Three Years Down the Road

Anything interesting happen to you on this day, Cassidy?

Why, I’m glad you asked…

7 July, 2014, I headed out to Sterling, NJ, to see a doctor.  Actually, I was seeing her for the second time in two weeks because I’d had an initial consultation with her at the end of June.  This time I wasn’t going back for a check up, or for another consultation, or to even discuss possible medical options.

I was going there to get a shot.

As many of you know, during May of 2014 I decided to take a big step in my transition and get on the Estradiol train.  As Kerry can now tell you, Estradiol is the primary hormone found in that soup known as estrogen and it’s the most powerful of the lot.  You start taking that and before you know it, your body starts heading off down Girl Street.  And that was where I wanted to head, so the time came that in order to go that way I had to find a doctor.  Which I did.  In New Jersey.

And three years ago today I received my first injection.

It was really kind of interesting to watch her, my doctor, go through the steps I’d need to follow in order to inject myself in the leg.  I watched, I learned, and I sat there while I got the needle in the leg.  It was a life changing experience, it really was, and I was in sort of a daze all the way on the two-hour drive back to Harrisburg.

And since some of you don’t remember what I was like back there, here’s a reminder.

Man… I have a hard time believing I was this person.

 

Yep, that was me right after I returned home, fraying wig, old glasses, and bushy eyebrows to complete the look.  At this point in my life I was still going to work as “that other guy” and the next day I dressed like the person I used to pretend I was and headed off to work.

Only I was a little different.  And I’d get more different every day.

Two weeks later I had to return to my doctor’s office for another injection, only this time I was required to do the injection.  Which I did.  My doctor told me at the time that she expected me to get it right the first time because she knew I would.  I’m glad I didn’t let her down.

And that brings me to this point in time.  Three years later, I’m pretty happy with myself.  I’ve worked on a political campaign, I’ve marched against the Orange Menace, I’ve gotten more left and aware, and I’ve joined roller derby.  Oh, and I’m still writing after all these years.

Plus, I certainly look a lot better now than I did three years ago.

Yeah, I’m almost quite the looker right after rolling out of bed.

 

I don’t know what’s ahead.  Three years from now I’ll be 63 and likely doing much of the same things I’m doing now.  Maybe I’ll be published by then–maybe not.  Maybe I’ll have competed in a derby game–maybe not.  Maybe I won’t even be here–maybe not.

I don’t know:  I’m not Deanna so I can’t see the future.  All I can do is live from one moment to the next and hope for the best.

And when my fourth anniversary rolls around I’ll talk about it and shoot another picture of myself, just so I know what I look like.

Though I look a little strange when I’m shot through a dirty lens.

 

Lunchtime in London: Embankment Bound

The last couple of years on this day, which is Coming Out Day, I had video cued up and ready to go.  Guess what?  No such luck this time.  I could have done one yesterday and had it ready to go today, but it didn’t take me long to figure out that I didn’t have much to say this time around.  Maybe I’ll have something by this weekend, but at the moment I’m at a loss for words.

Well, not where it comes to writing.  I stopped the day just short of one thousand words, which is a pretty good total for me.  And now that I have the kids in London, on their own, they can eat and do whatever else they like–

 

(The following excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book Three: C For Continuing, copyright 2016 by Cassidy Frazee)

 

Though they could eat anywhere in London, they both agreed that having lunch at this Russel Square sandwich shop brought them back to the time of their first solo excursion together. They ordered their lunch and drinks and took their time eating and talking while watching people pass by their window table. It gave them both to snap photos of each other with their phones which Kerry then downloaded to his tablet that he carried around in his backpack. He even asked a customer if she would be nice enough to take their photo together, and the woman did so using Annie’s phone.

After lunch they took the Underground to the Victoria Embankment Gardens. Neither had ever visited their when in London and they felt today was a good day for some afternoon time in the park. They exited the Embankment Station and took their time wandering the garden, walking over to the water gate and examining a couple of statues before finding a shady bench across from the Embankment Cafe.

