The time has gone by pretty quickly, but today makes one month since coming out at work. It really makes a lot of things, ’cause February kept me kinda busy–
I came out; I finished a novel; I finished up editing another project; I started editing one of my old novels. I successfully fought off a cold that was trying to take me down last Friday. I’ve answered personal question and done at least five videos. That’s a busy schedule when it comes to the artistic endeavors; so what about work?
Um . . .
Work be work, mon. The first week people came ’round to see me, to speak with me, to congratulate me on doing something brave, and I took it all in stride and with a smile on my face. I’ve had exactly one negative comment, and I shut that down pretty quickly, but everyone else has accepted me to the point where now, I’m just another woman in the workforce.
Which is how I want it. I was probably the most surprised to discover that my coming out was the biggest non-event, and the fear that manifested a month ago about coming into work as myself quickly evaporated as I settled in and did what I always did. Now, tomorrow, I’m giving a program presentation, and I’m probably going to break in some new shoes because I’ll need something to keep me awake. Or maybe go with something comfortable, because I’ll be thinking about how much my feet hurt most of that morning.
So a month down and more to come. This week I mark eight months on HRT, and it’s hard to believe that in another four months I’ll be a full year on hormones. I should meet up with a friend this weekend, so maybe some kind of celebration is in order. And for when I hit the big one year mark, I really need to do something. No problems, though: I have four months to think about what that might be.
I’ve cut down on my writing. Most of it is due to editing, but a lot of it is due to being tired. Sixteen months on a single project is a long time, and I’ve not fully recharged from the event. Yet, I really miss my kids. I miss bringing out their world. At the same time I feel like I can’t write about them, at least now right now. I don’t know why I’m feeling this way, but I am. But there are ideas coming up for the next novel, and I’ve been drawn to the urge to start up a Scrivener project and start plotting out things. It’s not gonna be as big as the last novel, but even if it goes one hundred thousand words, that’s still a lot to write down.
Things are normal. It’s been a month out at work and almost a month done on the novel. The longest I’ve gone without doing any new writing is about a month, but . . . maybe I can hold out a little longer this time.
After all, I still have other things to do.