I haven't written about gender stuff for a while. I finally had my appointment with the Charing Cross Gender Clinic, after months of waiting. Fortunately, the shrink had actually read the amusingly stupid report from the previous shrink, so I was not forced to recount my childhood yet again, just a few details of it. I don't know why they care about it. Some trans people aren't dysphoric at all before puberty. Heck, some aren't really dysphoric until well after puberty. And I hate that my unwillingness to skip rope is considered a sign of being trans. It was mostly a sign of being a huge nerd, something that was not tied to gender at all. I was awkward and unathletic. I also was unable to protect my face during dodgeball and hated it too. Does that mean I'm really a girl after all?
They need two appointments before they will give me a referral and they're understaffed, so appointment number 2 is in february. I might be able to call occasionally and see if something sooner has become available, but I don't want to feel guilty about queue jumping, so I might not. The UK economy is kind of fucked, so maybe I should just pay privately, especially if I can get a part-time job.
All the gender stuff is still really vital to me, but I just don't want to talk about it. Somebody on a website had a go at me a few weeks ago about my gender issues and history and it really sucked. So I quit posting anything of import there and I've quit posting here and I quit seeing my shrink when T died, but the not-talking-about-it school of dealing with life seems to work as well as the talking-endlessly-about-it approach. After a while, it all gets boring. My cousin had a book called "After Enlightenment, the Laundry." Like, no matter how fascinating your current thing is, after a while, the mundanity of real life reclaims the center stage.
Speaking of which
In my real life, shortly after I gave my concert in May, my dad came to the UK for a month. He stayed down the street from my flat for a bit and traveled for a bit and then we went to Ireland together and then he went home. In July was gay pride and a bunch of other stuff that seemed to suck up all my energy and now I can't even remember what it was. Helen and I cycled in a big loop around the Isle of Wight, which was nifty and very hilly. I love biking. August is going to slip quickly past.
I joined a bad called Helen's Evil Twin. I'm the bassist, so I'm in the non-acoustic line up. My first gig with them is on August 13th. As it happens, this is a high profile gig and a large percentage of people I know in London will be there.
In other news, I'm trying to get caught up with where I should be in my PhD, but this is making the writers block thing worse instead of better. It seems like everything I write takes a long time and then comes out boring. I should write a whole huge amount of stupid crappy pieces, just to get going and then pick the good parts from all of them and combine them into one good piece. Or something. I'm worrying too much and I think I need to do a masterpiece or something. I keep reading about symphony composers from a hundred years ago, and they're all geniuses who write masterpieces and spend years on them and say something really meaningful. Intellectually, I'm against that, but intellectually, I'm against a lot of things that I can't actually seem to shake free.
And now, here's a boring blog post to go with my boring attempts at music lately. I had a conversation with a guy a couple of years ago about how he would rather be crazy and write good music than happy and boring. I'm happier than I was when I had that conversation, but I think I would have ended up musically boring either way.