Another crappy day

But at least I got a little bit done over the weekend. I did do lots of cleaning and I did do some good work on the journal here. Decided to import all of my old stuff from LiveJournal and URNA. LJ was easy. URNA is going to take a bit. Today is mostly crappy because I’m battling an eye infection. It was killing me last night and I didn’t get but a few hours of sleep. Killing me again today. I’m going home…

Plans for today

Three things: work on holiday email list, work on journal, work on cleaning around the house. Predictably, the holidays are almost over and my emails are nowhere near ready to go out. I have a stock letter written and I’ve collected a list of nearly 250 friends I want to email. Now comes the really big task of composing and sending the individual emails.

I’m still tossing around ideas for what to do with my journal here. I’m considering importing my two other journals so everything can be read together. I’m debating my desire to have a public journal against my desire to document more sordid details of my life. Not sure what I’ll end up doing.

Feeling like crap today

Not feeling like writing. I’m so out of the habit of writing every day. Need to write, just anything, to get going again. Made cookies for work last night. They turned out ok. After cookies were done, Stacy opened a bottle of wine and the three of us drank it while we watched “Short Bus.” People liked my cookies today. I ate all the left over cookies for lunch. Been sitting here doing nothing all afternoon. Lynn and Rhronda messaged me, wanted to help me with my look. I showed them my flickr page and they haven’t gotten back to me yet. My eyes are killing me. I took out one contact, but I need both out and a dark room.

First post, just to get started

Here’s a new journal on wordpress.com. I’ll be writing every day, documenting a bunch of boring details about daily life, a few fascinating details, and an occasional rant or essay.

So, to start with some boring stuff about today, I’m wearing new Revlon Colorstay lip color. This was a late Christmas gift from Stacy after I had talked about how I need to try some long wearing lip color because all I’d ever used was ordinary stuff that wears off easily. It’s holding well and it’s kind of fun. It’s so unlike me to be wearing bold lip color at work, but it’s a good experiment for the start of the new year. I’ve pretty much decided to go with black hair at the start of the year, and so I think I’ll want to wear a lot more color on my face than I have been.

More boring stuff, the cranberry nut bread I made for coffee today didn’t turn out so well.

Step One of Twelve

Hi, my name Sonia, and I’m a fuck up.

I was thinking about twelve step programs after browsing one Stacy’s books titled “12 Steps to Raw Foods.” I’m not quite converted to raw foodism yet, but the time was right for me to get the message that step one of recovery is admitting that you have a problem. My legal problems have impacted my life severely enough lately that I’ve finally felt compelled to start talking about them to a few people. Last month when I knew my chances of staying out of jail were dwindling, I started confessing parts of my story to a few people. I told my immediate supervisor that I had a court date that I might not be coming back from. I confessed to my girlfriend that I was afraid I was headed for problems and I might not be the person she thought I was. (Of course she promptly had our best mutual friend sit me down for a serious talk…) Hmm, and then I talked to my mother recently and told her I had been in jail and stuff. One thing I had heard from a couple people is, “Sonia, when you talk to a lawyer, you have to tell them EVERYTHING.” Why would people say this to me? Do they get the sense that I’m not telling them everything? Well…there’s probably something to their suspicions. It’s easy for me to rationalize my elliptical stories, thinking, telling myself, and telling others out loud that, “It’s complicated. It would take months to tell the whole ugly story. This is all that you need to understand.”

That’s denial, huh. If step one is admitting that I have a problem, I have to admit the whole problem. I have to admit it to myself before I can hope to understand it. Yeah, there is a whole ugly story, and yeah, it will probably take months to unravel it. Still though, I have to start. This is exactly what I hoped to start when I started this journal.

But, um, that was June, 2006. Eighteen months ago. That’s a lot of months and, yeah, next to no progress. One might even argue that I’ve slid quite a few steps back for every step forwards. Maybe I just haven’t admitted my problem yet.

