amw

So my mind was all over earlier and i didn't really write about what i wanted to write about. Going to the gym definitely helped me settle. I think where i was angling is that i've felt very alone since i left T because there's been no one since who i've felt safe enough with to talk to about everything. There has been a lot of stuff i've had to deal with by myself because no one else understood the context or even knew it was going on. I haven't been able to write about all of it here either. Getting back into therapy has been freakin awesome - for me and for my relationship - because not only do i have a person i can tell all my shit to but it's also someone who isn't involved in any of it. She doesn't get everything, she doesn't share my crazy, but she listens and kicks my ass when i need it. It's the best decision i made all year. I am extremely close to running out of my savings and when i think of the money i've spent on therapy just over these few months it boggles me, but at the end of the day every cent has been worth it. I have to thank my mom because without her financial help over the last couple months there's just no way i'd have come this far. I still feel alone sometimes, but now i'm alone like the Moon, coming and going and revealing myself every now and then. Who knows? Maybe Apollo will visit again.

M and i had a lot of good times together, a lot of blah times too but not many times when i really felt very unhappy with where things were at. The unhappiest was actually at the beginning. I remember my heart was breaking in a million pieces and i had absolutely no idea how to deal with it because for the first time in years i had to deal with it all alone. I'd told my partner of five years or whatever it was that i couldn't do it any more, that i needed to move on... And although in my head i had started trying to move on and i had all those fortifications built up so i felt strong enough, really i wasn't ready at all. Meanwhile this new girl was obliviously trying to build a relationship with me and i felt so smothered and overwhelmed. I even told her as much, but how could i hope to put feelings so deep into words that would make sense to anyone else? The most important relationship of my life, something so fundamental, my whole fucking world was disintegrating around me and she had no idea how big it was. I guess the irony is the longer she was with me the more she understood and it ended up contributing to our own breakup. Go figure. That memory just came back to me, i think because M's mom was on my mind earlier today. I wonder how she is? My mind has been going a lot of places today. I think it's time to take it to the gym and leave it in a locker for a couple hours.

Yesterday i stood up in front of about 20 people and gave a short presentation about my life, en español. I wasn't too stressed about it till i was actually standing there, at which point i got real nervous, rushed through it and forgot a few of the things i wanted to say. By the time i got to taking questions my heart was fluttering like someone had just pulled a gun on me. At the end of class everyone got an envelope with anonymous comments from the rest of the class, and mine were almost universally positive. One read "don't be shy - take your time - you're good!" That pretty much sums me up - anxiety-ridden for no apparent reason.

At work i've done presentations to groups of people twice the size, but somehow i've felt less stressed then, perhaps because i've been able to fall back on my Powerpoint cues. At work, though, presenting to IT professionals, the questions tend to be fiercely technical and way over my head, which has always made me feel stupid. Last night i was talking about stuff that was personal to me so the questions were easy to answer, but the language barrier added an extra layer of nervousness that threw me off.

I've talked to my mom about this quite a lot because as an academic she has often been in front of classes and conference audiences. She tells me she still gets butterflies and finds the whole experience draining. To think someone whose job it is to stand up and talk in front of people still finds it intimidating gives me hope that one day i'll be able to do it and at least come across as relaxed and confident, even if inside my stomach is still doing backflips.

I'm not sure why i want to do it. I like the idea of sharing stories with people or teaching them something, but i can do that the way i've been doing it at the gym the last couple months - just one-on-one or in small groups. I often mentored at work too and it feels awesome to help someone understand how to do something new, to see that first spark of realization in their eyes and watch them get excited about how they're going to put this new piece of knowledge to use. I'm not sure you'd get that same sense of achievement in presenting to a whole class at once. Perhaps i only want to conquer the challenge of public speaking just because it's there, just because it's something i know i find really scary and hard to do.

Yet another thing to put on the list of stuff i'd like to accomplish. My first challenge is going to be finding a job - any job - in this shitty economic climate. Once i build back my financial base i'll be able to spring into the next thing, whether that's more school or just a different path of advancement at work. God, work. I am dreading it already. Nine months without having to open an IDE has been bliss. My entire view of what i want to spend my life doing has been turned on its head.

P.S. finger still sprained - icing, taping and medicating every 4 hours

Five games of basketball and i have a sprained finger and beat up elbow. It fucking kills. I haven't been in this much pain since my back packed it in last year, and before that my ankle sprains. Meanwhile i've done 40+ hours in the boxing gym - including full-contact sparring - with no serious injuries. I did have my wrist ache, but i suspect that was repetitive strain from striking my dumbek oddly after a few too-long practice sessions. You know J gives me shit for coming home with bruises from blocking punches or tightness in my neck from getting hit in the head, but this is so much more painful. Yes, i'm typing with one hand so i will stop now.

