Dancing

Trayzn: "I am an expert, dear colleague, in the location and acquisition of antiquities. I have scoured this galaxy in search of artifacts both rare and priceless; and my service to the Infinite Empire is second to none in this respect.

And yet there is one thing, I must profess, that I have not be able to find: your story to be credible."

Orikan: "..."

Orikan: "BASTARD!"

"Stop laughing Trazyn, I have a Gf, she's just from another dynasty"

Identity crisis

I came across an interesting article recently, of the “Ten signs your self-esteem is in the gutter” variety. My self-esteem has indeed been in the gutter these past few days, so it was certainly a topical read.

A major reoccurring theme was: “Self-esteem should be a function of how you see yourself; not how others see you”.

This makes a lot of sense: self-esteem is, by definition, the measure of the value we place on ourselves. However, only we can truly know what is in our hearts, our minds; each and every facet of our person; who we truly are.

This unfortunately poses a challenge for me; as I do not, in fact, know who I am.

A person in my orbit once told me that he felt as if he had a mask for every occasion; a performative persona that he would adopt depending on the audience. However, he could not discern the person behind the mask; and this troubled him greatly.

It’s a sentiment I can sympathize with. I feel as if my personal identity is not a unified whole, woven from many individual threads; but rather, a fractured collection of parts that do not interrelate.

Matters have of course further been complicated by my gender upheaval; because one of the foundations of my character was that of a man, a husband, a father. I am none of these things now; and while I have technically replaced these epithets with woman, wife, mother; I don’t feel as if I actually have the requisite underpinning of experience to claim them.

As my friend Abigail wryly noted: we are women, born yesterday.

For now, I default to a measure of self-worth familiar to many raised male: that of one’s utility. As I am stretched rather thin at present, this does not seem to be working well; and alas, brings us full circle: it is a function of how others see me; and not how I see myself.

New shoes

Exactly what it says on the tin. I got new shoes!

Purchased from NerdyKeppie (not an affiliate link; I just like to share neat stuff). I did see some comments about the high-tops running small, but I wear a US women’s 10 and they fit me perfectly.

(I will note however that unlike regular Chucks, they don’t have that little canvas loop on the back - so getting them on can be a battle.)

Love me some subtle trans pride!

Putting this out there, as Fiona’s work is absolutely incredible and she deserves more exposure! Are you looking to have a miniature painted with topnotch blending? Commission Fiona today!

howdy do! I'm opening one (1) commission slot for a (single) miniature to help me pay for my Transition, I am starting small and may open up more slots in the future.

A questionnaire will be provided to assure quality and satisfaction of the finished product.

Contact via DMs or email if interested

Email: f.ekerholm@gmail.com

Rules and terms

Payment via paypal*

Payment up front, if any extra paints, a model or resources are needed that is paid for in full.

The model is paid for by the buyer, either sent or I source locally (Sweden)

Single model ONLY, 28-54mm sized, no over detailed/huge model, regular basing is included.** Progress pictures will be provided.

Painting time 1-2 weeks painting time + shipping

Shipping rates are 12€***

*If you are located in Sweden payment is done via swish

**Basic basing is texture paste, in the color of your choosing shaded and highlighted with a few small tufts

***Some countries may be more or less expensive

Costs:

Building is required: 10€

Painting time 5h/7h 40/55€

If building is required

Complex or special basing: 7€

Simple OSL: 4€

Face: 4€

NMM Weapon effect: 5€

Dueling thoughts

Alas, though a known quantity, the spouse, daughter and I are all experiencing side effects from our second COVID vaccine dose. It’s the usual suspects - chills, fever, muscle aches, injection site soreness. It’s on par with getting hit with a really bad cold - much worse than one normally would expect from a vaccination; but manageable.

Mentally, it’s not been great. Every sting, every twinge reminds me that this is happening; and that gives the very irrational and truculent part of my psyche - the part where my wounded, child self lives - reason to fire up.

I came back last night from an errand; and having arrive home, just sat in the car and sobbed. In that moment, I was able to watch the two halves of my - child and adult - argue in real time:

“Why did they put this in me?” “Because it’s good for us. It will protect us, and others.” “Please, please take it out. Please.”

Adult me knows that this is undeniably the right course of action; for myself, for my family, for others, and ultimately for the entire human population. This is the only humane way we have out of this crisis.

Child me does not care; this suffering was forced upon her (even if only be necessity), and she rejects it wholeheartedly. It’s probably going to be at least a good week before she quells down; and in the meantime, I can expect plenty more crying fits and other associated behaviors.

More generally - this far from unique to myself; but I have so much anger for the people that mishandled the pandemic, irresponsibly exacerbated matters, damn near killed my best friend and most certainly killed millions of others. Lives were stolen; for the rest of us, precious time. I don’t know if it will come, but there most assuredly needs to be a reckoning when all of this is said and done.