 

The Victoria Embankment Gardens extend for a ways alone the north bank of the River Thames and like a famous park in Chicago, it’s pretty much all landfill.  The water gate mentioned in the preceding paragraph?  That was one of the accesses to the Thames, as it sat on the then banks of the river.

The water gate is by those trees in the center top.  All that below--it was water.

The water gate is by those trees in the center top where it says Watergate Walk. All that below–it was water.

On a clear, somewhat cool day–15 C is about 60 F for us non-Celsius people–this is a nice place to come and sit and get away from the city proper.  And that’s what they do:  they come here to sit and talk:

Right there on the bench on the right.  I know my locations.

Right there on the bench on the right. I know my locations.

And what are they going to talk about?  Well, Annie has something in mind…

 

Annie had considered asking Kerry if he wanted to grab a cool drink at the cafe, but the moment they were seated she saw that he would likely prefer the semi-privacy of their current location—and given some of the conversation they shared since the restaurant there were several things on her mind which she began sharing the movement they sat. “I can’t believe your parents are calling you a magic user.” She crossed her legs. “What’s wrong with witch? It’s what you are.”

“I know, but—” He sat back and sighed. “This all comes from my mom being a control freak. She’s uncomfortable with me being a witch—”

Annie turned up her nose. “Which I do not understand.”

“—and so she’s decided that rather call me what I am, she’ll call me what she likes.” He crossed his arms over his stomach. “It’s the way she is.”

“And your father won’t say anything?”

“Nah. He’s lost too many fights to her, so when he gets home from work all he wants to do is relax.  He’ll just nod the moment she starts going off on stuff.”

Annie reached over the wooden armrest separating them and took his left hand. “They didn’t even have anything to say when they saw you’ve learned how to correct your vision?”

Kerry snorted just under his breath. “Dad said it seemed strange that I would do magic to change my eyesight; mom said I should go back to wearing glasses because Harry Potter wears them.”

“You’re kidding.” Annie turned withering side glare upon her soul mate which he knew wasn’t for him. “You did tell her he doesn’t exist?”

He chuckled. “That was the first thing I told her. She didn’t care for that.”

“Too bad.” She turned her head so he could see her full face. “You’ve done marvelously, my love: I love you without your glasses.” It was her turn to snort. “Your mother is an idiot.”

“Yeah, well…” He gave Annie’s hand a squeeze. “Welcome to my life. The whole freakin’ summer’s been this way. First it’s don’t say anything to me, and right before I head back to school they decide they’re gonna let me know they find my entire situation unusual.” He leaned over and rested his head against Annie’s. “At least they know the truth about you, Darling.”

 

“Your mother is an idiot.”  Way to start building that bridge toward the woman who’ll be your future mother-in-law, Annie!  Can’t wait for the first time she calls Annie a “magic user” or just shades the “witch” a little too hard–yeah, future family gatherings are gonna be so much fun.

If I don’t get too burned out at the phone bank tonight we’ll learn a little more tomorrow.  We’re lucky we got this–

'Cause I was wandering about The Burg after lunch with three glasses of wine.  Yeah, I go there.

‘Cause I was wandering about The Burg after lunch with three glasses of wine. Yeah, I go there.

Taking the Dark to the Next Level

It’s a slow going morning, that’s for sure.  Last night I went out to our local Transgender Day of Remembrance, which is one of those unofficial holidays that have popped up over the decades.  The TDR is meant to shed light upon those transpeople who were murdered during the past year, and those who killed themselves because there wasn’t a light at the end of the tunnel–and if you’ve followed the blog, you know I’ve had a few of those moments myself.

The event sees the names of the known dead read off, and this year, my first, I read the second of twenty-five names.  It’s not meant to be a happy moment; it’s meant as a reminder that just by being who I am my chances of being murdered increase by about fifty percent over the odd of ciswomen, and those odd literally double for transwomen of color.  Which is why when someone tells me this is a “lifestyle choice” I now ask them on the statistics of people who were killed because they were hispters, or who killed themselves due to being discriminated over their preference to drink PBR.

