So much has changed, and yet so little feels different.

In the last three weeks, the following has all happened:

1. I moved.
2. I exchanged a roommate for another mate.
3. I rekindled a long-dead friendship.
4. I quit my job at L-3.
5. I signed an offer letter for a new position.
6. I finished my therapy.

And yet, after all this, my life doesn't really seem that different. This is what confuses me the most. Almost everything has been upheaved and reordered, and yet it all feels so natural already that it doesn't seem at times as if there were anything new.

The move had been a long time in the making. Texas simply has never been hospitable to me, but there had always been one reason or another to stay. With the offer of a new job, that reason was gone. The friends I had had there are gone. My parents are moving out of state once my mother graduates. I didn't like the climate. I still have people I know there, but they were too far away to make regular visits practical, and I'll still have the chance to go down there and see them. This way, I don't have to return to Tex-Ass once I'm done.

---

Part of me is sorry to have to have seen Randy leave, but another part is glad she's not living with me any more. When she moved into Jessie's and my apartment back in September of last year, I think we all expected things to
go vastly differently thasn they did. She couldn't get a job with her navy skills because of her psych discharge, which neither of us expected, and then it took her a lot longer to get around to finding a regular job. Then, once
she did, it turned out to be too little too late. She wasn't making enough to make her own rent, and Jessie and I couldn't bring her with us to Pennsylvania.

I say we couldn't. The truth is that we chose not to do so. We could've made room, but she would've likely faced the same problem here, and the apartment into which we moved was smaller than our old one, and already had one occupant, Jessie's and my other mate, Allie. Four people would not have worked in this apartment, and to support herself, she would have needed another roommate with a guaranteed job from day one. That would've meant a fifth person in the apartment designed for two and crowded with three, and it would have been an utterly horrible violation of the lease agreement on top of that.

I did say above that Jessie and I have another mate. Since before my breakup with my previous boyfriend, I had come to the decision/realization/discovery that strict monogamy made very little sense to me. Love, in my opinion, is not a finite resource. I can give all my love to one person and have infinite amounts left over for others. I now have two people with whom I intend to spend my life, and I think we're all three of us the better for it. It does
make sleeping on a queen-size bed together interesting, but that's an easily addressed issue.

A lot of people seem mystified by my having accepted more than one person into my life. I'm confused by the belief that loving one person means not loving anyone else. I've tried to live that way, and I just feel awkward and
uncomfortable when I do. It's like I'm denying what could be for what is, as if having said "I love you" to someone, I'm now committed and can't say it to anyone else unless I qualify it or revoke my having said it to the
first person. It's just... strange.

---

My friendship with Geoff was a surprising one. At one time in the distant past, we had been very close. Not dating-close, but that was probably only for a lack of officiation. I was with Rod at the time, and I'm afraid I had
a serious case of tunnel-vision. My constant comparison of Geoff to my then-boyfriend, in fact, is what mostly led to our break-up, not that I could really blame him for it. At the time, I was utterly mystified at what had happened, but in hindsight it's very clear.

I wasn't expecting to have him back as a friend, ever, but I always did lament the loss of that friendship. We happened to meet, totally by accident, on a common IRC server and began talking. He didn't know who I was; we hadn't spoken since before my transition. When he found out, he was more surprised to find the rumors were true and to hear the story than anything else. We spent six hours, I think, just talking about the intervening years. It felt so surreal, and yet so good. In many ways, it's as if we're both back four years ago, but with the benefit of age and wisdom. It feels good to be able to go back and just talk with him again.

---

Quitting my job was the precursor to the move. For fourteen months, I twiddled my thumbs at L-3 Communications, waiting for them to decide to either give me work or get rid of me. When they hired me, they offered me a development position, but I was never given a line of code to write the entire time I spent there. I was shunted into administration after five months of not doing anything at all, and then transferred from the development group to the support group after another three or four. I told them that's why I quit my last two jobs, but they didn't seem to care.

In addition, ever since I started my transition at L-3, things steadily went downhill. I started out with human resources' full support, but by the end, I could barely get any recognition out of them at all. I was denied access to the women's bathrooms despite repeated promises that this was all just a temporary measure to assuage concerns and that I would be given full access in time. In the end, I stopped caring. They didn't want me using the right facilities; they just wanted me out of their hair. I know that my name was put onto a layoffs list the day after I announced my transition and that only my manager's active arguing had it removed. I think they just wanted me gone but were afraid to fire me for fear of a lawsuit. At any rate, I'm glad I'm out of there.