So what is the problem? What do I have to admit? Let’s say, just hypothetically, that I wanted to talk about my problems to someone—like a lawyer. Can I express my problems coherently enough to even start a conversation? Below is the email I sent today to a legal group that helps transgendered people with limited resources. I think it’s the first time I’ve expressed my problems this completely.

Dear [organization],

I am a transwoman currently in need of legal assistance. I am trans in the sense that I live full time as a woman while still legally and biologically male. My current legal problems are not obviously related to me being trans, but I am in desperate need of help and hope you will consider my situation and offer whatever guidance you can, even if it is only to refer me to someone else you think might be able to help.

My legal problems are related to alimony, paternity, and child support. I have failed to defend myself against claims against me, and further, have been negligent in responding to various court orders related to these claims. I have no good excuse or explanation for my inaction. Depression, anxiety, or gender dysphoria might all be proposed but I do not expect to be able to use any of these as a legal defense. I just need some way out of my problems and I currently don’t have any workable plan. My friends refer me to lawyers but so far the responses I have had from lawyers have been to stare at me blankly and ask me how I expect to pay for legal services, to laugh in my face and say, “you’re going to jail, my friend”, and to tell me to get a second job. These responses have not been helpful.

My cases originate in Kansas. Massachusetts is taking action against me now to attempt to enforce these support orders from Kansas. These actions have included confiscating 100% of my paycheck, all of my bank accounts, my driver’s license, jailing me for 35 days; and now I am currently under house arrest on electronic monitoring for 120 days. As a result of being jailed and having bank accounts disabled, I lost my my apartment and my landlord confiscated all of my possessions, including all documentation I have related to this case. My credit cards and cell phone are suspended.

I am basically living out of a tote bag, sleeping in a friend’s bed, relying on various friends to feed me, showering at my office, making do with a few changes of clothes and one very leaky pair of shoes.

I am employed. I have worked as an astronomer at the
Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics here in Cambridge for the last five years. My annual salary is $50K. As I mentioned, currently the court is currently taking all of that. I get zero. I currently have no money except pocket change amount handouts pushed into my palm by close friends. My job, my friends, and my spirit are my precious assets.

I would be happy to come to your office if you would be willing to spend some time discussing this further. My electronic monitoring schedule will not allow me make one of your evening legal clinics, but can take off work for an appointment with you most any time during regular work day business hours.

Sincerely,
Sonia Keys

House arrest

Monday morning, I got around to cleaning up after myself a bit by bundling up some laundry and dropping it off on my way to work. Stacy and Jessica had both told me stories about how hostile the laundry employees were toward transgenders. I walked in without expectations. “Good morning, I’d like to drop this off?” I asked with a cheerful smile, placing my bundle on the counter. “Wash, dry, fold? Of course!” She smiled back, setting the bundle on the scale. “Oh, we have a minimum charge for under ten pounds,” she couched. The scale showed a little under ten pounds. “That’s fine. Next time I’ll know to bring more!” I laughed. “Can I pay now?” “Sure…you can pick it up after 5:00 today.” “After 5. Ok, thank you. Goodbye!” “Have a nice day!” Hmph, yeah, evil transgender haters.I piddled at the end of the day until I had to dash home from work to the the laundry before it closed. They had locked the door already, but as I approached I saw the woman inside say something to the man and he went right to the door and let me in. “Sonia?” she confirmed with a smile. “Yes!” I said with great relief. “Thank you!” I popped inside the house, dropped off the laundry, then ran right back out to get to the MTPC meeting. Got there at 6:50, exactly when the room was supposed to be available to us. MTPC is starting to feel more comfortable to me. At first I was really lost. Now most of what they are doing is starting to make sense. I got assigned a couple of tasks and was happy with that. After MTPC I was back at the house just long enough to visit with Stacy for a bit, eat a salad, and visit with Jessica for a bit, before going back to the office yet again. I wanted to check for word about the co-op, shower, and get ready to go back to court the next day. Really I was in no mood to sleep. I stayed up very late, staring at the computer screen, tweezing my face, and just wasting time. Finally curled up on the floor for a few hours of sleep before morning.