But it’s not my intention to bring you down today, not after finding out it’s World Hello Day.  So hello!  Let’s get to the writing.

I didn’t write anything last night, and this morning I haven’t exactly burned up the keyboard today.  However, I do plan on writing throughout the day between doing the wash and getting lunch and taking a nap:  all the normal stuff, you know.  But what I have written–ah, shit.  Yes, it’s not some happy time stuff, that’s for sure.  It’s just under three hundred words, but it’s going to set the mood for this scene like few others have set one.

What am I talking about?  This:

 

(All excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book Two: B For Bewitching, copyright 2015 by Cassidy Frazee)

Unlike normal Mid-Level Sorcery classes, the B Levels assembled at the Firing Line instead of starting this Thursday morning at The Witch House. Few of the students were happy with the change—the walk to the Firing Line wasn’t any shorter than their normal walk—and some students got lost in the tunnels on their way to class, as they weren’t certain of the route to the building.

No one was certain of why the change of venue occurred, for the message detailing the change showed up as an email sent just after the previous evening’s dinner. Then again, few bothered challenging the thoughts and intentions of the Head Sorceress, as that usually led to grief the questioning student didn’t desire. More that a few students pointed out that it was better to say nothing and play to her whims than speak up and find an angry Kiwi glaring from a few centimeter beyond the tip of your nose.

At eight sharp Professor Lovecraft walked into the main section of the Firing Line where the students had been asked to gather. There was a low mummer among her students as a few commented softly on the sliver-colored sweater she wore under her ever-present leather duster, and that she had her black jeans tucked inside her high-heeled boots, something she only did on those occasions when she wanted appear extra menacing.

She stood before the gathering of students and regarded them for almost ten seconds. Finally she stuck her hands firmly within the pockets of her long coat and clicked her tongue before addressing her class. “Today I’m going to show you how to kill another person.”

 

Hey, good morning, kids!  Did you have a nice breakfast, ’cause I’m certain I can make a few of you toss that shit before class is out!

"Yeah, bitches:  time to show you what I do best."

“Yeah, bitches: time to show you what I do best.”

Before this scene is out you’re gonna know a little more about sorcery and these crazy death spells, and that’s what I’m gonna be working on today–

So you’ll have a bit of easy reading for your breakfast tomorrow.

…And Call Me Cassidy

This is one of those posts, where I run off the rails and talk about personal stuff.  But then again, the reason I’m back in Indiana is wholly personal, and I’ve not hidden that fact.  Anymore, the only reason I am in Indiana is for personal reasons, but that’s another story.

Yesterday was Name Change Day.

First off, don’t believe I’m ripping off Caitlyn Jenner with this title.  Mine comes from the title used for the serialization of Roger Zelazny’s Hugo Award-winning novel, This Immortal, proving I’m far cooler and geekier.  I’ve always liked the title …And Call Me Conrad better than the one the book was given in final publication, and so did Zelazny when he was alive, so I’m in good company.  And I am cool and geeky, so it fits me perfectly.

Anyway . . . it was my time in court, and the first time I’ve stood inside one since my old traffic court days when I used to drive a little too fast and crazy.  But I was up early, getting stoked on music and a few well wishes from others who were aware of the day.  I dressed pretty much the way I normally dress for work, right down to bringing out a pair of nice pumps for the date.

As you can see, Resting Bitch Face was the order of the morning.

As you can see, Resting Bitch Face was the order of the morning.

You can see the folder with all my paperwork sticking out of my purse, which meant I was ready for action.  And when you’re that ready, the only thing to do is get it in gear and head out for your appointment with destiny.

At least I managed a smile this time.

At least I managed a smile this time.