---

My new job at ISI should be far better. I received absolutely no questions, no comments, no complaints and no inquiries about my gender at all. I was hired as Kristina Davis and there's never been any issue of it. I haven't started my new position yet; that's Monday. However, it can't be anywhere near as bad as my last one. And if it is, I'm now already moved and shouldn't have any problem finding another job.

At this point, having had as many positions as I have, I really don't dread finding a new job. I hate the jobsearch process, but I don't worry about changing positions. I suppose I should; I really would love to find a place at which I could put in five or ten years of solid work experience. I hope that ISI is the place for that. From the interview, it looks like it could be, but that's what I said about L-3.

---

The therapy is really the big one. It's over. I had my last session the Tuesday before I moved. It was very strange in its own way. I wrote a story about how I envisioned the end of therapy, of so many months of ritual, and I was reasonably close but there were no tears. I felt nothing but happiness. I was sad for leaving behind so many people I had come to consider friends, but my therapist said quite honestly some months back that I really didn't need to be in there any more. I was there to complete the forms and get all the letters and make everything
official, but it wasn't really necessary for my well-being.

I do miss them, Lisa and Rustie and Rachel and Janet and Lillith and Brandy. In the short time I was part of their circle, I did grow and learn quite a bit. They even said that they were amazed at how much I had changed in so
short a time. I thought I had everything under control when I started, and yet I continued to grow. It makes me wonder how much more I'll change now that I'm done with that phase of my life.

---

My surgery date is set. My therapy is completed. I'm only waiting on my release letter from my psychiatric evaluation to submit all my paperwork to the surgeon to begin the preparations for my actual trip to Thailand. I'm in a new job, in a new town with lots of friends I've known for years living nearby. I'm in a quiet apartment with both of my mates. It's hard to believe that everything is going so right for once. I'm used to things just not quite working out as I'd planned, and so are both of them. Now, for once, everything looks as if it's going as we had hoped.

I'm certainly going to enjoy it while it lasts.

This situation is becoming ludicrous.

Yesterday evening, I came to work to find a note from my boss that Human Resources had resolved to simply require me to continue using the ladies' restroom. They had no explanation as to why. They had no reasons. They
simply said that I would use the unisex bathroom at work until further notice.

Before I had had my gender legally changed, I agreed that this was a fair compromise and I accepted that I wasn't legally female and thus if the company caught any flak about me using the women's restroom, they could be held accountable. Now, however, I had the law on my side. Now, admittedly, I may have erred in not presenting this fact to HR immediately, but as I didn't think it would change anything since they said they had changed my internal paperwork already, I didn't worry too much about it.

When I heard Human Resources' decision, I sent a rather strongly-worded email to both my manager and my department head telling them that I felt HR's policy was ill-conceived and discriminatory, and that I would be
escalating the issue as high as it took to resolve the matter. I am legally female now, and I deserve the same treatment that other females receive at this company. I told them as much and I asked for the name of the person
that made the decision and the appropriate means of going over whomever's head.

Today, I got a response from the head of my department, telling me that he had passed on my concerns to HR and that he was trying to arrange a face-to-face meeting with them to resolve the issue of bathroom usage. I'm
perfectly amenable to this, but I hope that that department understands I won't consider anything less than being allowed access to the proper restroom. If they want to say "don't use this one; give the people who are uncomfortable a place to go without your presence" then I'll live with it, despite not liking it. Even saying "only use this one women's room" would be an improvement over the current situation.

At any rate, I know my manager and my department head support me in my efforts. I regret things have come to this point, but I don't regret anything I've done along the way.

I also found out last night that my gender had not been corrected on the other internal paperwork; I went to fill out my benefits enrollment form for next year and found that the wrong box was checkmarked. I now feel doubly cheated, because I was under the impression that they would change this before, and now I've learned that they haven't. I may be wrong in this, and if so then they haven't lied to me, but I feel as if they didn't have the decency to fix what they knew would be in my documentation at some point. It's highly frustrating.

I still want to believe that this is a good company marred by a lousy HR department. However, I'm finding it harder and harder to believe that, and despite my positive review last week I have no desire to move to New York. If I continue to pursue that option, it will only be as a means of last resort, if everything falls through with Gary's company. I hope that doesn't happen.