Tuesday, today, is a bad day. I don’t even want to talk about it. The deal is that two weeks ago the court’s attorney cited a bunch of speculation they held about me that I was not being honest with them, told they judge they thought I was a flight risk and wanted me on electronic monitoring. The judge agreed. Well it turns out that “electronic monitoring” consists of monitoring that you stay under house arrest. I am allowed to go to work at 8:00, be home by 6:00, and that’s it. House arrest for four months. Starts tomorrow.

Last Dance

Slept very late Saturday, woke up, and it was time to start getting ready to go to Randolph Country Club. Incorrigible, aren’t I? A message on the answering machine from Daphne asked me to call. I know she had hoped to take me home with her after she got off work. I had promised to call and let her know and I hadn’t called. It was about 6pm when I called her back. I was done and ready to walk out the door. She was explaining that she had to fix some dinner, then get ready. Her second preference was that I ride with Stephanie, so I promised to call Stephanie. I got her on the phone grocery shopping, saying that she would be home in half an hour to fix dinner and get ready to go out. I thanked her, but made it clear that I was headed straight to the club on my own.

Getting there was relatively uneventful, but I did get some negative attention on the train ride toward Ashmont. A group of teenagers was delirious with laughter. I got the idea that they generally found something funny to laugh about on their way home, and today it was simply my presence that was providing a good part of their amusement. A couple of guys felt the need to look tough in the face of this outing of a tranny and one of them threw a punch in the air as walked by me to get off of the train, saying “fucking dude!” That was the end of that, but it left me thinking of the nonsense in his exclamation. I imagined a little scene where he said that without running away and I came back with “dude? are you fucking blind?” “You see this guy here?” as I gesture to the tough looking guy next to me, “This is a dude. Now, you see the difference?” “Dude,” pointing to him. “Tranny,” gesturing to myself. Now you wanna tell this guy to his face that you think he’s the same as me? Let me step aside first.” *sigh* Imagination is fun. With the cowardly hater off the train, attention turned to a guy rapping at the far end of the car. He was up for a battle but with no one on the train stepping up to contest him, he was just targeting riders at random. I was watching him of course. He hadn’t seen me. The big guy next to me offered me reassurance, “He’s harmless, he’s just an artist.” “Yeah, and he’s got no competition here” I added, paying respect to the rapper.

Around 8:30, I was, in fact, the first t-girl to arrive at RCC. Yeah, for once I was there early and would have lots of time to visit. I sat at the bar with the crowd of regulars for not long at all before the first girls showed up, the “New York” girls, (although they’re not all from New York) Paige, Katie, Katie, and Brit. After wandering around a bit, we settled at table. I had forgotten Brit, but she remembered me. Paige had forgotten me, but I remembered her. That kind of thing is all fine and understandable when you just meet briefly at these things. These four are young and pretty and have dazzling wit. I, *sigh*, don’t quite fit in with them, but they were happy to adopt me for a bit. And a bit is all it was before girls I knew better started streaming in the door. One surprise was Terri. I thought she was in Florida. Another very nice surprise was Jean. I kept up then, for most of the night, noticing each girl that came in and making some time to talk with her. One, Gina, turned out to be at RCC for the first time. I called Vonnie over to meet her and the two of them had a nice long conversation. Vonnie also told me all about the RCC Halloween party and I confessed to her where I was over Halloween. I think Stephanie got there 10ish, and Daphne 11ish. One girl I was very glad to meet and talk to for a bit was Lace. I explained to her amusement my theory of how she was my great aunt because she had been dressing and coming to parties like this so much longer than me. I also found her later on the dance floor by herself and I dance for a few minutes with her. Mm, experience shows. Her movement is beautifully fluid. I so wish I could do that. The night before at Rumor, one of the girls was even trying to coach me at one point, modeling movements and grabbing my hips to show me how I should be moving. *sigh* Now see? That’s the way to learn. No inhibition, just practice, practice, practice. I bought one drink for myself. Jean bought me one, and, was that all? Someone else might have bought me one but I can’t remember. I think Wendy offered but then didn’t. I did ask Wendy for a ride home though, and she obliged. My head was clear enough that I was remembering that I needed to be back at my office by noon in case the girl from the co-op was going to call me back. We kind of took the long way back before dropping me off at Alewife. At Wendy’s place, she offered…Champagne! She popped the cork, we drank and talked and finished the bottle and slept very well. At the train station finally, she pushed some money into my hand. I sincerely tried to decline, but she insisted. I love my friends. They’re keeping me alive right now.

