Break It Down, Butch.

December 31, 2010

[54] Just a quickie.

Filed under: Uncategorized — DK @ 00:03
Tags: , ,

I’ve deleted about six attempted posts in the last few days because they were a) boring, b) irrelevant, c) miserably self-indulgent, or d) all of the above.

Here’s the good stuff going on in my life right now:

– I AM NO LONGER A CARER.
– I have until the 5th of January entirely off work.
– I am playing hotel to a two-year-old, neutered, male tomcat for the next six months.
– My apartment is slowly becoming clean and organized again.
– My haircut remains awesome and I’m starting to feel somewhat like myself again.
– There’s a fancy dress New Year’s Eve party tomorrow that I’m really looking forward to.
– I have new glasses, a new duffel coat made of sheer win, and new boots. (Pictures soon!)

Less good stuff:

– The cat has tapeworms*.
– I am stunningly behind on all my emails and general correspondence.
– I haven’t managed to read anything butch- or gender-related yet this week — but there is still time!
– I seem to have gotten so good at feeling CONSTANTLY STRESSED that, now, despite an actual lack of stress for the first time in six months, I’m still reflexively tense. Which is deeply uncool, because I used to be so good at that whole chilled out thing. But I figure that’ll get better with time.

Okay, so this post is still a bit d) all of the above, but eh, good enough.

[*If you just spent a moment doing flaily hands and saying ‘EW’, you are not alone. He was whisked down to the vet first thing this morning and has been thoroughly checked out and dewormed, but I still need to bleach every inch of my apartment, wash the hell out of all the soft furnishings, and scrub my hands every time I pet him — which is a little awkward, because he’s a very friendly cat.]

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December 23, 2010

[50] Whining.

Filed under: Uncategorized — DK @ 00:29
Tags: , , , ,

I lost a client at work today.

I can’t go into much detail — confidentiality issues — but it was renal failure and an expected death and three fucking days before Christmas. I don’t want to whine, but Jesus, it’s my last week and this shit is not cool, universe.

He was a nice guy. He didn’t deserve to go out like that.

Everyone says that. And it sucks that most of what I’m focusing on is how I feel bad about things, but it has seriously been that kind of year. I have four more days at work (not including the three I get off in the middle), and I am sick of disasters and illness and fucking medication and people dying. I’m sick of being stressed out and screwed up and completely exhausted. I am really, really sick of sleeping on my mate’s sofa.

I’m heartsick and soul-sick and so not feeling butch right now.

This is just a bad moment, and I know things will look better when the sun comes up, but seriously, I need to get a job as a lumberjack or something.

December 14, 2010

[45] Working boy

Damn, that was a long break.

So hey — still not dead! I’ve been gyroscoping on the edge of general catastrophe for about three months, but that’s not new. (And also great for the waistline — I’ve lost almost two stone in three months through pure stress, I shit you not.)

Anyway.

Here’s the question of the week: if you’re butch-identified and you want to stay true to yourself but still look totally hire-able, how the hell do you dress for a job interview?

Seriously.

Today I went for a sort of lame-ass compromise by getting my hair slightly feminized (it’s all about looking fluffy, I’m told), my left ear re-pierced so I could wear matching studs, and just a touch of eye make up. And then I wore a suit.

I know, I know. I’m a gutless traitor.

It’s a dilemma, and it has no easy answer. I guess if there was a lot of work out there I could afford to be more, well, myself, but there isn’t. There’s no work. I graduated top of my class and I still can’t get a decent, doesn’t-make-you-want-to-kill-yourself job.

(I should mention, at this point, that a big part of the reason I haven’t been posting is that I’ve been busy DROWNING IN HATRED for my current job, which is so much filled with suckitude that I stopped eating, sleeping, or being generally sane, because OH MY GOD HAVE I MENTIONED THE HATE?

Anyway, I handed my notice in last week, so things are looking up.)

(Except, kind of not because I don’t have another job, but I WILL FIND ONE.)

Anyway (again), today I had a job interview, and I had to dress smart. Smart for me means a suit and tie, or at the very least a swanky shirt and a nice jacket. I look good in that combination; classy and professional and, yes, very male. But ‘weird, very male butch-thing’ is generally not what people are looking for in a supervisor, equal opportunities hiring aside. So in the interests of, y’know, continuing to eat, I wussed out and girled it up and — felt both weirdly comfortable and full of self-loathing.

Odd place to be.

Comfortable, I think, because for all the awkwardness and wrongness-feeling of it and general self-betrayal, it is easier to walk around and be recognizably gendered. Not better, but easier. Though, okay, if I’m going to be gendered I don’t like it to be as female because it does feel like I’m walking around with a target between my shoulderblades (seriously, regular femmy-people, how do you do it?), but at least I know I’m recognizable as something, rather than ‘Dude, what the fuck was that?’.

Self-loathing because, well, duh.

I’m hoping I’ll get the job and the whole fiasco will be worth it, but either way I’m damn sure spending the rest of the day in my comfy jeans.

Question for all you butches, transmasculines, studs, and male-identified cool guys — what would you do?

August 30, 2010

[39] No good deed goes unpunished.

Filed under: Uncategorized — DK @ 17:40
Tags: , , ,

Seriously.

The next time I get all bright-eyed and enthusiastic about a too-good-to-be-true project, I warmly request that someone kicks me in the head. A lot. Until I come to my senses.

Remember that job promotion I was so pleased about?

Well. It turns out ‘we’ll train you up to use the systems and give you lots of golden opportunities to enhance your resume’ actually means ‘we’ll work you like a dog until you are a broken husk of a human being, drowning in an ocean sorrow’. Or something like that. Last week I worked over a hundred hours; this week I look set to do at least seventy. And it’s only Monday. By Friday I fully expect to be asleep in a ditch somewhere, possibly under the wreckage of my car.

Of course, it’s still interesting. Devastating to body, soul, and health — but interesting. I’m learning all sorts of useful things, chief of which is that my own blasted sense of honour and duty won’t let me quit in the middle of this hellhole. I plan to–

Ahaha. Midway through writing this, I got a call from one of the carers (one of my carers, because she is awesome and therefore one of my people) who just solved a big work-related problem for me. I feel much better.

Anyway, my plan is to stick things out for at least the next few weeks — insane hours and stupid girly work uniform aside — until we can get the new co-ordinator in and settled, and until I can see what the shape of my new job-niche looks like. And then I’ll go from there. Either things will get better, or they won’t and I’ll look for a new job.

Bizarrely, I feel optimistic either way. Apparently gut-wrenching exhaustion makes me fey.

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