I try very hard not to hate the general populace for its ignorance and blindness, but there are times I fail miserably.

My boss called me into a meeting yesterday. Someone had complained about my using the ladies' room at work. He admitted that he thought it was a stupid complaint but he had to address it. When I first started my transition, I naturally started using the women's bathroom at work as one would have expected, but someone complained and so I was asked to use the unisex restroom at the front of the building, the one reserved for visitors outside the secured area. I guess I should have been fortunate that the bathroom was there, but I was irritated at the inconvenience and what I considered the discrimination. At the time, I was told it was because I wasn't legally female and that if I had been, there would have been no issue. Thus, when I got my gender legally changed, I simply went and began using the appropriate facility. Someone again complained.

Now, I admit that I didn't tell Human Resources about my legal gender change. However, all of my corporate paperwork already said female on it anyway, so I figured the issue was behind me. This was probably a mistake
on my part, but in hindsight it may not have mattered. I found out later that my HR department is horrible, according to my manager and my head of department.

At any rate, they called me in to ask me what I understood of the agreement I had made about the bathroom. I told them that I was legally female now and entitled to use the appropriate facilities. I then handed over my driver's license and waited while they blinked and very rapidly agreed that the thing to do was chastise HR for allowing the complaint to get out of hand like this. However, in the meantime, they asked me to please go back
to using the bathroom up front until they could hammer out something with Human Resources.

It isn't the bathroom that bothers me, really. That's an annoyance, but at least the facility is there and I don't have to use the men's room or something equally dumb. What bothers me is that the complaints are allowed to affect me at all. One person has a problem at my workplace with my transition, and she has the ability to determine where I pee, and possibly more. I can't talk with her, reason with her, or otherwise address her because I'm not supposed to know who it is. Everyone in a position of authority over me thinks it's stupid that I have to go through this, and yet they still put me through it because someone above them doesn't think it's so outrageous.

I am so hoping to get a job at a place where I am simply accepted as female from day one and never have to fight this kind of battle.

I swear, there are people who live their entire lives on automatic.

Yesterday morning, I went back to the courthouse and had my gender legally changed. I found out last Wednesday that the judge I had had before, the one who had seemed so nice and polite and concerned, was the one who refuses to sign anyone's gender-change. Going back, all I had to do was get a different judge and it was a matter of five minutes and a few strokes of a pen.

I'm now legally female. It's still a bit mindboggling, both in that it's true and that I had to get a piece of paper to prove it. It seems like such a pointless formality, and yet now I can show off my driver's license to anyone without worrying that they'll notice that little detail. It's comforting that there's nothing left to get in my way beyond the details of surgery and such.

I took my new court papers, ink still wet, with me to the Department of Public Safety to get my driver's license fixed. After standing in line for about an hour, I got to the counter and told the clerk that I needed to have my details updated.

She said, "Oh, did you move?"

I said, "No, I had my gender legally changed."

The woman behind the counter looked at me, looked at the court order, looked back at me, looked at my old driver's license and then looked at the court order again. She got up, picked up my driver's license and court order, and went over to talk to someone. Then she talked with someone else. Then she talked with a third person. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but the gist was obviously along the lines of "what do I do with this" with a smattering of "is this legal" for variety. Everyone with whom she spoke apparently told her the same thing, which she didn't want to hear, because she kept on asking. Finally, after her fourth person, she came back to the counter and started making the changes in the computer.

The actual process, once she started, took less than five minutes, picture and all, though she did insist on three pictures so she could get the worst of the bunch. I think, though, that this is common for drivers' licenses. Anyway, after all was said and done, I paid my ten dollars for the new license. Then, as I was picking up my paperwork, guess what she said to me?

"Have a nice day, sir."

I stared at her in dumbfounded shock. She asked five people in the course of this whole escapade what to do. She had five people tell her to change my driver's license. The court order said "female" on it, and the only thing that had any indication of masculinity at all was the M on my old license and in the computer which was changed. I have breasts sticking out of my sweater, for crying out loud. Yet, despite all of this, what does she say?

"Have a nice day, sir."