On Tuesday morning i checked the case tracker and found that i had received first stage approval for Canadian permanent residence. The next stage is to do police checks and a medical, both of which i've already submitted so i should be fully approved by spring. Unfortunately the work permit application i submitted back in September appears to be stuck in a waiting list somewhere where it won't get processed for months. After lots of calls to immigration i finally got an agent who knew his stuff and he advised i simply resubmit the application to a different address with a cover letter explaining the situation. Whichever application gets opened first will be processed first, and this way i should be legal to work by Christmas regardless. I also confirmed that my submission of a work permit application is considered an implicit visitor visa extension until i hear otherwise, so i can breathe easy after Saturday.

Well, not really. Tonight i have a Friday Night Dinner i agreed to go to before finding out i also had to go to a birthday last Sunday and another birthday this Sunday. After a couple months off suddenly i feel like i am drowning in all this family shit again and it is driving me nuts. I always go and put a smile on my face and try enjoy it for what it is, but it makes me so anxious beforehand and i end up so exhausted afterwards. Each time one of these things gets sprung on me it throws my whole week off because instead of focusing on the things i love i have this looming social event i need to mentally prepare for. I need to learn to let go of that stress.

I don't feel nearly as stressed when i need to socialize at a random mixer or with other people where i know where i stand. That's something i've come a long way with. When it comes to J's family, though, it's worse than ever. I hate the gossip machine, i hate that everyone knows my shit before i share it with them, i hate that they ask personal questions or try do nice things for me without really knowing who i am or what i want. I hate that whatever ideas they have in their heads are not based on talking to me or hanging out with me, but on second- or third-hand information mixed with their own assumptions and whatever. I still feel so betrayed that J decided to inform her parents that i have bipolar disorder, as if that was the explanation for me feeling uncomfortable living in their house. (It wasn't.) I don't want their pity or for them to walk on eggshells around me because of something they heard from someone else. I've forgiven her and whatever but that's only one example. I know i've become over-sensitive now, but i'm caught in a spiral - with everything they do they push me further away.

What i really want to do is focus on my drum performance in December. I want to train hard and possibly look into working toward my first fight for March next year. Somehow i need to get some kind of job by then and face and conquer my overwhelming fear that once i start working all the progress i've made in the rest of my life will shatter like so many broken dreams. I want to enjoy a white Christmas, i want to make a snowman and go ice skating under the tree at city hall. I have to do a presentation and take questions - en español - next Monday. Scratch that - i want to do it. I actually want to stand up in front of the class and talk about myself. There are all these exciting things happening in my life that i want to be my first priority, and i feel like i can't even start on them when family drama and obligation keep getting in the way.

I know the expression is you marry the family, not the person. And that you can pick your friends but not your family. I don't buy either saying because interpersonal relationships are a two-way street and when one side isn't committed then it doesn't matter whether the other side "picked" or not. I recently watched an amazing flick called Talk To Her (Hable Con Ella) that was about this very thing and it fucking tore me apart. It sucks to be the one who's put your hand out, waiting, but that's all you can do. On that level i can understand why her family wants to keep trying to engage me, but they don't seem to understand that talking behind my back and putting me in enforced social situations is only making it more difficult for me to open up in the long term. I just can't be forced into it, no one should be - family or not.

This entry is all disjointed, but i have to go to dinner. Sigh.

You know i really do have faith that everything is going to work out somehow. I have to. If you can't believe in something bigger than you then it's hard to believe in yourself.

I can tell when things are about to get off track. It starts with the odd sleep patterns, and doing and saying things before my mind okays them. I get contrary. I also have a peculiar symptom where my body twitches and contorts uncontrollably. It used to happen a lot, but these days it can go away for months before edging back. It's like my body is getting consumed by the rushing in my mind, it just won't stop and i feel like i need to tear my skin off, turn myself inside out to achieve peace. I need to break through the worst of the noise by experiencing it, expressing it, before i can breathe in the silence. The last week it's been happening more often; this morning i scratched up my neck and chest without noticing and it looks like a cat attacked me.

I watched Sin Nombre today. J has been randomly bringing me home Spanish movies each week. (Did i mention she works at a video store now?) I also watched Sugar and Paraiso Travel recently. They're all about immigration to the US, in some sense. Each time i was brought to tears by the end. There is something very magical, very personal about the American dream for me. So many people in the first world find the idea of moving to America laughable - gays are marginalized, healthcare is a joke, immigration policy is a disaster, the rest of the world resents you... But i still find myself in love with my idea of the American dream - one perhaps quite different to that held by people in less developed countries looking to escape the misery at home, yet one just as beguilingly utopian. I guess i identify on some level.

