodies on a metal table. It just... surprised me was all. And then my apprehension at the dead body that needed dressing. I stayed close and watched, but it was rather difficult to do at first.
Body DressingCollapse )
Right after, I felt a lot better. I was also getting used to E (embalmer) and Miss W (forgot that I'm nervous around new people). They were really cool, and very light about the work they do, which is something else to get used to! There's a sense newbies must get that "we should always be sad and solemn because this is death. I guess I'll eventually learn what the philosophy is that makes it ok to enjoy the job and to feel joy.

An actual embalmingCollapse )

I've probably left something out- I always do. Question me, please, and I'll explain and elaborate as needed. I'm going back on the 14th and E hopes to have a "Post", which is a body post-autopsy. Means the body is open and all of the icky is outside. I don't know what we have to do to embalm in that case, but it's different. There's no straight path and each limb has to be done separately. Must be a pain.

Interpretin' in the Subway

Do one thing every now and then that scares you. I faced my fear of and aversion to other people by going to the subway beside a sign that said "Free Dream Interpretation"

Dream in the SubwayCollapse )

These Questions!

I got tagged by Ty, but since I need to use this thing more (for public entries, that is) I'm posting it here. If you want to be happy and see some art, you should skip on down to harpsi_fizz where there's a biiiiig art blowout going on right now! :D

There are 20 Questions Under HereCollapse )
[Harp is showing Rochard the pictures he took when he went wandering around the Bayside Cemetery in Queens New York. Shannon is playing Katamari Damacy.]

Rich: You went to a very Jewish cemetery!
Harp: Yeah, it's strictly Jewish. It's not well kept. I was the only one there.
Rich: Woah, random chair?
Harp: Where? [Richard holds up a picture] Oh, yeah, that was by the caretaker's house. But I didn't see him.

[Richard holds up a picture of a tombstone with the name "Theodore". Light is obscuring half of the stone.]

Harp: Yeah, that one. There was some guy at the cemetery who said he was my grandfather. That's the picture I took of him, but he didn't come out.
Rich: You're going that thing where you're lying.
Harp: Am not!
Rich: Are you saying your grandfather is God?
Harp: No, he's dead, see?


Harp: I want to get pictures of adults at a party, go back to CVS and say to the desk clerk "Excuse me, is someone playing a joke? Why did all of the pictures from my father's birthday party come out except for the ones of just him? Why did every picture of just him in his suit come out like this?"
Richard: Haah! You're going to upset someone.
Harp: There was a little tombstone that said Theodore Cluck, age 5. If I could get pictures of a little kid's birthday party, I'd go back and say "Why did all the pictures of my nephew come out like this?" Or get married and name our kid Theodore Cluck and take pictures at his birthday, then when my wife gets them, slip them in so she thinks they came out that way.
Rich: Or you could put the pictures around and act like your kid is dead. You know, like that South Park where they pretended Cartman was dead? Then when your kid asks why he can't have something, show him the picture and say "because you died!"
Harp: And put a bunch of pictures of him all around the place!
Rich: And then randomly start crying when you see his picture!
Shannon: You guys are never allowed to have children.
Harp: Can we babybysit yours?
Shannon: You two are not allowed anywhere near my kids.

[Rich and Harp laugh]

Rant, Rage, Rail, Fail

Please tell me you've read Judy Blume. Not her serious stuff, but her carefree stuff. Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing and Superfudge specifically. Have you?

In Superfudge, there was a Chapter called "Santa Who?" in which Fudge (a five year old) insists that his family write letters to Santa Clause. His older brother Peter, annoyed, does so and I distinctly remember him asking for some "interesting tapes".

Then You will Understand my RageCollapse )

By the time I'm anywhere near a substantial age, we'll have lost so much. Is it not a part of history to have these little references in books? Why are we trying to paint over our own history? It's damn depressing is what it is. I know Henry Huggins isn't exactly classic literature, but the old stuff from the 50's and 70's has so much charm.

Oh, dear GOD don't get me started on the bullshit they've done to Ramona Quimby and Beezus... seriously. That movie...

I am going to smack everyone into tiny pieces.

Psychadellic Boredome

Mushrooms, that is.

They work, but they don't work on me. I spend so much time daydreaming and hallucinating that while it was trippy, it wasn't weird or new or pretty. I see stuff like swirling shadows and grass curling around my fingertips all the time in my dreams. I see lovely fairs, walk by Monet-painted lakes and people are forever melting.

Everything made sense in the way it was supposed to when I sleep. In fact, the worst part was when I felt bored with things swirling and wanted to wake up at one point.

So it was nothing more than a good dream that I could remember a little better.

Guess I'll try them again next summer. They were nice and I like them, but they were nothing to write home about.

Gender Dysphoria- I has it

Gender Dysphoria... holy sh*t. It's real. I mean, I knew it, but I never thought I suffered from it. ... I know, I know- how did I not think I suffered it? Well, it never came up before. It was always an issue of 'I feel like a guy, I will do as I please'.

I always thought of G.D as a thing that made boys (and girls) cry, rip their clothes, freak out at the sight of dresses, and... generally accounts of dysphoria I've heard sound like that.

But tonight, after getting called a girl repeatedly, not correcting anyone, and having a guy try to grab my chest twice through my binder, I came home and had the most horrible stomach ache. Edit: There was a context to his grabbing, a really odd context; I only say "a guy" for the sake of anonymity.

But in a way, I'm really happy. I didn't know what all of my stomach pain was before. I never had a physical sign that I could point to and say "there. This is proof of my G.I.D". Now I have that proof. I never trust my mental signals (my life will do that to a person) but I can't ignore my stomach pains, not when they're this bad. So that's what it's been trying to tell me.

I've got the dysphoria. I've got permission to be myself now. That's what my stomach says.

Dunno if this is a good thing, but I'm sure the eventual anti-anxiety meds that they've been asking me to take will help.

I Want Your Sin

Karaoke last night with the co-workers. I don't know if I was drunk or high or what... four Raspberry Absolut Vodka Cranberries (small) and I was sleepy, of course. I don't know what those drinks are called, but they ought to have a name. Someone tell me if they do, or I'll name it myself.

My co-worker saw that I was sleepy and offered me an Adderall, which I accepted. I don't think I've ever felt as good as I did just then. Very happy, not worried, not at all my usual self. Very relaxed. I think I like that drug.

Now on to the main bit of the post: saw a subway preacher on my way to the doctor. A man with a Russian accent stopped to give him a good talking-to, saying he was turning people off of the message with his nastyness. I took a few pictures of his signs.

OMG Still SIN!



If that isn't just some sexist shytt. I am absolutely not surprised. But I did find it funny.