I can only imagine that she was running on autopilot. I quite literally stood there in front of her for five seconds, shocked. The whole time, she stared back at me placidly, totally unaware of what she had said. When I finally came to my senses and corrected her, she did apologize, but the fact that it happened at all stunned me.

Are most people this clueless? If so, this would explain why I keep getting mistaken. I seem to find three types of people. The first see exactly what's happening and call me "ma'am". The third see absolutely nothing beyond what's presented, and they also call me "ma'am" It's the group in the middle, the ones who see enough to know what I was but not enough to figure out what I am, that keep getting it wrong.

I hope this third group is not as large as it appears to be.

I found out this morning that one of the members of my therapy group died some time in the previous week. That's all that anyone knows so far. I had an email from my therapist in my inbox when I checked it this morning.

Right now, I'm in a very odd mood as a result. I feel as if I should be more upset than I am, and that in and of itself is bothersome. I considered her a friend, and yet we weren't really that close and had little in common. We
knew each other through therapy, and not really beyond it. I enjoyed the time I spent with her outside of therapy, but it honestly wasn't much, and it wasn't over a long period of time.

I'm upset that it happened. Don't get me wrong in this. I wish desparately that she weren't dead. However, she is, and I can't change that fact. I can, at most, wonder what happened and if there were anything I could have done
differently. Nothing I say will alter the irrevocable fact of her death. 

What bothers me now, honestly, is the idea that I will be considered heartless or cold by those others in the therapy group because I am not  distraught by her passing. I spent quite a bit of time this morning talking with Jess about it, actually. I got told that I've got no reason to worry and that the fact that I'm concerned about it shows that I'm not as callous as I fear I may seem, but it's still a bit distressing. My current therapy group was to end this net week, and I wanted it to end on a positive note, but I fear that any chance of that is gone.

I hate it when events are genuinely beyond my control.

---

I still have no news about New York. The human resources director of that office said that she'd pass my information to the manager who expressed interest in my résumé today, but so far I've heard nothing. I hope I hear something tomorrow. I'm feeling antsy. 

I spent the weekend down in Austin visiting friends of mine and Jess's there. Having lived in the city, going back always makes me a bit nostalgic, and right now with the intent to move but the lack of concrete plans to do so, I always feel a bit like it might be the last chance I get to be there. I hate feeling like I have to move, but everyone with whom I've spoken admits that until and unless the Supreme Court reverses the Littleton case's current decision, there's no reason for them to try to talk me out of moving. 

I remember being in a long-distance relationship at one point, and putting off everything in my life because of the idea that "someday" I'd be moving and that there was no point to doing things, because I'd just have to do them all again when I went overseas, and so I never did them. In the end, I lost six years to procrastination. 

I don't consider what I did at the time a mistake, and yet I can't help but wonder if I'm doing the same thing, pinning hopes on "someday." I certainly haven't let it stop me from doing things. I'm going up to bring Randy down to Texas in three weeks. Jess is still looking for jobs in the area. I'm still going to work every day. I just hope I don't have to wait too long before I can start making concrete plans.

I really hate it when events are beyond my control, and not being able to plan for my own future makes me feel like that's how things are.

One might think that, with all that's happened in the last few days, I would have been more actively editing my diary, adding to it as things have happened. I'm not disillusioned with the project, but in a strange way, the things that have happened have somehow failed to feel genuinely significant.

I went Monday to have my name and gender legally changed. I arrived at the courthouse at 07h00, well before anything opened, and I had a lot of waiting around to do before I could start anything. I had a few pieces of my paperwork out of place, but I was all set to see the judge at 09h30 and have my new identity intact by 10h00.

It didn't work that way.

To give a brief sidebar to this discussion, let me point you to the Christie Lee Littleton Homepage. To summate, some time back in Houston, Christie Lee Littleton's husband died of medical malpractice, and Littleton sued her doctor for wrongful death. Their defense had nothing to do with the details of the case. They relied entirely on the fact that Christie Lee Littleton was a post-operative transsexual and that, because she was born male, her marriage to her husband was illegal and thus she had no right to sue.

The trial court sided with the defense, the appellate court agreed and the Texas Supreme Court refused to review the case.

In short, transsexuals in the state of Texas are now recognized only as being of their sex at birth. When I went before the judge, he very apologetically crossed out the line of the Order Granting Change of Name of Adult that said that I was female. I did show him my therapist's letter requesting the change, but he said his hands were tied by a higher court and a lack of any hard law to point to the contrary.

