Trough.

Sep. 13th, 2017 11:49 pm
railenthe: (Default)
It's the second day of what I think is a trough of a bipolar episode.

I've got a severe shortage of fucks to give, energy and enthusiasm for anything. I thought it was caffeine withdrawal at first, but I'm properly dosed today and nothing doing.

I'm having a hell of a time getting any writing done. My motivation has been gone since my last medication adjustment. Worse in the last few days. Previously, I could muscle through. Now? Nah, fam.

Running into people is actually hell. I tune out and hide under a virtual rock. I sleep too much or not enough. Both result in not enough rest.

It's a good thing I can sleep through so much caffeine.
railenthe: (Default)
I had a disturbing dream.

The ex that caused my PTSD was in it. I was in a tea convention on photographer assignment. I was taking photographs of the technology, the new tea blends, and the company kiosks. He was behind me, complaining about something.

I saw a teamaker, specifically the model I had at home, for rock bottom price. I bought it for myself. Instantly, he was at my side.

"Why did you buy that? Why did you buy something for yourself? Why didn't you buy something for me? Why would you do that?" This went on for the remainder of the dream, him berating me for doing something for myself, even when I resumed my assignment.

I woke up shaking, guilted over a purchase I made over a year ago by a man I've not seen in over five years. Disgusted with myself. What the fuck is he doing in my head?
railenthe: (Default)
Almost a full week ago I started a fitness alteration. I switched up my macronutrient profile—more protein, less carbs—and started an amino acid supplemental nutrition program to help with recovery. I can tell it's working—I'm in less hell after work (and if you know me at all, you know it's hell). In fact, I've started craving the aminos. I might have had a deficiency somewhere.

Today, I had the strangest craving: fresh pears and strawberries with whipped cream.

I eat neither of those on a regular basis. In fact, I usually detest strawberries, unless we're talking with bananas in a smoothie.

As I sit here, too EXHAUSTED to be hungry right now, I'm wondering what the next week of this program will bring. So far, the gun show is back, and I feel my strength improving...

But GOOD GRIEF, housekeeping takes it out of you. And I still get tired of seeing beds.

So what's the first thing I see in my tiny apartment? :D
railenthe: (Default)
I wouldn't turn down money though lol.

It's  been hectic. Got rid of the bugs. My Outlook account is buggin'.

My doctor discontinued my gut medicine and it's like $70/month for a month's supply if he doesn't fix it.

There is still a gaping gouge in my ceiling.

I dislocated my knee seven times last month. The good knee.

But I'm going to try to write again. I fell into this...hole, and I wasn't writing. I haven't been able to get it going. But I'm going to do it. I'm going to push forward and write again. Cooking, photography, and writing are the things that make me happy, and I haven't been doing any of them. But I'm going to change that starting now.
 
It's time to get moving.


...ps, if you want to feed the starving artist, feel free to toss a few at. $20 feeds me for a week with this injured esophagus.
railenthe: (Default)
If you're seeing this stickied up here, then things have gone further awry than usual. The hours went shorter than a rent payment, groceries can't be bought, things like that. Long story short, I need some help with the food and bills.

Regularly (hah) scheduled updates will continue as far as I'm able, but I need help on the staying alive front. If you can contribute, even just $20 goes pretty far to keeping me fed. (even more and I'll love you forever, if I already don't.)

Here's the "SAVE ME" jar...if you can help out I'll really appreciate it.
railenthe: (Default)
My wisdom tooth came in curved sideways.

IT DID A BARREL ROLL.

Long story short, I need surgery.

Also I got to see my TMJ on an X-RAY

It made the dentist say "holy crap"

Dizzy.

The tooth has an infected by abscess. Every once in a while I hear a fizzle and a pop in that side of my head, shooting that weird nerve sensation through my face. We're waiting it out, but it's pretty far gone—even my sinuses and one ear are in on it, and I'm spinning where I lay. The fact that we evolutionarily outran wisdom teeth is a sour fact right now considering one of them is kicking my ass.
railenthe: (Default)
 

For the past few days—probably because it's been close to the anniversary of the dumpage—my ex has been on my mind.


Don't worry, I'm OK, nothing drastic is about to happen nor is it in any way shape or form risky. What's been on my mind are the things about me that probably would have gotten me out of the “relationship” even without the circumstances that there were.


For one: the sexual incompatibility


We weren't exactly sexually compatible, and he just assumed we would be based off of things that he heard about me—and let's face it, that's kind of shitty. He'd heard about my writing and assumed off the bat that I would be some kind of hyper-sexed animal when, in reality, I could take it or leave it for...oh, most of the month. And he was a greedy little punk. So greedy that it the relationship started with—well, you know by now.