Court was not like I expected, but then I had no idea what to expect.  I do feel something was up because when I walked into the judge’s office to tell them I was there, the woman at the front desk turned and yelled to the judge’s bailiff, “The name change is here!”  That was the first thing that made me wonder if it was standard practice to do things like that around the main courthouse of Porter County, Indiana . . .

I handed over my paper from the paper where the ad announcing my change was place and my birth certificate and went to wait outside.  A few minute later someone from the office came out and returned my birth certificate and gave me the lowdown on protocol:  my hearing was at ten-thirty, but they had to wait for fifteen minutes to see if anyone showed to object to the change–yes, this is something that is legal and can happen.

It was during that time that all the shackled prisoners who were in the criminal court next to me were led out of morning court for their transportation back to the local lockup, and I do which I could have snapped a picture, but cameras aren’t allowed inside the courthouse.  Orange jumpsuits and Crocs–yeah, not for me, thanks.  I couldn’t be seen dead in Crocs, for one thing . . .

At ten forty-five the bailiff called me into court where I was the only person.  I was given the rundown:  the judge would come in, ask me questions, ask for documentation, and that would then be that.  I was like, “Oh, cool,” and tried to settle down because I’ve been nervous as hell for a while waiting for this moment.

I had the full treatment:  a judge–not the one I’d requested, but another one who was filling in pro tem–the bailiff who’d been so helpful to me, a court reporter, and two court deputies.  I mean, this was really a big deal for me.  I was asked everything on the forms I filled out–are you trying to deceive creditors, are you a registered sex offender, are you currently incarcerated, which, by the way, had most of the people in court laughing as it was evident I wasn’t–and I was asked to present my passport and licence to the judge for examination, which one of the court deputies was happy to do for me–after all, I wasn’t supposed to get out of my chair.

And there was the one question I knew I was going to have to answer in open court, “What is the purpose for this name change?”  The answer was and is simple:  “I’m a transgender woman and I’m changing my name to allow me to conduct business legally as myself.”  Right?  I mean, there are other reasons, but you need your name if you’re gonna do business in this country.

After that question court was over:  I was told to wait outside as my change was processed and they’d be returned to me shortly.  I was outside the courtroom for about three minutes before I heard, “Okay, Cassidy–”  Yeah, that was nice.  It was also over.  I headed out to my car and decided to send a message to one of my friends back near The Burg to let them know the change was done, and to tell her to let all the people in my crocheting group who’d wished me well that day that I was out of court.

We all need our Big Girl Papers, yeah?

We all need our Big Girl Papers, yeah?

As you can see, court lasted less than thirty minutes, and most of that time was spent waiting for someone to show up and say I was doing something wrong.  After court I went to the Social Security office and filed to change my card (that took thirty minutes), then had lunch and returned to court to amend my birthday certificate, a process that took about fifteen minutes of filling out papers.

What remains today is to head over to the BMV in about two hours and apply for a new license.  New name, new picture, and a new gender marker.  That last I may need to argue a little on, but I’ll get it.  Once that’s done it’s a trip to the bank to get my name changed on accounts, and then I’m finished with Indiana business; I can head back to Harrisburg tomorrow, which I’m going to do anyway.

And I'll have this paper in hand--probably the most important one of my life.

And I’ll have this paper in hand–probably the most important one of my life.

I’d considered a lot of different things to say on this day, but when it came right down to it, there wasn’t any point in reflecting on my past self–who I don’t even recognize anymore, even when I look at old pictures–there’s just staying on the path to the future.  This isn’t the end of my transition:  oh, there’s plenty more to do.

But from here on out I do everything as me.  Myself.  I.

Cassidy’s the name, and I’m finally here to stay.

Back In the Dream Time

Semi-rainy, somewhat foggy, overcast morning here in The Burg, but there is so much going on.  Mostly due to the fact that last night was not all about writing, but rather about getting zapped with a laser.  That’s right:  I’ve started the process of getting the facial hair removed, and session one involved having someone who knows what she’s doing go over my face with a laser.  So it was a half hour drive out to where I needed to be, I waited a half hour to get in, an hour of zapping, and a half hour home with a slightly numb face and the smell of burning hair lingering in my memory.