Four state workers said the same thing at the Department of Public Safety when I went to get my driver's license changed on Tuesday.

This puts me, and every other transsexual in the state, in an odd predicament. I now legally have a feminine name and am presenting full-time as a woman, but all of my documentation still has the old sex on it, which means that if
I do ever have to use it for anything, I open myself up for questions and the like. The questions don't bother me, but it makes "living full-time in the chosen gender," one of the requirements of the real-life test I've supposedly started, very difficult.

Come to think of it, I have started it, haven't I? Last Friday, my human resources department held a meeting with my coworkers and a counselor and explained my situation to them all. I've been dressing for work now for three days, and every comment I've gotten has been positive. I don't think there's anyone left in my life that doesn't know. A few people at work have had trouble adjusting to the new pronouns, but they've gotten my name right
at least. 

At any rate, the whole matter of the courts and my legal gender have escalated something that had been reviewed once before. Jess and I have often talked about moving out of Texas; the weather here is extremely inhospitable and the people in general only slightly less so. When two of my closest friends detached from me emotionally, we decided that it was time to start looking at moving. With this recent development in the legal system, it's almost
certainly time to move.

I've contacted the head of Human Resources for my company's New York office. They've got some positions open for which I almost certainly qualify, and I've given her my resume. She said she'd contact me later this week or early next to let me know how things look. My HR department here is talking with the insurance company to see if they'll cover my hormones and bloodwork and such for transition, but I won't know more about that for a few days. Right now, I'm just biding my time, waiting to hear back about all the questions I've asked.

I once described this sort of situation as "living in a holding pattern." I'm not losing any ground, but I'm not getting anywhere, either. I'm just... waiting, watching and learning. I did it once for six years, and I hated it. I hope I don't have to do it too long now. 

Today I think I had what has to have been the least painful separation in my life.

For some time now, two of my friends and I, along with a few others with whom I'm only mildly acquainted, had been meeting regularly for a regularly scheduled role-playing session. I've been role-playing, in various forms, most of my life. In fact, one of the first clues that something in my life needed addressing was the simple fact that my female characters outnumbered my male ones nine-to-one and always felt more comfortable. At any rate, though, tonight was supposed to be a game night, so I called to make sure that the game was still supposed to run tonight.

Now, I feel it only fair to mention first that, prior to a month ago, the two abovementioned friends were the only real ties to Texas I had. I didn't want to leave them behind. I knew I could find a job anywhere, and I knew that I could find professionals in the fields in which I needed them to help me through my transition, but I didn't want to lose these two friendships, both of which had lasted over six years, one of which had lasted sixteen.

The one that had lasted sixteen ended, more or less, two weeks ago.

Tonight, the other asked, in the tone of a concerned friend, "Look, could you please not wear a dress when you come over any more? I get very distracted, and honestly it's somewhat disturbing to me."

Now, I'm usually very easy-going, but I'm also trying to learn to live my life by my standards and my rules. I asked him if he would ask the same of the other woman in the group. He said he wouldn't have to do so. I asked
why it was an issue. He said it was just the way he was raised, and that the blouse-and-jeans were fine but that the dresses and skirts bothered him. We spent a few minutes beating around the verbal bush, and ultimately
he admitted that he just wasn't dealing with my transition well and that he had in his mind a set image of me as who I used to be and that he had no interest or, so he claimed, capacity to change it.

This is where we hit our impasse. If he had said, "I'm having trouble adjusting to your changes, please give me some time," I could've said no problem and been as accomodating as possible. What he said, though, was basically that he wasn't interested in trying and wanted me to change my behavior to accomodate him. I explained in careful, simple language why, if I had to put on a certain outfit, or even avoid putting on a certain
outfit, whenever I wanted to interact with him, then I was faking reality for someone else's benefit, and that I couldn't in good conscience do that.

He said in response that he understood my position but that he didn't feel it fair to claim that he could improve when he didn't think it possible and that he didn't think it fair that I force him to be uncomfortable. I agreed but said that the only means of guaranteeing that neither of us felt uncomfortable in each other's presence, if all these facts were immutably true, was to stop interacting with each other.

