Called in sick. There is a bug going around work and I got it this weekend. Add anxiety into that mix, and you’ve got a wreck like me. Hopefully I can sleep through the night.
I thought a lot today about something everyone has been saying: “Will this make you happy?” The answer I give is yes. Happiness? What is that? I can honestly say that I have never really been happy. In 44 years, I’ve not felt that emotion with any longevity. I’ve always thought that happiness might be fleeting and a more realistic goal would be to seek contentment. I’ve always heard that this is more sustainable.
I suspect that to achieve this, as my sister told me today, I need stability. I have that, I think. I have a decent job, and I own a house. In a previous post I said I didn’t like my job, and that isn’t entirely true. The people I work with are great, and the work is fairly easy. So far, I have not been challenged. However, I cannot see myself spending 30 years in a cubicle. I feel like my soul is slipping away. I chose this field, so I guess that is one me.
Pierre is getting to me. It is isolated. When I came out, it felt smaller. Either that, or, for the first time in my life, I crave support and friendships. I have all of that back home in Indiana. But Indiana has been terrible for me in the past. I don’t know why I haven’t been able to succeed there, but there it is. Others do. What is their secret? Or is it me that prevents my own happiness and contentment? Probably the latter.
I miss my writing, but at least I have this. It really is therapeutic. The more neuroses I can dump into binary, the less I carry around in my head. Not a bad thing, but not as good as writing novels. I say novels, but I’ve only written one. I have three or four in progress, but nothing really moving along. Instead, I’ve been copying my old poetry to a new site: http://www.allpoetry.com. I’ve written a few new ones lately, but nothing to write home about. It’s a good site filled with everything poetry, but it has a point system, which can always lead to tainted results; anytime you can bump someone up with points if you like their poems, it doesn’t quite produce the integrity of pure peer review like a workshop can provide. Still, it is a nice distraction.
Is it possible to feel happiness and feel despair at the same time? It is the closest thing I can attribute to how I am feeling right now. Why am I feeling this, and do other transgenders feel this way? I read a few articles about the suicide rate in transgenders, and some of the stories. Did they not have any support? It’s heartbreaking to think that love is conditional, but I know it is true with some people. We are only human, I guess. I have no right to judge.
I need to finish Maggie. That story has been around longer than Rosalind, which is ironic because Rosalind is Maggie’s mother. Long story.
I think that’s enough for tonight.