Nominally I’m Not In The Habit Of Reblogging (nothing Against It; I Just Prefer To Create Myself) But

I love, love so much the way my daughter draws facial expressions. They’re always so animated!

eboy inkling go [squid noises] 

My friend has a new album in the works; and released a preview of the title song: Sleepyhead. It’s an achingly beautiful piece; go take a listen.

Singing

An interesting part of the transition process is that it represents not only a kind of second, physical adolescence; but also a psychological one. You are afforded the opportunity to review your identity; cast aside the parts that are no longer relevant; and replace them with entirely new and different ones.

One manifestation of this phenomenon is that I continue to discover interests - some new, some old but hidden. Like singing.

Seven months or so into my new life, and I was on my way to see IRIS perform live in Philadelphia (an event that really deserves it’s own post). This made for an eight-hour drive; so I loaded up the USB drive in my car with music - including their new album - and set off.

Cruising through the hills of Pennsylvania, I found myself listening to the same two tracks; and in a first, I began singing along. (I am told that my starting range is very similar to that of IRIS front-man Reagan Jones, which is perhaps where part of the appeal lies.)

This went on to become a routine - whenever commuting, I would fire up the same two songs and sing along. Eventually I incorporated a number of other songs into the repertoire; in particular, Unknown, from Awakening.

(This is a song that has a great deal of personal meaning to me: from the day of release onward, it invoked an emotional response that I could not identify but wanted to experience again and again. In hindsight, it’s obvious: it had become an expression of my inner gender war.)

The song features some comparatively high notes that are simply outside of my current range; and while a year of offhand practice has brought me closer to them by sheer dint of brute force effort, they are still unattainable. Further progress would require professional intervention.

This being the case, I had my first singing lesson yesterday. I was incredibly nervous beforehand; but Chelsea, my instructor, did a great job of making me feel comfortable and otherwise being terrifically encouraging.

(It’s also worth noting that I did elect to cover my transgender status, as knowledge that I have what are fundamentally male vocal cords is rather relevant to the subject at hand. Her response - “Congratulations!” - is to me a shining example of how people should react to such news!)

Although I was not planning on it, Unknown has become our first practice song; and Chelsea fully believes I can extend my range sufficiently to cover those higher notes and more. To say that I cannot wait for our next session is an understatement!

I am absolutely astonished that someone else knows this song; let alone in the year 2024!

(That bass line! The audacity to rhyme ‘empire’ with ‘vampire’ in a mock-Transylvanian accent! Absolutely spectacular on all fronts; 10/10, no notes!)

Song of the day is Bloodsucker by Paralyzed age teehee

Cellulitis

For the uninitiated, cellulitis is a bacterial infection under the surface of the skin. It isn’t so bad by itself - some redness, some swelling - but by virtue of being trapped below the surface, it often takes medical intervention to clear. Additionally, if untreated, it can lead to some nasty and potentially fatal complications (like necrotizing fasciitis and blood poisoning).

I’m familiar with the premise as a couple of years ago I had a bout on my kneecap thanks to - of all things - the tiniest of ingrown hairs; one course of antibiotics and all was well in the world.

Until. Until.

As I have reported previously, my first few months of Estradiol shots went well (barring a period of psyching myself out). Thereafter, everything was good... Until the day I got a big, red, ugly patch at the injection site.

“Oh,” I say to myself, “I’ve really screwed up”. I fastidiously ensure that my medicine vial, needles, and leg are sterile; but evidently somewhere along the way I missed a step.

I went to see my family doctor; he agrees that it’s cellulitis (even deeper than normal as the bacteria was fundamentally injected an inch into my thigh muscle), proscribes doxycycline; and I’m on my way. (There was a slight detour where I suffered the most agonizing heartburn of my life in response to that particular antibiotic, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Fast forward: next shot, and the same thing happens. Like an idiot, I suddenly realize: “I’m using the same vial of Estradiol as last time; and it’s contaminated”.

(I should have thrown it out as a precaution; but the cost of American healthcare tends to breed a conservationist approach to medications. Plus, it honestly didn’t occur to me at the time.)

My doc probably thought I was an idiot but thankfully did not offer his opinion.

I bought more Estradiol, and was perhaps three shots into the new vial WHEN THE SAME THING HAPPENS AGAIN.

And I’m in tears. I don’t understand what it is I’m doing wrong; there’s so much surplus alcohol on my skin that the needle burns going in. There’s simply no way I can carry on with an injection regimen that results in an infection each and every time.