At that, he got very quiet and said he was only being honest. I said I knew that and that I respected him for it. I do, actually. I respect him greatly for refusing to lie to me and telling me a truth he didn't think I wanted to hear. I also respect him for standing by his beliefs. I don't agree with his beliefs, but they're not mind to make. The conversation ended quickly from there. He wished me luck in my future endeavors and I said that any
time he felt ready and willing to attempt to face his limitation, I would be available. I made sure he had my phone number and my e-mail address, and then we said our goodbyes and ended the call.

Only afterwards, sitting in an IHOP with Jason, did I realize that, now, I really have no ties left to Texas. My parents are here, but they'll be moving when my mother finishes her degree and won't even be here to hold me. I have a few other friends, but I see them so infrequently that they don't really count as a motivation. I have the job, but that's something I could get anywhere. I have the professional relationships, but I could rekindle them with others. In short, after my endocrinologist's appointment in July, I have no reason to stay in Texas, and many reasons to leave.

I think it's time I spoke with my therapist about getting my name-and-gender letter and starting my real-life test. I've got nothing holding me back now.

Yesterday was a roller coaster.

To start, I had my first group therapy session. At the moment, there are four of us, but that number will probably change over time. I'm actually the youngest, though I'm not the earliest in the process so far. I actually learned a lot, with one group member who's been on hormones for a while now telling us about what it's like. She didn't really say anything that I hadn't already known, but it was good to hear it confirmed from someone else.

At the end of the session, my therapist gave me my walking letter. As Jason described it, it's my doctor's note saying, "Please excuse Kristina from being male". I liked that description a lot and so I'm keeping it, even if it isn't totally accurate. Actually, it's a note explaining that I'm currently in therapy for gender dysphoria and should be given all the rights and priviledges accorded any other female. Basically, it's a safeguard against people getting frustrated about me being in the ladies' room.

I came home from that on an emotional cloud, feeling wonderful. Jason and I sat around the apartment for a while, then we decided to go out to Souper Salad for early dinner. Here, I have to pause and say how much I like this place. It's cheap, filling and I can have the all-you-can-eat without feeling like I've blown my diet. The waitstaff knows us there; we go in about once a week, maybe twice.

Last night was supposed to be a role-playing game session with some of our friends, but after we ate we had a few hours to kill and so Jason and I decided that we could go out to one of the malls in the area that he hadn't
really seen yet. It was kind of a drive but we'd have lots of time there. 

Now, here let me interject that I've been out dressed before. I'm more or less fulltiming on the weekends. I'd never been out as dressed as yesterday, but I've had on skirts, blouses, femme-cut jeans, heels, cosmetics, what have you. I've been to restaurants, clubs, coffeehouses, out with friends, other malls, out to the movies, generally wherever. Sure, I've had people turn and stare, I've had people comment behind my back, and I've had people act surprised. They've always been the exception, though, and not the rule.

Last night, I felt like I was on display. I think literally half the people in the mall stopped what they were doing as I walked past to look, and I heard a lot more behind my back than I normally do. I don't think I was doing anything different, really. I just chalked it up to the mall itself. Fortunately, there isn't much at that mall that would require me to go back to it.

As we were leaving, though, someone took it upon himself to shout something from the window of his truck as he was driving past. He was technically accurate but factually incomplete. However, it put me in a very strange mood. I wasn't upset. I was frustrated and disappointed. It was the sort of misconception that I would have loved to correct, only I know that the type of person who yelled such a thing wouldn't have listened to reason.

The whole experience, actually, was like that. Anyone there could have said something to me and I would have gladly explained, but nobody wanted to know. All they knew was that something outside their realm of experience had made itself known, and they saw fit to point and stare and laugh. It wasn't that they did it. Other people have done that. It was the sheer number of people doing it, this time.

Jason and I tried to go to the game last night, but that didn't go so well. I was in an off mood, Jason wasn't much better and Mitch wasn't being very helpful. Things went from strained to patently absurd in about an hour and
Jason and I bowed out of it after that. When we got home, we got a hot shower and I pored over the events of the day and ended up ranting at him in the shower about everything.

I do plan on going back to that mall, dressed, partially because I haven't picked the Lane Bryant there clean yet, but also admittedly because I want the peace of mind knowing that I didn't let the negative experience ruin my enjoyment of the mall. I'm not going to let other people control my life. If I choose not to go there because there's nothing there I need or want, that's one thing. I'm not going to let my decision be based on the reactions of others.