J and i went to a baseball game at the very beginning of the season, when the Blue Jays were actually winning. They played the American national anthem before the game, which i wasn't prepared for (i only knew about the song with the peanuts and cracker jack). I cried. It was something very special for me to be there, as little as i care for baseball as a sport per se. Perhaps i'm part of the last generation that fell for it, these heroes who saved us from the Nazis and the Communists, the ones who brought us Levi's and Coca-Cola. Of course the American dream is mostly just a romantic notion these days, but i think i'll always live in my own ideal world a tiny bit, even when reality is staring me back in the face. I tend to be a bit of a romantic that way, or perhaps just a dreamer.

There were a lot of things that contributed to M and i breaking up, but i think one of the biggest was that she knew my heart, my dreams lay elsewhere. What scares me is that they still do and even though J knows it and says she'll follow me anywhere i don't know if it's right to pull her away from her family, from her world. For her being apart from them for a few weeks is a long time. Of course, moving is years off being possible for us anyway, so why worry about it now? Perhaps it's on my mind because her family have been back in my face the last couple weeks, or perhaps it's because i'll be overstaying my visa here come Saturday. There are a million things going on in my mind at the moment and they just dart out to play, whether it's something that happened yesterday or will happen tomorrow or in five years. Sometimes it's like time has bent and i'm cutting horizontally across the whole journey, memories mixed with dreams and hopes and experiences of today and i don't know what's what any more.

I have an extremely hard time trusting people. I don't share the things i care about with most people, i don't share much of my personal history, i don't open up anywhere publicly besides this journal. There is a pattern in my life - going back to when i was very, very young - of people who i should've been able to trust to look after me either neglecting me or taking advantage of me. I ended up learning to deal with most things myself. By the time i was 12 or 13 i had given up going to my parents with my problems and immersed myself in books instead. Or smoked pot, drank, whatever would take me away. I became very cold and distant, trying to be fiercely independent at an age where you really shouldn't have to be.

Discovering BBSes and the internet when i was 15 finally gave me an opportunity to get myself out there as a human being again, perhaps because of the illusion of safety that comes with it. You can share more of yourself online, if you maintain your relative anonymity, because the worst that can happen is your online persona gets hurt and - hey - you can always make a new one. I could get lost in the crowd. I made some very close internet friends back then. Although i tossed most of them away when i turned 19 and decided to create another new persona for myself, it was the start of me being able to trust again. But that remained an online thing - i still couldn't open up in real life, not for many years.

I guess not until i moved to the US to live with T. I was so absolutely in love with her and trusted her completely, with everything. To this day i think she's the only person in my life who didn't take advantage of that. She helped me to open up a bit, first to her family, then just in general. I took it back to Australia with me and over several years started to get better at trusting other people too. Except i took shortcuts - getting drunk, getting high so i could get over the initial fear of going out in public, of talking. There was one event in particular i am desperately ashamed of where i started talking about all my deepest shit with complete strangers thinking everything i was saying was so smart and important. I kind of got close in a weird druggy way, then, which of course just lead to more betrayals in the end, building my walls ever higher and leaving me worse off than when i started.

The irony is meanwhile i had completely broken T's trust in me. When we talk now i feel like her walls are so high we need megaphones just to say hello. It's like we're a million miles away.

J gets upset sometimes that i don't trust her family, that i have walls, but it's been 25 years in the making, you know? And now, the most recent betrayal: i pay a professional a lot of money to protect me from stress - to do research and cover my ass so i don't have to do it myself - and she disappoints, leaving me holding the baby. Once again i have to pull my shit together and look after everything on my own; i can't even rely on someone i hired to look after me. Well that just builds the walls a little higher again.

It's made me withdrawn. I'm not a hermit - i do interact with people regularly, just not on a very deep level. I guess i've just learned to live my life that way now, i prefer to do things on my own. My heart remains open to just a handful of people, only one has the master key, and perhaps that's the way it will always be.

In 11 days my visitor record will expire. If i don't receive my work permit before then, I will no longer be a legal resident in Canada. Obviously this makes me more than a little nervous. I've spent today fighting back and forth with our lawyer and she is refusing to provide any more advice or help. She continues to ignore my direct questions regarding the visitor record extension listed in our retainer that she never provided. I think as far as she is concerned her job is done. We've already paid over $2500 and there is another $1300+ to come once my application goes through. Realistically the bulk of that money has just been for professional reassurance that "everything will be fine". After the border crossing debacle of August and now with my second visitor record about to expire i can categorically say that everything was not fine. And $2500 would come in real handy right about now.

Several people from June have already been processed. April appears to be done and i haven't heard about any more May cases since the ones a couple weeks ago. I am a May case. God willing i will actually get processed in the next week and i won't have to choose between living here illegally or crossing the border again. I am trying really hard not to get angry about it. I know i can't get angry at immigration because every applicant is playing the same shitty waiting game that i am, but it's hard not to be pissed at our lawyer for not getting me the extension i needed. Of course she could process it now - for a $750 fee. Give me a fucking break! And she knows she can get away with it because no way i can afford to bring a malpractice suit against her, and even if i could it wouldn't be worth it if my status expired anyway.