STOP MEANS STOP. NO MEANS NO.


After it was all said and done and I found out how he used to complain about my lack of desire (in a tone of “oh poor me,” of course) to mutual friends, I REALLY got disgusted with him. Well, more than usual.


I'm probably somewhere around grey-sexual, if I were to put a name to it. I don't COMPLETELY not experience it, but it is so rare that I'll sometimes


Then there's my gender


And his issue with my attempts to explore it. There were many attempts, and there were attempts at talking, but he would shut me down at every attempt about it. And then there was this attempt at policing what I wore by stopping me from buying argyle socks. Seriously. Argyle socks. He bitched at me for wanting argyle socks. Said they would make me look like Ellen. At the same time he would try and manipulate my wardrobe to make me look more to-his-standards-femme—which wasn't me. I just wasn't allowed to figure things out for myself—which should have been my first warning, but I got into that relationship when I was getting out of another one and that one was coming from a deficit of touch…there's something to be said for bad decisions.


After I got out of that thing I had time to figure out what was going on with myself, especially since there was no one telling me what was isn't or is 'proper' for me to do and be.


He would have had suuuuuuch a problem with me being queer. He pretended to be so progressive but it was obvious there was a problem. I wasn't allowed to explore in any way.


I'm free now, though. Free to be queer me.


That's the other thing, the freedom

I never thought I'd enjoy it as much as I do. I find that I don't care about what people think of me (well, as long as they don't misgender me) as much as I used to. Now that I have the chance and space to be who and what I am, it's a lot easier to just be than it used to be. It's just so much easier, not having to worry whether I'm “enough” to one person.


I just have to be me. Me enough for me. And that's freeing.

railenthe: (Default)
The news came at an unexpected time—the date of my rent re-examination last notice.

Last notice? When the miso-glazed fuck were the first ones? I thought, taking the notice out of my door and calling my boss about the unexpected day I'd need off. The date came and went, with a lot of hangups on organization—theirs, not mine. It took an hour of work to do what should have taken maybe twenty minutes.

The verdict: starting in March, I will have a lower rent than I paid all of last year.

But this month I still pay that teeth-itchingly high $200 for this tiny thing, meaning I still have to stretch and scrape and and unashamedly shake the bucket to get by in this economy.

THANKS, TRUMP. I HATE YOU.


Yes that was out of nowhere but it had to be said. It'll probably be said a lot. I'm doing a lot of self-care between my activism to make sure I don't go starkers in this new world of lies, propaganda, and gaslighting. I have an idle game on my phone where I feed and pet adorable hamsters that get into shenanigans. Two of them are lesbians. (Lesbihams?) Two of them seem to be starting a polyamorous thing. (Polyhamorous?)

Some are dignified. Some are...not.

Leslie is usually kinda mellow....and then I put the strawberry daifuku out. #HamsterCollection

A photo posted by Railenthe Zeal (@cyggiestardust) on

(Follow me on Instagram for more hamham shenanigans and my dumb face, btw)

I'm playing a browser game where you raise dragons and humanity is APPARENTLY NO MORE #misandry

When I get meager little tips I splurge on customizations for them and make them pretty. You can have as big or as small a collection of dragons as you want. At the same time this one is inspiring my writing. (there are dragons, but humans also exist but the dragons don't trust the humans, and a dragon falls for a human man because OF COURSE HE DOES and it's totally fluffy romance.)


(this isn't the dragon in the story, it's one of my game dragons, isn't she pretty?)

These tiny little things keep me from ripping my own head off these days. That, and tea. I need more tea. Good tea.
railenthe: (Default)

Until now I have refrained from commenting on the state of American politics. It isn’t because I don’t have a position (I do).

It’s  because I’m completely terrified of where it’s going.

The nation managed to elect a wholly inexperienced, morally and multiply financially self-proclaimed billionaire to the highest office in the land, a man who bragged on national television about the enormity of his sexual member and bragged (on a hot mic) about how his fame and fortune lets him do anything that he wants to women, up to “grab[ing] them by the pussy” if the notion struck him. There have been incidents of this happening around the nation now, with the only excuse given that “this is Trump’s America now, we can do that.”

As someone who is equipped at present with the aforementioned anatomy, that’s terrifying.

Further, all of his picks for cabinet positions all are unqualified for the positions he’s put them in—it’s like he’s playing a matching game and the only matching he’s doing is to match the least qualified to the office position. But that’s not even the scariest thing about it. There’s a pattern and until recently, it went unnoticed.