So much has happened in nine days.

First, the important news: my sister is moving down. While this is an incredibly happy event, I wish the circumstances were better. Her father didn't outright say he was throwing her out, but the gist of his statement was that she would be out of the house if she kept going the way she was, so she's taking him up on it and moving down the day after her eighteenth birthday.

I've been looking forward to this sort of event for a long time. I've known her longer than almost anyone else in my life, and we've shared so much in that time that even if we aren't related by blood, we're still family. She means so much to me, and she's been there for me every time I've needed her, just as I've tried to be there for her. We could sit silently in the same room and know what each other were thinking, I bet. Musical tastes, books, dreams and fantasies... we share so much on so many levels. She really is my sister, in every way that matters.

Originally, Jason and I were going to go up to see her at her graduation in June, but now she's going to be coming down here and transferring to a local school for the last three months. I've already got my plane ticket to go up there and both coming back. I've reserved a hotel room, reserved a car and printed maps to get to her house. In eight days, at 6:20 in the morning, I'll be flying up there. I'm so excited.

---

I got recognized.

Two days ago, I went to Sam's Club, which is this big wholesale reseller where you have to pay for membership but can then get some things for incredibly good prices if you don't mind looking around and waiting for the good deals. I wasn't dressed; I just had on my work clothes, though I was carrying my purse, something I do all the time.

Sam's Club ID cards have photographs on them, as well as full names, so when I pulled mine out of my purse and passed it over, I must've grimaced. The lady checking IDs looked at the card, looked at me and handed it back. I started to walk past, catching a blur of her reaching behind her as I went. I'd gotten about two steps past her when she said behind me, "Excuse me, ma'am?"

I turned around, just as blithely, and saw she was holding out some pamphlet to me. As I reached out for it, she looked up at me and started stammering a quite-unnecessary apology. I told her it was quite alright, took the pamphlet and just drifted into the warehouse. I hadn't planned on spending much time or money there, but I dropped thirty dollars and bought Jason two cannisters of snacks and a bunch of other things I hadn't intended to buy.

I used to think, when people sirred me while I was dressed, that they were being rude or hateful or just ignorant. I used to fear that I would never make it. Now it's happened, and I wasn't even trying. I still think that at least some of them are saying it out of crudeness, but perhaps Jason and Lurene are right, and some of them are saying it to reassure themselves, and a few subtle cues will be all it takes toget them to call me ma'am, or at least have them ask.

---

I used the ladies' room for the first time the other night.

Jason and I were at the airport seeing off a friend that had flown through Dallas, and it was about ten o'clock at night. I'd gotten dressed casually and we'd gone to dinner. I knew better, after heavy dieting, to shock myself with a bacon cheeseburger, but it sounded so good that I just had to order one. Of course, twenty minutes later, I regretted it and we had to find a restroom.

A few weeks ago, we had gone somewhere and I had needed to use the ladies' room but waited until I got home because I was still very self-conscious. Tonight, I just went in and went about my business. Probably my lack of hesitation came from the fact that the airport was almost totally deserted. Perhaps I'm just getting used to being Kristina in public. Either way, I didn't really think about what I was doing until i was doing it, looked down and saw myself sitting there.

It sounds like such a little thing, using the ladies' room. I mean, in the scope of activities, using the bathroom is a negligible one. However, it's one of the few places where separate-but-equal is alive and well. Almost every public building on earth has both ladies' and mens', and never the two shall meet. I found one movie theater that has a unisex bathroom, marked "Unisex", and some percentage of places that simply don't make any distinction at all, but the norm seems to be one facility for one-half of the populace and a second for the other.

As I sat there, taking care of paperwork, I wondered briefly what would happen if someone were to try to make an issue of it. Realistically speaking, were there any laws that, prior to my surgery, I was violating by using the appropriate bathroom? My therapist at some point has said that she'll give me a letter of intent stating that I should be afforded all of the priviledges due a woman, but as of yet she hasn't and I'm not going to stop being myself because I'm not certified.

Well, life never ceases to throw me curveballs, and I keep trying to hit them. This morning when I got up, I had an email from my therapist. She apologized in advance but said that she thought she had been hasty in telling me that I didn't need any more individual sessions. She did say I'd made a lot of progress, but that there were more things she wanted to discuss with me.