At my office around 11:30 Sunday, there was no word about a phone call. I waited. I sat around all afternoon and went home in the evening all sad and depressed.

Delicious

For the rest of the evening, (yes, after seeing Lynn and Rhonda) I decided to spend some precious dollars going to Jacque’s. Jessica had said she would be there with Debra, and I rationalized it further telling myself I might involve some people in conversation about my ideas for a new social group. Jessica was there already when I arrived. She introduced me to Debra. Both Debra and I thought each other looked familiar but otherwise didn’t remember meeting before. I spotted Deanna and waved hello to her. A number of other people there are familiar faces, but sadly, I haven’t been social enough to get to know them. (Hm, some chance I have of engaging anyone in conversation.) Debra and I were reading a posted flier about next week’s bands downstairs. I said I had never gone downstairs to listen to the bands. She said “don’t. the music is awful.”

Well I can’t pass up a challenge like that! I went right down to find out for myself. It was a cool punk band making an incredible amount of noise. Drums, guitar, guitar, bass, vocals. The vocalist wore her Manic Panic hair up in tight little pig tails, was young, cute, fat, dressed in black PVC, and was just shredding her throat into the mic. I liked watching the bass player. The band had a good fan club there to support them. I’m not sure, of course, but I may have been the only trans person there. No one else was very obviously trans anyway.

Back upstairs after that band’s set, I chatted and mingled a little bit more. One guy interested in talking to me was rather younger than most of the other guys, and very good looking. He was interested enough to buy me a drink. He was interested enough to invite me to go to another club for dancing! I was defenseless at this point. I told him I knew where we could go, said goodbye to Jessica, and we were out the door.I led us one block over to Rumor where, at midnight now, the line was wrapped around the block. My date took one look at the line and asked where else we could go, but of course I thought there might still be a chance. I walked right up to the ropes at the door and sure enough, there was Maria. “Sonia!!!!” she shouted, stretching out her arms to me. “Long time, no see, blah, blah, blah…can you get me in?” I pleaded. With one motion she unhooked the red velvet rope and waved us in. Inside, I got the same reception from Mandy when she saw me. It was so cool to be known. The place was the same, the music was good. I loved being back at that place. I loved being there with this lovely little snack cake of a man. House music obviously wasn’t his thing, but he didn’t care. He was just there entertaining me for a bit. I had to explain Rise to him a few times before it finally sank in that at 1:30 then, there were five more hours of dancing left. Ha. He, of course, wasn’t up for it. That’s ok. He bought me drink at Jacque’s, paid our admission to Rumor, paid for the coat check, paid for another drink inside, paid for a cab to his place in Cambridge. Omg, and he was so cute. He was very shy about admitting it, but he was a doctorate student at MIT. At his place, we used each other well and then I took a cab home. Omg, did I really just do that? Omg, how awful am I? Omg, and how delicious was that?

Actually, before “home”–Stacy’s place–I went to my office to shower. Crawled in bed with Jessica *very* late, slept,