It drives me nuts how many ways immigrants get held hostage. For the last three months the Ontario driving testers have been on strike, so even though i am qualified and have taken lessons here in Toronto, i can't take the test to get my full license. Neither can any other new immigrant (or teenagers for that matter). Soon it will be snowing, which makes testing impractical. But who cares, right? We can't vote, so why should the government give a shit? Contrast this to the garbage collectors' strike that was in the news every single day - the driving testers' strike barely rates a mention once a week. No one stands up to make noise for immigrants, we're held over a barrel and can't be overly vocal ourselves for fear of jeopardizing our cases and/or facing deportation.

This stupid shit has fucked with my life for over 10 years. I am so fucking passionate about it and so fucking sick of how the system is set up - here, in America, everywhere. I guess this is why i am beginning to find myself drawn to looking into work in the area. God, if i could make one fucking family's life happier, one of these stupid cases easier for the people involved... i can't think of much more rewarding than that. Fuck if i would ever become a lawyer after this experience, but maybe there is something else i can do. It shouldn't have to be this way, not for millions of good and honest people.

Right now i am going to the gym to punch the shit out of some bags. What else can i do?

Last night my dumbek teacher suggested our class perform at the dance studio's end-of-year gala. It makes me nervous because we all still suck, a lot, and we will be performing in front of peers - or at least people who know what a decent drum performance is supposed to sound like. Also it's this whole... scene i have stayed away from because T is a belly dancer and just seeing other people dance still gets me all emotionally tangled. Either way, it's going to be a big deal for me to perform but i want to do it, so if my teacher gets his shit together i guess we're on.

I mentioned it to J last night because she usually works Saturdays and would need to book it off if she were to come. First thing she said was "you know who'd like to come, my parents!" It took everything i had not to have a panic attack right there. Playing music is very personal to me. Actually most things are. I know a few months ago i was bitching that no one cared when i did things that i was proud of and i guess this is one reason why. I hold the things i care about so close to me, i don't want to tell anyone how excited i am. I think i'm scared that somehow by sharing it it will get stolen away from me.

When i was a kid one day i decided to take up kung fu. It was the first sport i ever did that was totally my own - i didn't know anyone else in the classes. I enjoyed it and it felt really good. After a while i mentioned to a friend of mine i was doing it and he decided to join up too. Somehow the joy went out of it for me then. Maybe i got discouraged because he was more athletic than me, or perhaps he took it more seriously. He just fit in better than i did. I quit classes, of course - just a month or two after he started - and didn't do any sports for the next 15 years.

I don't know what the root of that fear is. I am so selective with the people i let in, the ones i really share my life with. And i get so devastated when those people don't get how big of a deal it is for me - whether they decide to share my "secrets" with the world or just ignore them altogether (i'm not sure which is worse). It's fucking stupid, really. You know sometimes i even feel weird writing here about what i'm doing because once it's on the web it's out there and i can't take it back. Like this delicate flower i am holding in my hand is going to disintegrate if i let people see it. But when you perform you can't hold it in your hand, it's for everyone and you can't always choose who you give it to. Perhaps the flower leaving your hand doesn't always have to be the one in your heart.

These anti-gay marriage proponents are a bunch of fucking clownshoes. When gay marriage is shown to be constitutionally valid through the courts they complain it's not the will of the people and petition to put it to popular vote. When the law is changed through the legislature they complain it's still not the will of the people and petition to put it to popular vote. Then, after running fear campaigns to sway the outcome of the popular vote in their favor, they trumpet each result as a moral barometer of national opinion in spite of the countless polls that show otherwise. It's insidious that they know they can succeed in removing rights from minorities by placing this sort of question on the ballot and then politicizing the issue - planting false fears and fanning the flames through key voting blocs to drive turnout.

The ridiculous thing is that just over the border from Maine - and aside from the rest of New England - is Canada where people have been getting gay-married for years and society hasn't fallen apart. No churches have been forced to perform same-sex marriages, no school children are being brainwashed into becoming gay, it's just... there. At the end of the day it really doesn't affect anyone besides the couple actually getting married.

But i forget sometimes, America is a strange beast. There is an interracial couple on Amazing Race at the moment, they're from Tennessee. For some reason they feel the need to bring up how groundbreaking their relationship is every five seconds. It's actually painful to watch, living in a city where this sort of thing doesn't even raise an eyebrow. I guess their ostentatiousness is a product of it still (!) being some weird freaky thing where they come from and that's their way of dealing with the attention. It just goes to show half the country is still living 50 years in the past and they don't even realize it. If they're still struggling with the idea of a black girl marrying a white guy then God forbid they accept a guy of any color marrying another guy of any color. It's scary how out of touch that is from the reality in the urban centers.

