I'd just lugged a hamper full of clean, dry clothes up two stories of snow-covered wooden steps at the back of the building, from the pay machines in the basement. While I struggled with keeping my increasingly baggy laundry-day jeans pulled up beneath my wool coat, a boy with long black hair looked out from just inside the apartment below us. I trudged upward, hoping my pants would not end up around my ankles right then and there, as they were trying very hard to do.
The girl stared at me, as surprised as I was. She looked me up and down. Her eyes widened slightly and she smiled.
I hadn't expected to see Milla standing there. I had just put my coat back in the closet and closed the door (which had been generally left open before I arrived) to help keep the cold out. And suddenly, there she was, staring myself in the face from out of a full-length mirror on the closet door.
And there I saw me, for the first time ever, in the flesh. No cheesy graphic manipulation, no breathy sighs regarding continued hormones and weight loss, no agonizing over upper body mass, no obsessing over which gory facial surgeries would make me self-acceptable, no disgust or bitter upset. My hair could use a little work, but y'know, it's not bad.
This time, though there weren't many of them, the tears were happy ones.
I was struggling to keep my job. Not that there was any danger of me being fired, but I was going through sort of a c'mon, Milla, hang in there just until you find something else thing on a daily basis.
But I was employed, functional, passing, and even quickly getting rid of my damn facial hair.
I felt as though my transition was really finally taking off. I envisioned myself straddling a red rocket straight out of a violent cartoon. It roared upwards for that big Suporn Clinic in the sky, the final stop in my journey to selfhood. (Yes, I'm a lunatic.)
The rocket was an Acme product.
Right after I began to develop shoulder bursitis, I was moved from children's pricing to the "cashier" position, which actually involved even more carrying and lifting of clothes. This in itself wasn't quite enough to make me tell the bosses to shove it, but I sniffled through one full day, after which my bursitis was so aggravated by being a "cashier", I just called in and quit the next morning, without notice.
Fuckers.
Meanwhile, a mysterious thrift store customer whose name I won't reveal here (but it starts with T and rhymes with Tom) had been talking to and visiting Connie at work at the other store. I'll refer to this person as "Tom" so as not to reveal that his name is Thomas.
Tom kept visiting Connie. Our relationship had previously been declared open and undefined. I'd already visited and started considering Mike and Melissa here in Chicago my partners. Connie seemed bemused but oddly non-creeped-out by Tom's visits. Eventually, she wanted to "find out why" he was doing this, and they went out for coffee.
Be sure to tune in next time for the exciting conclusion!
The girl took me by surprise.
I'd just lugged a hamper full of clean, dry clothes up two stories of snow-covered wooden steps at the back of the building, from the pay machines in the basement. While I struggled with keeping my increasingly baggy laundry-day jeans pulled up beneath my wool coat, a boy with long black hair looked out from just inside the apartment below us. I trudged upward, hoping my pants would not end up around my ankles right then and there, as they were trying very hard to do.
The girl stared at me, as surprised as I was. She looked me up and down. Her eyes widened slightly and she smiled.
I hadn't expected to see Milla standing there. I had just put my coat back in the closet and closed the door (which had been generally left open before I arrived) to help keep the cold out. And suddenly, there she was, staring myself in the face from out of a full-length mirror on the closet door.
And there I saw me, for the first time ever, in the flesh. No cheesy graphic manipulation, no breathy sighs regarding continued hormones and weight loss, no agonizing over upper body mass, no obsessing over which gory facial surgeries would make me self-acceptable, no disgust or bitter upset. My hair could use a little work, but y'know, it's not bad.
This time, though there weren't many of them, the tears were happy ones.
Posted in misc, presentation, transition by Milla | Comments (4)
So, yeah. Back to the bit where my life got flipped, turned upside down, for only the 17th time in three years.
Holy shit. "Ian" died three years ago and came out to her mother, almost to the day.
I was struggling to keep my job. Not that there was any danger of me being fired, but I was going through sort of a c'mon, Milla, hang in there just until you find something else thing on a daily basis.
But I was employed, functional, passing, and even quickly getting rid of my damn facial hair.
I felt as though my transition was really finally taking off. I envisioned myself straddling a red rocket straight out of a violent cartoon. It roared upwards for that big Suporn Clinic in the sky, the final stop in my journey to selfhood. (Yes, I'm a lunatic.)
The rocket was an Acme product.
Right after I began to develop shoulder bursitis, I was moved from children's pricing to the "cashier" position, which actually involved even more carrying and lifting of clothes. This in itself wasn't quite enough to make me tell the bosses to shove it, but I sniffled through one full day, after which my bursitis was so aggravated by being a "cashier", I just called in and quit the next morning, without notice.
Fuckers.
Meanwhile, a mysterious thrift store customer whose name I won't reveal here (but it starts with T and rhymes with Tom) had been talking to and visiting Connie at work at the other store. I'll refer to this person as "Tom" so as not to reveal that his name is Thomas.
Tom kept visiting Connie. Our relationship had previously been declared open and undefined. I'd already visited and started considering Mike and Melissa here in Chicago my partners. Connie seemed bemused but oddly non-creeped-out by Tom's visits. Eventually, she wanted to "find out why" he was doing this, and they went out for coffee.
Be sure to tune in next time for the exciting conclusion!
Posted in employment, misc, relationships by Milla | Comments (1)