Parallel

Recently, there has been a spate of articles in the following format: "Anti-vaccination, anti-mask advocate dies from COVID complications". Sometimes as often as one or two a day.

I don't take pleasure in the passing of others; even those that are ideologically opposed to me. From the perspective of our collective well-being, they are at best dangerously misguided and at worst, sociopathic. However, they also had friends, family, loved ones; and they will be missed.

I do feel it appropriate to note that the net value of humanity has gone up in their absence; which I consider a sufficiently damning indictment.

More so however, an interesting parallel has presented itself:

The onset of the AIDS epidemic claimed the lives of numerous gay men; men that could have gone on to become speakers, organizers, leaders in their community. They were handed a death sentence by a disease they had no forewarning of, no knowledge as to how they might protect themselves; and as a result, an entire generation of the 'G' portion of LGBT advocacy is simply... missing.

President Ronald Reagan's slothful response to the issue, and the general mischaracterization of AIDS by social regressives as a wrathful, immorality-seeking illness are well documented.

There is now an irony to be found: that these same people are seeing their membership chipped away by a virus that they deny is real, is contagious, is dangerous.

There is a key difference, of course: these people have been offered all of the tools necessary to protect themselves; they simply have chosen not to use them.

Again, I don't delight in their suffering. I am, however, interested to see how the landscape of conservative advocacy will be reshaped by the needless loss of these people.

Sandwich

I have friends that are LGBT and (for reasons that are fairly obvious) refuse to eat at Chick-fil-A. However, they have family that continue to do so; and there's been an ongoing conversation on how said friends might convince said family to desist.

During that discussion, the subject of alternatives came up; and how the competing Popeye's chain serves a superior fried chicken sandwich. I wouldn't know - I've never eaten at Popeye's - but there's one in the area and I was exhorted to try it out.

That's exactly what I did - and what I can say is:

I'm not a huge fan of drive-through, but at least my voice training must be working because I got a "Will that be all, ma'am?"... That made my day!

It was a pretty good sandwich! Definitely a viable alternative to Chick-fil-A's; and also doesn't come tinged with the baggage of homophobia.

Would definitely go again!

Thanks to @cronnissar for tagging me in!

Eggs: Poached when in a breakfast sandwich / over Eggs Benedict; white omelette with Swiss cheese if I’m being good; fried¹ if I’m not.

Steak: My sympathies to the well-done folks (a preference frequently born of poverty); but medium-rare is objectively the right way to go.

Milk: For drinking, almond milk (preferentially with honey, over ice). Skimmed milk for everything else².

Alcohol: Oban 14, chilled³.

Warm drink: So, so much coffee. So much. (Although green tea is also good!)

¹ The closest US equivalent would be ‘over hard’; although Americans like to smash the yolks and / or move the eggs off of heat before the edges are crisp.

² I know that full-fat milk is considered superior in taste; but I was raised on skimmed, and reacclimatizing my taste buds is, alas, not a priority.

³ Do not mistake my choice as proof of a sophisticated palate; Oban is in a drinking polycule with Bailey’s and Jose Cuervo.

Bags

Last week I stepped into the bedroom and there was a Ziploc bag on the floor. This was more than a little confusing, as they nominally live in the kitchen, on top of our refrigerator.

My best guess was that either my wife or I picked one up, absentmindedly brought it into the room, and left it there.

Fast forward to last night: it is perhaps 3 or 4am; and there is a strange rustling coming from the foot of the bed. I get up to investigate, at which point our youngest cat rockets out of the room... Leaving behind ten Ziploc bags, full of tiny teethmarks.

I love her so much... But she is absolutely, quantifiably, an idiot.

Fever dreams

Between stress and a good old-fashioned rhinovirus, I've been having a lot of strange dreams; last night was no exception.

First, I dreamt that an Italian man was attempting to seduce me. (I'm not sure why my fevered brain opted for a Mediterranean origin - perhaps because I knew an incorrigible duo of Italian Lotharios in my younger years?)

Naturally, I rebuffed him - I'm a married woman!

Second, I dreamt that I was hurriedly pacing an unfamiliar street, with only an undersized towel to hide my modesty. I was of course then approached by several men with the intent to perpetrate a robbery at a gunpoint. (Most unpleasant stuff.)

Interestingly however: in both instances, I was incredibly aware that (a) I was trans, and (b) in the dreams themselves, fully physically transitioned (to the point that the aforementioned Casanova was mistakenly under the impression that I was cis).

Until now, my dreams have generally been modeled on my former identity and appearance; and it is both fascinating, and long overdue, to see them finally catch up!