I'd still like to visit, though. The south, the country. Just perhaps not holding hands with my partner.

Yeah, it's scary, but fascinating too. One of the things i love about America is how wildly different the politics are from one part of the country to the next. Democrats in conservative states can be more conservative than Republicans in liberal states and vice versa... Which is probably why it takes so freakin long for anything useful to come out of the federal legislature, because even representatives on the same party can't agree on how things should go. One more argument for new federalism, i guess. Bla bla repeal DOMA etc. I'll stop boring y'all now.

Hay cinco personas que se murieron que quería y sigo queriendo. Los extraño y esta noche me sentaba a comer, beber y hablar consigo. Fue la primera vez que hacía algo así... Fue triste, pero feliz también. Pienso que fue una cosa buena. Los sigo extraño pero me siento más en paz.

I graduated high school in Holland, so i had to write a lot of assignments in Dutch. It feels good to be able to express yourself in other languages - there are some things you just can't say the same way in English. Of course i am not even remotely close to that point with Spanish yet, but the only way to get there is by writing reams and reams of horrible shit until eventually it gets less horrible. I am in awe of the great poets who wrote in multiple languages - it's hard enough finding the perfect words in your native tongue. Although when you write in a language not your own you can knowingly find the less perfect words - and perhaps stumble upon a more raw, more honest expression. It's like being young again, when words are new.

I want to keep doing things that help me feel young. Each of those people who died taught me things, some directly and some indirectly, things that strike new sparks every time i look back. You can't recognize it the same way when you have them, it comes with loss, as if their life flows out of them and disperses into everyone they touched.

Why can't i talk about spiritual things in my journal? Hum. I was supposed to be hibernating anyway.

This morning i headed out to a Mexican bakery to pick up some pan de muerto and calaveras de chocolate. Then on to a Latin American grocery store to pick up Jarritos and Tapatío. I walked round the corner to a Chinatown grocery store where i picked up ABC Kecap Manis and Mi Goreng. On the way home i dropped by our local grocery store where i got plantain, stroopwafels, salami and Diet Coke. I took the subway, streetcar (tram) and bus all round the inner suburbs, never waiting more than 5 minutes.

It's true fall weather today - 12C (53F) and drizzling rain. The trees range from red through yellow and brown, a seasonal rainbow of colors in between. There are leaves all over the ground too - mushy, now. The other day i scooped all of the leaves out of our entranceway (because we live in a basement you need to go down a flight of stairs to get to the front door) and within an hour we were ankle-deep again. I wonder if it will be the same when the snow comes? Perhaps our landlord has an extra shovel i can borrow.

She is from Greece, you know, she doesn't speak great English. My driving teacher is from Pakistan, my drum teacher from Palestine (my old drum teacher from Jamaica), my Spanish teacher from Colombia, my hair dresser from Ecuador and - hey - my boxing coach is from New Brunswick, Canada. One of the best things about Toronto is that over half the city doesn't come from here. I feel very at home surrounded by so many first-generation immigrants, and i love having such easy access to the diversity of food and culture they bring with. Sometimes i wonder what i bring to the table. I don't really have much culture of my own besides my personal mishmash of slang from around the world.

I am thinking more seriously about getting my Master's once permanent residence comes through. It will make moving countries much easier in the future. I will almost certainly have to do an additional year of undergrad work before applying because anything i do will be so far from my Bachelor's as to make it worthless. I am thinking about a social science, perhaps something related to international relations or immigration. We'll see. First i have to get over my own immigration hurdle and it is driving me absolutely crazy right now. I'm checking the website every day with butterflies.

But for the rest of the weekend i will put that all aside. Tonight i'm making poutine and plan to take a walk round the neighborhood to enjoy our neighbors' Halloween displays. Tomorrow is for pumpkin-carving and candy eating and movie watching. Sunday i'm running another boxing class, then when i get home we'll have Mexican bread and coffee and i will remember my grandfathers. Right now i am cold and wet and am about to wrap myself in a cocoon. Butterfly pending.

In 1999, shortly after i decided i was transsexual, i moved into a new place with a friend of mine. He'd had some bad experiences in the downtown rave scene and i'd had my bad ones in the outdoor party scene so we bonded on that and came together in the gay scene. At this point i was still presenting as a straight male - a long-haired rocker/skater kid at that - so i was quite the objet de curiosité on the scene. I would sit in the corner drinking beer and watch the drag queens with tears in my eyes.

