the tenth anniversary of knowing who I really am

Ten years ago today is when I finally became convinced that I needed to transition, as I mentioned at the time with uncharacteristic brevity.

Stay tuned for more tenth anniversaries: the 26th of this month will be the tenth anniversary of telling my Ex I was going to transition, still the emotionally hardest thing I've ever done. January 20, 2020 marks ten years on hormones. July 1, 2020 marks ten years with my new name. And best of all, December 10, 2020 marks 10 years of living as a woman.

I shudder to think what this journey would have been like without the support of friends - that's many of you, readers - and my mother. My mother was there for me from the start, and even with her mind going and with the lawsuit, she still hasn't deliberately misgendered me. And as for friends, on June 21, 2008, I was out for my weekly en femme club outing when I saw cupcake_goth in the basement of Neighbours, which back then had a Goth night. She explained that the Elder Goth Cabal (which doesn't exist) had elected her to deliver a message: "You need to tell [Ex]."
"I know," I said. I did know, but it was still wonderful to hear that she and the rest of the Cabal (which doesn't exist) cared.

Every once in a great while I get asked if I have any regrets about transitioning. For the record, I think this was the single smartest best decision I ever made, all the more so because I'd been programmed against it for decades, and I had what turned out to be a pretty good idea of the hardships ahead. I find the question almost insulting in its obtuseness. No one does what I've done on a whim. Being transgender is not a lifestyle choice like vegetarianism. I ended my own existential misery.

Nun does the Upstream festival.

I hit the Upstream music festival in Pioneer square yesterday evening. Sadly, the ailing Tickler couldn't join me as planned, but I still had a pretty good time. Here's what I saw, in chronological order:

Tacocat - I've probably heard these local heroes briefly on KEXP, but I mustered up a mild desire to go see them live. This was the highlight of the festival for me. Three out of this quartet are women, including the front woman. They have songs like "Men Explain Things To Me", "Hey Girl", and "I Hate the Weekend". It's impressively tight, feminist pop-punk. I loved it, and I'm going to buy it sooner or later.

Zola Jesus - I've heard enough Zola Jesus to know that she really isn't my cup of tea. But I was eating expensive ramen on the grass, so listen I did. Ethereally Goth and high-class emo to the max, I know at least some of my friends would be all about her. As a vocal talent, though, I think the front woman of Tacocat (looks it up: Emily Nokes) compares favorably.

Both Tacocat and Zola Jesus talked from the stage about the out-of-control housing prices in Seattle, and how they're screwing artists in particular. ZJ said she moved to Wisconsin (?!) because of it.

Ended up seeing reggae performed by Africans for a few minutes. Not my thing. Walked out, overheard a dude with an African accent saying loudly into his phone, "Seattle is the worst! Seattle is shit!" I have all the feels about this, especially in light of the previous paragraph.

Strawberry Mountain - More local folks. They remind me of the Young Fresh Fellows, only with less goof and more surf and synth. They packed six musicians with amps onto a tiny stage in a small indoor venue. Worth another listen, for sure.

Slow Corpse - Funk-influenced mellow from Ashland, OR (?!) as I had tasty beer & eats at the Elysian. A bit too easy-listening for me, but I have to give them credit for putting together a band that sounds that good in Ashland.

There was to be ravey goodness later that night in a basement club called the Stage, underneath the sadly and recently closed Nightjar. Overpowering bass in a basement convinced me to bail relatively early, at 2230 or so, before Pezzner got on the decks. I went home and slept for eight hours, so I think I chose wisely.

Nun shrugs off maternal bullshit.

Mom says that the neurologist she went to gave her an "A+" and said she was "very sharp". Further, she said that her lawyer told here that there'd been some kind of "rapprochement" whereby my sisters agreed to transparency instead of control.

Uh huh. I said that it's unlikely GS would have made a decision like this without at least giving me a heads up. So I called GS immediately afterward and told her what I just told you. GS assures me that she's made no such decision, and she points out that we have no idea what kind of examination Mom got. She made that appointment herself, and selected the provider. She spent most of the call rambling about how much trouble she had finding the place, waiting in line, and getting the "message" that her radiator needed coolant.

I think Mom is yet again confusing what did happen with what could happen. Trying to bald face like her way out of a situation isn't like her at all, but she's perfectly capable of making stuff up and believing it, a trait that my Evil Sister has inherited. In that respect she's like the current White House occupant; I can't help noticing the parallels.