I don't look none the worse for it, either.

I don’t look none the worse for it, either.

This morning there was almost nothing to shave away, and once I did my face was smoother than ever before.  Monday I go back for some electrolysis to burn away the dark hairs on my upper lip, and we see how I handle that to know how much more is needed.

And what did I do once I was home–other than hope the feeling returned to my cheeks and upper lip?  Wrote.  What else?

It’s on into Chapter Two now, and while I’m still with Kerry, Annie comes back–not for lunch, but for something . . . well, you have to see for yourself.  Which you will.  Below.

 

 (All excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book Two: B For Bewitching, copyright 2015 by Cassidy Frazee)

Kerry opened his eyes and realized he wasn’t in his bed—or his bedroom. For one, the bed was far larger than his. For another, there wasn’t a window over the head of his bed, so no sunlight coming from that direction.

And lastly, Annie was lying in bed next to him, slowly opening her eyes.

She blinked a few times before slowly looking about room without moving her head. She finally settled her gaze upon the boy next to her. “Kerry.”

“Annie.” He grinned and slipped closer to her. “Did you do this?”

“Put us here?” She barely shook her head. “I’ve tried to dreamwalk to you, but haven’t managed it yet. This was—” She smiled. “It happened.”

 

Those crazy dream are at it again.  Are you wondering a time frame?  Don’t worry:  Kerry has you covered–

 

“I’m glad it did; it’s been two weeks since we had lunch and I was missing you.” Remaining under the covers, he moved until they were close enough to kiss. “Strange to wake up in bed while still in bed.”

“I know.” Annie leaned into the kiss, making it sweet and tender. “I could get used to this.”

Kerry chuckled. “I’ve heard that somewhere before.”

She laid her hand upon the side of his arm and slowly side it towards his waist and hip. “If I remember correctly, it’ll be in a couple of—”

The second Annie touched Kerry’s hip her hand stopped, and he knew why, for he had reached for her waist at the same time. Both stared at each other in disbelief.

 

Okay, so the kids are in bed dreaming that they’re in bed, and . . . what would make them stare like that?

 

Annie was the first to find her voice. “Did you wear pajamas to bed?”

“I always do.”

She chuckled. “Always?”

He swallowed before speaking. “What about you?”

“I always wear pajamas or a night gown to bed—”

“Except for—”

“Let’s not go there.” Annie lifted her side of the covers enough to stare down at her body. “Didn’t expect that.”

Kerry caught a quick peak of himself as well. “Yeah, um . . .” He had a hard time keeping the smile away. “Maybe we should think about getting dressed.”

 

Yeah, maybe you should, kids!  It would really be embarrassing if someone dreamwalked their butts right now and found them in flagrante delicto–though they’re not actually doing anything except dream blushing.  And making jokes about being naked in a dream.  It’s just that when we have dreams like that, the other person we’re dreaming about usually isn’t really there.  It would sort of be like the time Jean Grey caught her scumbag husband Scott fooling around with Emma Frost in his mind.  The dumb was strong in those mutants . . .

But they’re rectifying the problem pronto–

 

“Some night clothes at the least.” The spaghetti strap of a night gown appeared on Annie’s shoulder as she visualized a proper night garment to wear. “There: much better.” She sat up and began to pull the covers back.

Hey.” Kerry quickly visualized a sleep shirt and lounging pants—his normal sleep attire—around his body before Annie exposed him.

Now she was laughing. “Remember, I’ve seen you, my love.” She fell along side and kissed him once again. “Or did you forget?”

“I do remember—” How can I not remember something like a wedding night that won’t happen for years? “That doesn’t mean you get to see the goods tonight.”

“Prude.” She stuck out her tongue, then looked about the room. “Is this anything you know?”

“I was going to ask you the same.” He sat up gave the room some scrutiny. It wasn’t a large room, but the lock on the door, the instructions next to the door, no visible closet, a door to his right behind Annie, and the large red window curtains to his left told him all he needed. “We’re in a hotel.”