Enter Jeff Sessions, a Dominionist Christian who doesn’t believe in the separation of church and state and wants to bring the church’s system into every decision that is brought down. Suddenly, everything is on the table. The governnent is in the bedrooms again, the operating room, the OB-GYN clinic…and this man is even worse than the usual of this sort because he’s been on the side of racists before, having been caught saying he was ok with the KKK until he found out they smoked weed. I don’t care if he said it as a joke…that isn’t a joke that you make in today’s America, when half of America is looking over its shoulder for someone wanting them dead for the color of their skin or the god they pray to.

The next four years will be truly terrifying for me and other People of Color, gender minorities, the disabled, the infirm—and those like me who lie on the border of all of these axes.

All we can do is raise our voices and march, give this new government the “hell no” it needs to hear while we still can.

ICE.

Jan. 12th, 2017 07:50 pm
railenthe: (Default)
 

An ice storm is barrelling down on the area. I've hunkered down with an absurd amount of bread and milk, as Midwesterners tend to do when these things happen. I'm prepared for the worst but hoping for the best. Any kind of help is appreciated; being in the dead of winter in a hotel? It's no way to make a living.


Hours...hours...well, those are a little less on the sunny side of life. It's the slow season, though, and that's to be expected. The slow season is always kind of ugly. It's going to especially be ugly on bills.


To top it off, the freeze is going to keep me from going to this place I've been told to go to by my therapist: it's out of the way and right in the way of the freeze area. I've also been told to start getting my legal in order: their disregard of my pronouns is officially illegal and I can now officially call them on it. Them being work. There's a lot of things to take care of. (Help. Lol.)

railenthe: (Default)

Makeup.


I'm for makeup. I'm for the otherworldly look. I'm for the natural look. I'm for the somehow-blending of the two (How does Bayonetta do it and is it obvious I've got the girl on my MIND). And I can read between the lines when someone expresses an appreciation of that otherworldly aesthetic, that it is NOT ripping the other looks down and tearing them down.


Of course I got to see that point wildly missed the other day.


I could see clearly just how it could misconstrued, though. I could see both sides. I could also see how far it had been blown out of proportion. My perspective as a womanshaped not woman gives me an interesting perspective on the topic. As a teenager I had to sneak in my make up and I had no interest in the natural look. I would put it on at school, and make it otherworldly as possible. Of course this meant carrying Noxzema with me or else wrath as well. So what if I got looks. It was my aesthetic.


It didn't require validation from anyone—man, woman, or other. It's intriguing that others sign my aesthetic, but that's all it is—intriguing. It does give me a little confidence booster to carry out the next resolution I've got. Last year's was getting more comfortable with my self image via selfies—and that got me more fans than haters.


I definitely don't require validation from anyone for my makeup choices, but it will be an adventure.

railenthe: (Default)
I have an official diagnosis of gender dysphoria!

Now I know that sounds like a HORRIBLE THING but it means two good things:

— I can take official action against the asshats and

— I can get things going on an official basis... Starting with what they call me at the doctor. :)

In fact while they were doing it my new counselor corrected someone in earshot and I thought she was calling me.

We got a lot done. Like, A LOT a lot. Like I didn't even realize how far back this started until we got started.

I feel lighter today.
railenthe: (Default)
Buying in bulk is a lifesaver. Today, dinner is a salmon burger with turkey bacon and cheese. It's because it's what's in the freezer. I bought these things in the summer, before the pestilence drove me out.

Having my food stamps cut so low means that I'm going to have to see if my income qualifies for trips to the food pantry. Bills and stuff will be triaged.

It's scary. I'm sitting here in what is officially a safe apartment, but the money is thin. My job has been threatened thanks to my injury. But, they do this every week. I'm still not sure if they're just trying to scare me or what...

Dinner is almost ready. A one meal system at least works better if you got the food that your body doesn't reject, unlike over the summer. Tomorrow I use my tiny "allowance" to get cheap things to stretch meals with.

...Time to settle in to my sandwich. At least it's a good one, right?
railenthe: (Default)

Pain, Fever Dream…




It's 3:10 AM. I lay down in the evening thinking that I was going to be out a mere half hour but the next thing I knew I'm waking up to the same pain I fell asleep to. I've slept through my meds, and the only reason my temperature is as low as it is sits in my grade fridge—a high quinine rasberry-cranberry tonic water I mixed myself.


…different reason. I like the bitter bite of tonic.


I woke with pain a few hits minutes ago. My pills are hours late.


I hope I don't oversleep…

railenthe: (Default)

More pills than I care to count.


More fluids than I am comfortable drinking.


Skin sloughing off where it most certainly should not be.


And enough fainting spells that that Ion—you know, the kitten?—has taken a spot near the recliner I'm sleeping in tonight.