I spent most of that year developing a very romanticized view of what it meant to be a woman. I'd cut off contact with almost every woman i had a real friendship with, so for most of my days drag queens was as close as i got. And boy, they were fabulous examples. They looked like the women i fawned over each month in the Vogue fashion spreads - make-up and glitter and bold colors and perfect lines and such grace and poise. I fantasized one day i could be even half as glamorous. Even the old and ugly ones were full of wit and unabashed ostentatiousness. In reality, walking around town i knew most women never looked that way, but as usual i preferred to live in my fantasy world where maybe somehow, some day i'd be living in New York City, or somewhere equally exciting and cosmopolitan, surrounded by style and wonder like i saw in the magazines.

It's been ten years now and i've lived the city life and still the only women i've ever known who make themselves up and costume themselves that boldly are performing artists and models. It's part of the art, creating a sense of otherworldly wonder, bringing fantasy to life. I guess if the world were as colorful on a day-to-day basis it wouldn't be so breathtaking. Like i said the other day, you get old and become a realist - but that doesn't take away the transcendental pleasure of art, i guess in some ways it makes it even stronger.

In any case, really all i'm saying here is that i've been fascinated with drag queens for a long time. At some point i caught a snippet of Paris Is Burning on TV and since then i occasionally go on Youtube journeys watching vogue dancers do their thing. It's not all done in drag, but the influence is there - a celebration of effeminacy in movement. I love it, but living in Australia i never got the chance to see it in person because it's a very American scene.

Last night J was invited to a friend's birthday party at some hipster bar in the west end - you know, the kind of thing i invariably refuse to go to - but i checked the website and i saw a local vogue dance house was performing so of course i had to go. I think J nearly choked when i actually said yes to something she wanted to go to :-) We only stayed for an hour because it was so late and we both had to be up early today, but i caught the show and it put a huge smile on my face. I realized i really miss my gay boys, as drugfucked and melodramatic as they could be, in measured doses they always made me laugh harder than anyone.

If only i'd grown up liking boys i'm sure i would've made an excellent queen. Shyness falls away when you're flaming, it's like every moment is a performance. Nowadays i'm just the odd lesbian smiling in the corner, lost in my own thoughts. I guess that's not too far from that confused 19 year old watching the drag cabaret so many years ago. Always the observer, never a participant. Heh.

There is this great Canadian show called Being Erica that started early this year. The basic concept is a neurotic thirtysomething underachiever visits a magic shrink who sends her back in time to relive bad experiences from her past so she can try fix them. I have a real soft spot for the show, corny as it can sometimes be, because for years i held on so tight to all my regrets like they were the only things that defined me.

The other day i was watching the show and it occurred to me i never did write a list like our eponymous protagonist did in the first episode. No kidding! For years i held on to my regrets but i never wrote them all down one after the other. It sounds kinda cathartic in itself, so i thought why not? If i could go back and revisit a younger me, which moments would i go back to? There are three major decisions i've long regretted that most people reading my journal already know about, but what about the little things? Yesterday i sat down and wrote down all those things that occasionally still eat away at me. It did actually feel good to do.

As it turns out, a very large proportion of the list involves me either getting intoxicated when i said i wouldn't or doing stupid shit once there. I did a lot of stupid shit when i was manic too but that's a bit different because i don't actually remember doing it (which is a whole nother problem). And other stupid shit i forgive myself for because i was young and didn't know any better. But getting high, getting drunk? That was always my decision and i own the consequences. Over the last couple months sometimes i've questioned my choice to stop drinking altogether - i just kind of did it on a whim earlier this year - but then i look back and i realize why. My most recent regret on the list was a fucked up thing i did while drunk last year that i haven't written about here and probably won't ever. I'm almost 30, man, i can't pass it off as some stupid kid thing any more, there are times i've been that creepy drunk no one wants to hang out with and that's a harsh realization.

So a few nights back i was squeezing some lime on my plate of chicken and plantain and i can't tell you how much i was hanging for a caipirinha to go with, but i cracked a coke instead. When i look at my list i wonder if there will ever be a day i can be responsible with this shit. I guess when you struggle with mental illness and just general self esteem and other issues on a day to day basis the last thing you should do is fuck with your head any more.

Today, today i am kicking back and taking a home day. I will study for my Spanish exam Monday, perhaps do a few sets of ab exercises because the gym is closed for a tournament this weekend, play my drum and listen to music and dance around the house winking at jack-o'-lanterns. Then i will eat candy and hibernate because i am happy and sad all at the same time, plus it's freakin cold.

One of the sad things about growing up is seeing the real side of dreams. Cynicism grows and you can lose your sense of wonder...

A long time ago i thought it would be cool to become a computer programmer when i grew up, specifically a games programmer. You know, write fun software that makes people happy, that anyone can pick up and use. When i grew up i discovered that they were generally hardcore math nuts, that they worked 60+ hour weeks for meager pay and faced hellish deadlines. Instead i ended up in business programming, where the hours and pay are much better, but the work is so mind-numbingly abstract you can't even describe your job when you meet someone at a cocktail party. Unless of course you are at a cocktail party exclusively attended by nerds, which is exactly where you end up when you work in the industry - talking about middleware frameworks over martinis.