 

I guess this means when they’re back at school and they start locking lips at the Midnight Madness, when they’re told, “Get a room!” they can yell back, “We already have!”  Oh, and if you’re wondering about there being some meaning to this place . . . maybe.  Maybe not.  Maybe could be?  Room me maybe?

Anyway, that’s the start of the scene, and you’ll see where it leads tomorrow, because I’ll get to writing once I’m home and I’ve eaten and I’m ready to go.

It's easier to put these things together when I've not let people use ray guns on my face.

It’s easier to put these things together when I’ve not let people use ray guns on my face.

Also, I’ve put up a poll that I would love everyone to fill out.  If you can.  Please.  With sugar on top.

That would be great.

 

Talking on the Town

There is this thing called “Real Life” that gets in the way of what writers do for either a living or for free.  That was pretty much me yesterday, as I spent most of my time out on the road until about seven PM, at which point I was completely out of it in terms of having creative juice left to stir.

First off, I walked into work in a pair of shoes I shouldn’t have.  This means I was in pain by the time I got there, because of really large blisters on my heels.  Which I popped at work, which came back as I walked home.  Which means by the time I treated them at the apartment before heading off for my appointment means I was in a lot of pain and having trouble walking.  Like I am this morning.  They’re sort and tender and . . . yeah, you get the idea.

But I have good news on the medical front.  My prolactin count has peaked–that’s one of the new hormones I’ve got stored inside my body–so no need for an MRI, my blood pressure was down about twenty points, and “the girls”, as the doctor calls them, are still growing and firming up nicely.  It’s good news all around.

The drive out to see my doctor is long; the drive back, longer.  Which means by the time I reached The Burg I was pretty burned out as far as getting anything done was concerned, and I didn’t get into the novel until after eight PM.  Closer to eight-thirty, actually.  I didn’t feel much like writing, but I wanted to keep going as I’ve been going because, well, writing.  You want to get back into that grove, that rhythm, that pops up when you’re starting a project.  You get to writing, not making excusing.

I managed a little over five hundred and eighty words, and here they are:  my kids back together again.

 

(All excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book Two: B For Bewitching, copyright 2015 by Cassidy Frazee)

After lunch the urge existed to find things to do, but as Annie said, “We have plenty of time in the future to sightsee—I’d rather be with you.” That was what happened: they left the Pret a Manger and headed to Russell Square park and wandered about there for a while before returning to the tube station and taking the Underground to Lancaster Gate, across Bayswater Road from Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens.

They headed over to the Kensington Gardens side of the park and walked hand-in-hand. They walked south past the Italian Gardens and along the west side of the Long Water. They stopped at the Peter Pan statue and lingered there for close to twenty minute nearly alone. The cool, rainy weather kept people indoors, and there were few pedestrians to cast wondering glances at the young couple walking close together, their hands intertwined.

They deviated for the lake’s shore and headed inland, standing for a while inside the Queen’s Temple when a light rain began to fall. Kerry finally chose this moment to ask Annie about how she ended up coming to London for Lunch.

“She visited Sunday.” Annie leaned against the wall catty-corner from where Kerry stood. “My mother and her spoke for about two hours while I was out at the Lake House; Helena made a point of insisting they speak alone.” She set her hands behind her back and shook her head. “I should have realized she was planning something.”

“I watched your dad race Sunday.” Kerry had streamed the British Grand Prix from Silverstone that day.

“Yes, he came in fifth. I watched it later after he returned home.”

Kerry couldn’t imagine Annie sitting with her father watching a race, but he had no reason to believe she’d lie. “You think your mom and Helena were talking about lunch the other day?”

“I’m not sure. Mama said they talked about what I’ve done in sorcery and some of the thing Helena planed for our B Level, but that was probably just a small part of what they discussed.”