Despite my best efforts, somehow pestilence has followed me here. My allergy went off and I did a check in paranoia. It either came in from the job or a bus.


It's a fuck of an occupational hazard. And not the only one.


My doctor's oh so brilliant idea to lower my pain management meds led to me having unmanageable pain. My side is worse than ever. The fainting spells are back—not “near” syncope, flat out syncope. I've hit more floors than the bodies in the song.


An exterminator will be called. …here, not the apartment. They still don't have this together.


And I'm fighting two opportunistic infections right now. It sucks.

railenthe: (Default)
I have chills from my pain, and the herb that I use in my personal medicine has been scheduled, and is now illegal to own, obtain, or use in its place when my physician is being an assistant and dragging his feet on a renewal of my refill.

The Pain is like a crosscut saw, below a rib as if looking for something to remove, then realizing that it's made a wrong turn and curving down and sawing on the dotted line that is my hernia scar.

I can't focus. I can barely function.

There are things I wanted to do today. I did none of them.

All because I have not been able to get my side fixed.
railenthe: (Default)
But I'm going to have to be less blitzed in pain pills to explain. I'm setting a reminder now...
railenthe: (Default)

Pestilence Day… I don't know. Too long.


My “WTF is this Weather I'm stuck in” (for three hours in a laundromat) vine got 2.5k views. Six of us were in there, rocks and branches were flying, and a door kept banging open despite our efforts.


Still the safest place to be.


The power went out four times. I had to restart my dryer twice. I went out from exhaustion… It might have been three times. I distinctly remember being out when the power was, and back when it was once. Pills were missed. Meals were missed. Returning to the apartment—I'll advised, but the only physically possible route—resulted in a SPECTACULAR splat onto the floor, with only the package of sheets I'd bought to cushion my head. I managed to get my sleep pouch out long enough to splat into it.




Two hours into splat, I realize I am so dizzy that I can't move. Getting out is not possible. Dinner is a vending machine cupcake. And I'm in enough pain that this is enough.


I'm heavily medicated right now. Sleep is soon.

railenthe: (Default)
I know I don't usually do book reviews here, but this one was just that important. With that out of the way, let us continue...
___

 

I had been laid off. My apartment was full of something I was wildly allergic to, and a vicious injury basically kept me from doing anything more strenuous than sitting up for longer than fifteen minutes at a time, three times a day.



And I was just about to learn that the vision of the goddess that I had had for over a decade was steeped in patriarchal baggage.



"No way, nope, there is no possible…wait."



The longer I thought about it, the more I realized this was right—the vision that we have of her has been locked into what man has had for her for years: a virginal maiden, a doting mother, and the wise old crone—and fairly often, a frightening one, to hear men tell of it.



Where was the woman in her goddess?



There is something lacking in this vision of the goddess, but until I this book fell into my hands, I had no idea how to get past that limited view. Lasara Firefox Allen takes that limited view and breaks it into pieces in Jailbreaking The Goddess as she throws you first headlong into the worlds of both feminism and a new world in which the goddess is not threefold, but fivefold, and no longer bound to biology and linearity.



Throughout the book's chapters and exercises, we are introduced to both the faces of the goddess in this new revisioning—Femella (the Divine Girl Child), Potens (The Woman who works), Creatrix (She who Creates—as in creates anything), Sapientia (the Wise woman), and Antiqua (the Old Woman)—as well as famous and notable women and even goddesses who have embodied each of these faces in history both recent and past. But it's not just about the information. While each face of the goddess is explored, a bit of the mental programming around the old vision is broken away, and the energy begins to feel different—not all at once, but gradually. Soon enough I began noticing the difference in the energy, noticing the influences and identifying them in different areas of my life; a project would have the childlike but unfettered feel of Femella in and through it; a sudden discovery would have the lightning strike of Potens all through it; disentangling myself from a difficult situation would have both threads of Antiqua and Sapientia in it.



And for the first time in a long time, She began to feel real to me again.



As a non-binary person of color, this was a very important realization. Far too many interpretations of the Goddess and goddess spirituality take a strange, alienating stance on the transgender and gender-nonconforming, but not this goddess. In fact, a strong point is made on this, as after the examinations of the faces, the work on decolonizing and rewilding begins, with a focus on taking things back from the toxic influences that have had a hold on them for so many years—and yes, this includes the patriarchy (#smashpatriarchy). Exclusion has no place with the Goddess, and here we see that she can welcome and hold all, no matter where they stand in life and what they have to do. To feel welcomed again was phenomenal, a welcome change from what had happened.