So i dreamed of going back to music, of making it a career somehow. I thought i could just sit around in a studio making beautiful music every day. It never really occurred to me that being a successful musician really means spending half your life in a bus or an airport, staying up late every night to play shows, always being on display. It means signing contracts that demand you come up with something new and commercially viable every couple years. Either that or you keep your artistic integrity by subsisting on ramen and writing music for the same tiny clique of self-congratulatory die-hards who will eventually get married, have kids and move on. Inevitably you end up doing sessions or making beats for someone else, or maybe writing lousy jingles for used car dealerships.

Lots of things i dreamed about, i thought to myself: what a career that would make! Then i met people, i made friends who were "living the dream" and saw the reality was never quite as rosy as it once appeared. So i turn around and look at business programming and think perhaps it isn't so bad - i got paid $90,000 to sit on my ass all day and move around lines of code to make some dull business logic happen. I can't really complain, especially knowing that there is no real "dream job", that none of the jobs that seemed so appealing as a kid really exist the way i imagined. Astronauts don't just fly spaceships, they have to be scientists too. Cops don't really kick ass and take names, they deal with drunks and bums and write reports. Artists don't create in a vacuum, they need to be shameless self-promoters. Superheroes don't even exist at all :(

But i think facing the reality of other careers actually makes it easier for me to consider changing. I'm under no illusions any more.

I was attracted to computer programming 20 years ago because it was the only job that really seemed like you'd get to spend a lot of time with technology. 10 years ago everything changed and now everyone has a computer, everyone has the internet and everyone can be an expert. People who don't touch a computer at work can come home and google like a pro. I can get all the exposure to technology that i crave without having to make it my career. In the last six months i haven't done anything related to software development; i have no idea if any new frameworks have come out or what the new trends are. I just don't care. I still love technology, i love computers and the internet and all the new discoveries you read about in the media, but i don't need to be an expert in software development to appreciate these things.

Just like i probably don't need to be a chef to enjoy cooking, or be a professional musician to enjoy playing an instrument, or a critic to enjoy movies. So where do i want to invest my time, my career? I know i could succeed doing anything if i just put my mind to it, so how about choosing something that is rewarding in a way beyond feeding a casual interest? How do i want to contribute, make a difference? And how do i keep my options for emigrating open at the same time?

I am thinking of doing a masters. Heh.

Tomorrow morning i am going in for my immigration medical. The last time i had a medical was in 2006 when i applied for a job with a casino - they required it of all their applicants. It really upset me at the time and i found the whole thing degrading. Of course at the time i was doing drugs, so i had more reason to be anxious. Previously i had undergone an immigration medical in 1997, before coming to Australia. Then i remember being terrified that i was going to be refused entry to the country due to my drug use. Or, more honestly, i didn't care if i got refused entry but i really didn't want my mom to find out i'd been a chronic stoner through high school. I also had an irrational fear that i might have HIV, it being my first sexual health check and all. I had my last sexual health check 10 years later in 2007, before flying up to Canada to meet J for the first time. I was nervous then, too, but now i know it's normal.

But this medical, i was already having anxiety attacks about it 4, 5 months ago - fearing they wouldn't let me in the country if they knew just how crazy i was. A few weeks ago i had a nightmare that during the medical they discovered i had lung cancer. Of course i am healthier now than i have been in years - mentally and physically - and this is all just more "catastrophizing"... It's because i'm close. Assuming the government believes our relationship is genuine, this is the only remaining hurdle to getting full permanent residence. Fuck, in a few months i could be as Canadian as i ever was Australian (which is to say not very, but still a lot more than none). And if anything fucks up before then... well i can't even bear to think of that.

I have some tendonitis in my right wrist and forearm. I'm not sure if it's from boxing or drumming or basketball or using the computer in bed, but it hurts like a motherfucker and it's making all of those things hard to do. Hopefully the medical won't involve any gripping. And hopefully being sick right now won't show on the chest x-ray. Yeah yeah okay stop worrying. My arm is iced and my throat is lubricated and i'm going to get back under the blanket and pout because i need to get up before 7am. It's just not right. Let me eat cake. Or something.

So, Thanksgiving dinner was a success. We got up around 10:30 and cooked most of the day. I was feeling like death. Thursday i'd had trouble breathing and (stupidly) spent 2 hours at the gym pushing myself a lot harder than i should've. I woke up with the cough of doom and tightness in my chest like what i guess asthma feels like. I popped a bunch of Sudafed and drank green tea all day, until i started getting a headache and realized i was having caffeine withdrawals. Awesome. Diet Coke and Motrin got me through the rest of the day. I probably over-medicate when i'm sick because i hate it so much.