Kerry thought that was likely true as well. He couldn’t see why Helena would discuss sorcery with Annie’s mother and not have her present as well; it was completely unlike her. “I take it she showed up today?”

“Yes, right after lunch. She spoke with my mother for a few minutes, then came up to my room and said she was taking me to lunch, and told me I didn’t need to change my clothes, because where we were going the weather was similar, and that she’d return later.” She repositioned her hands before her. “So I only nibbled until she returned.”

He nodded. “Was your dad there?”

“Yes, he was.” Annie grinned. “He knows Helena by reputation, and was cordial to her. I think having three sorceresses in the house made him nervous.”

He almost laughed thinking about her father—whom he’d never met—trying to remain casual while Helena and Annie’s mother chatted before Annie joined them. He has to know just how great a sorceress she is by now. “Hope he wasn’t too scared.”

She looked down at the ground for a moment. “He survived the experience.” Annie reached out and took Kerry’s hand. “It’s turned to mist; I want to walk.” He followed, a large grin stretched across his face, as he loved walking in cool mist as well.

And he liked it even better walking along with Annie.

 

I should mention that I also spent about half an hour looking though Google Maps and checking out Underground routes just to get those first three paragraphs right.  I could have spent less time, I admit, but I was tired, and it was a nice diversion to keep the mind semi-sharp.  And I like maps.

And I snapped this right before I went to bed.  Resting Bitch Face is all you can muster after a long day.

And I snapped this right before I went to bed. Resting Bitch Face is all you can muster after a long day and you’re not wearing makeup.

What will today be like?  I’ll find out soon enough.

So will my kids.

Getting Back Into the Creative Swing Rag

I admit that I haven’t done a lot of writing or even the planning of writing during my current trip to Indiana.  There’s been taxes and a lot of getting the car fixed so I can get tags, and yesterday was mostly spent walking off to lunch and waiting by the phone for a message on my car–which didn’t come until after five in the afternoon.

Today should be better, however.  I’ll take the car out for a drive to get the emission sensors triggered, then get it in for a test, then get the tags and be ready to return back to The Burg tomorrow.  And I won’t have to do this again until July.  Maybe.  We’ll see.

Yesterday I was out and about for repairs and lunch during International Transgender Day of Visibility, and I was certainly about as visible as they come.  Also, I was always treated fairly and without a single side eye–save for one woman who came into the car repair shop who was bitching about not being able to get in right away for an oil change, but screw her.  And since I had to prove I was visible, I snapped a picture of myself at the Valparaiso Uptown Cafe:

Out and About as myself since 2014.

Out and About as myself since 2014.

I realized that yesterday was the first real time I’ve been Out in Indiana since I went full time, and not feeling a twinge of fear going anywhere in the last couple of days has only helps bolster my ego as far as being me is concerned.

And now that taxes are out of the way I’ve confirmed that I will be able to start electrolysis this summer, which is going to be even more of a boon, because removing the last of my facial hair is going to be one of those things that gets the old life out of the way for good.  So time to look that up when I’m back home.

Now, about writing . . .

April I’ll finish up editing on Kolor Ijo and start getting it out of the way and out for publication.  Right now I’m looking at June for having it up, and I’m really going to try and stick hard to that, because I need something published.  It’s been two years; it’s time.

And in only a few days, the counter on my page should flip from “1 Month” to “Days to Go” on the start of writing for B For Bewitching.  I’ve had that story on my mind for a while, and I’ve thought a bit about the story beyond B.  And one of the things that keeps coming back to me is that, eventually, those nasty hormonal changes the kids are going through will need to be addressed.  I’m guessing there were enchantments at Hogwarts that kept the kids from losing their minds and indulging in shenanigans, but at my magical school there’s a reason the food is enchanted with contraceptives . . .

Yeah, if there are any really good candidates for “Oops, we did it,” status, it’s Annie and Kerry.  Though I’m not going to make that easy for them–

Trust me.  I’ve many wrenches to throw into their machinery, and I’m not afraid to use them.