In Jailbreaking The Goddess we learn lessons at once profound and occasionally cheeky, while at the same time learning about ourselves and how to potentially change the world around us, and the way that it comes to us is presented in such an organic manner that reading it, you might not realize you've learned something.



If you've been a bit put off with the way the Goddess has been set up to you…it's time to come home.


___

Live in the US? This book drops on the 8th of July.

railenthe: (Default)

I woke this morning to a phone call. The ringer was off, so it was a rude “Bzzz” by my head, and not a weird noise that passes for a ring that woke me up. My greeting was something along the lines of “hrrnruh?”


“Did I wake you up?” This would be my boss.


“Yuh.”


“Eh, I'll call back later…”


“I'm awake now,” I say. “What is thing?”


Clearly with that kind of phrasing I am not nearly as awake as I thought I was.


“Well…I talked to the district manager.”


“Yeah.”


“We're going to have to suspend you until the problem in your apartment is taken care of. I know there's nothing you can do about the rest of the building, but this one thing at least—”


“I understand.”


“Again, thank you for letting us know so fast about the issue so that things didn't get any worse here than they could have.”


By the end of the phone call my nerves have gotten my hives blowing up again. I pop an antihistamine on an empty stomach, not caring that the uncoated pill would wreck my stomach. Such GREAT news, that.


I roll over for a bit more of a nap. I have work to do later on. After a run for my prescriptions, that is.




The apartment is a logical temperature when I get there. I take an appraising whiff of the room: there is not yet the scent of syrup and carrion. The place is not too far gone.


A plastic cap goes on my head, and the Hot Shot branded pesticide goes on the counter as I move those goddamn totes.Each one goes into a black bag, and each one of those goes into the bath tub, for lack of a better location. Then the linens that I can get to go into black plastic bags, and those go into the bath tub. That thing has been the isolation tank more than once before, and it will be the isolation tank again as I work to get this place debugged once again.


The third tub is the hardest to get to. I pull that muscle in my gut on the attempt to un-jam it from a spot, then finally cave and move the bed slightly—this rewards me with a pulled groin muscle. The tote can be moved now, its unbalanced load causing me to stumble, and the ill-matched lid to slide off.


Trip. Stumble. Stagger-trip-stagger. “JESUSGODDAMNFUCK.”


It's a pillow from Pestilence Couch.




(In case you're late to the party, Pestilence Couch was a sofa sleeper that I got in the summer of 2014 that, as it turned out, was one of the first things to enter the building with a surprise set of hitchhikers: Cimex lectularius, aka the red flat, aka the common bed bug, aka PESTILENCE. Though every major source will tell you they're mostly harmless, these things have recently become vectors for lyme disease in infrequent cases. There have also been isolated cases of them carrying that thing the assassin bug does [don't look up the image of either of these bugs if you're squeamish.] and 28 human human pathogens in all (with no study on how or if they transfer or not, since priority is so low), but the big deal with these things for me is that I am wildly allergic to the bite, and even contact with, these things. I get a wild rash that resembles a poison plant in the beginning, and turns into a blistering mess towards the end.


(I am going to bring back the demand for styptic pencils, let me tell you.


(The bugs will also literally drive you nuts. No, seriously. They can cause or exacerbate anxiety levels up to a PTSD severity. Those of us who have been hit half-jokingly call it 'bedbug psychosis.' Bedbug psychosis presents with a fear of the bug, paranoia, irrational fear that anything small is one of them, flashbacks, nightmares, anxiety…sounds like PTSD, doesn't it? Well, I can CONFIRM that one.


(Pestilence Couch was WRITHING with the little bastards, I would discover.)




“HELL NO.”


I hold Pestilence Pillow far away from my body as I throw it into one of the Hefty bags, tie it three different ways closed, and throw it down the laundry chute. Sorry, floors 7-2, but I gotta get it out of there.


Next order of business: this can of bug spray.


I grab the can and start spraying every inch of unfinished wood, making sure that it's saturated. I'm treating this thing like it's a can of spray varnish and I'm finishing the wood off. It takes two laps around the bed and one full can to saturate the wood. At one point it's suffocating in the apartment, and a window is opened in a futile quest for a cross breeze.


I wouldn't even be in this mess if the landlords were doing their jobs, I mutter as I make the second round on the bug spray sweep. I see a few scrawny bastards wriggle out of their holes, trying to live, but I've soaked that wood through. They have no chance. And neither do I, I think as I try to open a window and get some damn air. I've moved things, I've isolated things, I see things trying to escape, I throw things into bags, I drown things. Half the job is done.


I have a nose full of bug spray.


It takes several hours before I can smell anything besides bug spray.


And I still have to actually DO all the laundry I quarantined.

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