Aside from spending the whole day struggling for breath like some drowning kitten it all went pretty well. I think i put my cornbread in too small a pan because it didn't crisp up enough, and our potatoes still didn't roast soft after 2+ hours in the oven, but everything else was perfect. The turkey was tender and delicious, the apple sauce was a huge hit (thanks mom!) and for some reason Grandma R was blown away by our sweet potato. The in-laws brought challah (a bit like brioche) and a ridiculously delicious pumpkin pie. We watched The Proposal and drank coffee and had a gay old time.

J was so happy to be able to entertain the family in our house for an evening, it really meant a lot to her. It was so good to see her happy like that, and i was really proud of the food we'd prepared and the space we'd set up. I've done a couple of Christmas feasts from scratch before, but never a Thanksgiving roast - it was a big deal to cook for six, i can only imagine when people are preparing for eight or ten or more. Definitely something to be thankful for.

Today is my first day of basketball. I was going to go boxing in the morning to get me all pumped up, but given i'm still sick i've skipped that. I haven't needed any drugs yet, though i am still wheezing and have continued to drink tea all morning. I really want to make it out tonight - even though it's just a clinic and the first game is next week, i would like to meet my team and try get a little bit back in the groove of things. I hope the girls are chilled out. I quit playing women's basketball in Australia because they were all a bunch of über-competetive bitches. We'll see.

I feel like my last couple entries have been a little insipid and this is not much better. You know, when life is just sort of... going... i want to write, i'm trying to write more this year, but i don't think i'm saying much.

The first permanent residence application from May just got processed; this guy was literally two days before me. I think he got fast-tracked due to a pregnancy, but it's still extremely promising news. Promising and terrifying.

I have felt a sense of dread building over the past several weeks, knowing that soon i will have to look for a job. It's a bad time of year to look for office work, so i have been telling myself i'll just find holiday work in retail till the snow melts and then think again. But really that's just me avoiding what i need to address. What the fuck am i going to do with my life?

I love the promise IT holds. The main reason i stuck it out in Australia was so i would be able to move to America somewhere down the track. Software development is a good industry for employer sponsorship, and the money helps too. Now... now i still want to move to America and i'm scared if i start at the bottom of some other trade i'll be stuck for five or ten years working up to an equivalent level of proficiency that is recognized for immigration purposes. The last few months has shown me i can live happily with a low income, but i have no idea how to live happily if i let my dreams of getting to America get crushed completely. Too many dreams got crushed already.

Thing is, even if i stay in IT it could be five or ten years till the US recognizes same-sex partnerships for the purpose of immigration anyway. I have that extra responsibility now, i can't just leave here as soon as i get a job that will sponsor me.

Being a grown-up fucking sucks.

This extended break from "real life" i've been having this year has been fucking amazing. There's been an assload of ups and downs, but overall it's been good - i'm growing and learning so much about myself and what makes me happy and who i want to be... But a career? Yeah see that's the part i have trouble with. Inside me there's still that teenager who wants to spend his whole life listening to music and watching movies and reading and writing and being artistic and studying freakin philosophy at college. Seriously. Waaah.

stupid songs that unexpectedly make you cry...

Yesterday was an odd day. I did the laundry. I am really loving my laundry time lately. I used to like the folding, it's sort of this meditative thing you can just switch off and do, but now i need to go to a laundromat the whole procedure is a good break from life. I have been taking my paper journal and sometimes a book or iPod, i sit and i write and i read and i think for an hour. It takes me away from the computer, from it all.

The rest of the day i was in a strange mood, though. Every time i interacted with someone i said something dumb. I hate those days, my lips finish talking before my brain catches up and then i end up second-guessing everything that came out of my mouth. I just kind of floundered and felt wonky... off.

Today was an improvement. I had a pretty intense session at therapy. Fuck knows if i'm getting anywhere useful but it is good to talk about some things i haven't in a very long time, a lot of stuff that was buried but not quite dead. Zombies!!! Also, it was frickin cold, goddamnit. When i got home i switched hoodies to a new one i bought on Monday, one with fuzzy woolly lining. I haven't worn anything this ridiculously fuzzy for... i can't even remember when. It's a big ass snuggly thing. Then we bought a turkey.

Boxing was extremely solid tonight. Every time i go i push a little further, a little harder. Before i left i was like meh, dun wanna go, cold, tired... Now i'm back and cooked up some cheesesteaks (protein!!) and i'm bouncing around with energy again. It just feels so good to get that real explosive exercise - 2 hours a session totally blows away 45 minutes of a basketball game - it's like dancing during the peak of the night at a good party... except i can do it several times a week! I'll be back tomorrow too because drumming is on break. Teh yay.