Thankfully, in this particular instance, it was a very small instance of cellulitis and cleared by itself. I was pretty shook up all the same.

My next best guess was that the Estradiol was being stored at the wrong temperature. It’s supposed to be at room temperature (which is classified as something like 68 - 75º F). I kept my medicine in our bathroom closet; and while I checked the temperature in there and it never seemed over range, the closet does back directly only the location of our furnace.

I also asked my endocrinology clinic if I should be storing my Estradiol in the refrigerator, and their answer could be summarized as: “IDK, maybe? It’s worth a try”.

(This isn’t an attack on them - they are great! As much as I wish it were otherwise however, trans individuals represent a small slice of the population. Medical provider experience is directly proportional to the sort of ailments they treat; and Estradiol storage issues are not something that commonly end up on their radar. This is one of the reasons why it’s so important for trans folk to become experts in and advocates of their own medical needs.)

Anyhow, I moved the medicine to the bedroom and so far, that seems to have done the trick!

My reason for mentioning this however is as follows: yesterday, post-injection, I had some major soreness in my thigh (as if someone had punched me right in the muscle). Most likely it was just regular, garden-variety soreness; but the sensation was close enough to the early onset of cellulitis that I seriously started freaking out.

Thankfully it’s calmed down today, and there isn’t a patch of redness in sight. Still: the trials and tribulations to go through!

Strange bug

I had a very strange bug today. We have a web application that makes extensive use jQuery and a third-party JavaScript library to serve up some tasty-looking data grids.

In the grids are some date columns, which are to be formatted "MM/dd/yyyy" (i.e. "02/24/2021").

Things looked great on my local machine. They also looked great in our development environment. When published to production however, these dates suddenly reverted to ISO 8061 format ("2021-02-24T00:00:00").

Standard practice is, of course, to try and determine what key differences exist between these three locales (even though ostensibly there shouldn't be any).

Well... The libraries are being served up externally, so it's not that. The grid configuration is the same; so rule that out. The data is identical.

The only difference is that the local and development versions are compiled for debug, and the production version is compiled for release.

And lo! What do you know - that was the critical difference.

It's worth stressing here though: that's crazy. It would be like a car refusing to start because you added a bumper sticker. At no point, logically, should the compilation mode affect what's going on with the front end.

And yet here we are...

I have three friends; one transitioned in her thirties, another in her late fifties; the third is transitioning now, in her sixties. All three of them look absolutely incredible.

Honestly, I don’t know where this idea came from that age stops you from transitioning. Yes, there is a possibility that as you age, you may gain more undesirable physical characteristics. You know what else you gain? Time; money; and resources.

The oldest of the three worries a great deal about requiring facial surgery in order to pass. (She doesn’t; but it’s still an understandable concern.) At the same time, she thinks nothing of dropping $35,000 on said surgery.

It’s all trade-offs; what you lack on one side, you gain on the other. ❤️

Baby Trans, listen to me, a 34 year old.

Hi, I'm Trans. I was AFAB and I transitioned, now I just look like a short cis guy.

Here's the thing: I didn't transition until I was about 27ish. I didn't even know I was trans until I was 25.

Don't let anyone tell you to "not bother transitioning after 19"

That's a load of shit. People barely know who they are at 19. Personalities change and develop. Shit I didn't really know who I was until I was about 27-28ish.

You can transition at any age. If you don't feel ready in your teens, or your 20s, take your time. If you are unable to transition at 19 due to medical or economical reasons, you have plenty of time. The clock is not ticking. Take this at your own pace.

You've got a whole long life ahead of you, take one step at a time.

A newfound pain: addendum

Not that this is in any way, shape or form a surprise but... sheer tights are fragile. Like, super fragile. You so much as even look at them the wrong way and a run spontaneously appears!

This makes lace look positively durable in comparison...

Joe

Once a week, I meet with my guitar instructor; and will usually arrive as he's finishing up with the previous student. The latter happens to be an incredibly sweet, cheerful, older fellow by the name of Joe; and I always enjoy our little interactions.

Today, Joe addressed me as "Young miss"; and while the accuracy of this statement might be disputed on both the first point (I wish I was still young!) and the second (in as much as I'm married), the sentiment was nonetheless greatly appreciated, and a highlight of my day!

The boy on the left is from the pictures of my childhood; the girl on the right is from my memories of that time.

New picrew chain idea: yourself vs what you looked like as a kid

Free for anyone to join in

Link