At first, I admit I was a little upset with it. Here I thought I'd been making all these great strides, and she said as much, but to "go back" felt like a retreat. Then I thought about it some more and I realized she's right. I'm still very new at this, despite how comfortable I am with it, and there are still things that have been happening that I need to work through.

To illustrate, I had my first full-time weekend last Saturday and Sunday. I had geared up to go over to a friend's house dressed for a gaming session, and that didn't work out; the game got cancelled. Then everyone with whom Jason and I would have gotten together was alternately busy, but I'd taken all this time and effort to putting together a good outfit that I decided I wanted to go out and enjoy being out. I'd been out a few times at this point, nothing really new. I didn't plan on anything going wrong; who does?

I shaved my face again, arms, chest, everything I thought would show. I styled my hair, made sure my outfit was alright, put on my nice shoes, and in short I did everything I could to look good. Jason complimented me on how I looked, and I thought I'd done a good job.

The counterclerk at the coffeeshop took one look at Jason and I and said, "So, are you two brothers or something?"

At the time, I just got irritated by it. Here I was, putting out all this effort into looking nice, and that's what I got back. Now, earlier in the day I had spent all the energy telling Jason and Lurene and my older sister Jennifer to politely kick me in the rump if I started going off on how I didn't pass and all that, and now I was getting frustrated over it again, so I managed to talk myself down off of my irritation, but it still wasn't very good for my self-esteem.

Monday, I think I just walked around in a state of post-ecstasy depression. I had gone out, as myself, for two days without any real thought into it beyond what I wanted to wear and had I shaved adequately and in all the right places. Then, bright and early Monday morning, my carriage turned back into a pumpkin. There's an entire mindset change, really, that's more than just what outfit I have on. Over the weekend, I was myself, Kristina Davis. Then, when I went back to work, I entered an environment where I had to remember that, as much as I understood who I was, nobody else did yet. I felt like I was trying to project being someone I'm not, even though I don't really act any differently at work. I guess that's one more part of it all.

Then today hit. Between what happened on Saturday and the email I got this morning, suddenly it felt like all the progress I had made really didn't amount to much. By the time I'd gotten to work, I'd recognized that I did have a lot left to work through with Feleshia and I sent her back a note saying I didn't mind coming back in for more one-one one sessions, but I was still very down about it. I thought I'd been doing so well, and then suddenly I felt like I hadn't really done much of anything.

Fortunately, my fourteen-weeks-of-no-work-at-work winning streak hadn't broken yet, so I had no productivity to interrupt with my moodiness, but I still wish I'd had something during the day on which to focusto get my mind off of all of this. It didn't happen. I was supposed to attend a meeting at 4:30PM, but by the time it rolled around I was in a miserable mood so I showed up, heard about ten minutes' worth and then left. Jason had to work late, so I just went home and tried to make dinner, but I'd worked myself up into a good funk by then so I just hopped online.

Jennifer was on, thankfully, and I related the whole sordid situation to her. She was very supportive, as was Lurene when I talked to her later that night, but they both essentially the same thing: "Hon, you've been doing this for two months, tops. Don't get discouraged by what happened, and don't take it as a sign of things to come." They both said a lot more than that but that was the gist of it.

As usual, they're right, and I've been beating myself up over nothing. Well, not nothing. I've been getting angry and frustrated that all the things I think I ought to know I don't know, because I never learned them. Being a girl was simply not something taught to me. I'm having to unlearn twenty-five years of habit and adapt to my future, and there's a lot physically that still hasn't shaped up. Being depressed over my first day being a failure is silly, however understandable it may be.

Things felt for a while like they were going really quickly. Not unpleasantly so, but just fast enough that I wasn't really able to think about things as they happened. These are feelings that have been hidden inside for a long time, and they've only been near the surface for about eight months, two of which I've been in therapy, and suddenly I'm fulltiming on the weekends. I'm actually glad for what my therapist said. I have made progress, but I still have a long way to go.

---

Lurene did make one interesting point in our conversation tonight. She said, "Part of the secret to passing is to think of yourself as a girl. Not transsexual, not in transition, just female". Looking at it, it doesn't seem like much in the way of wisdom, but it makes a lot of sense. I have been thinking of myself as transsexual, because that's the best word that I had to describe what I was. One day, though, I won't be. Many years from now, after all is said and done, I'll be as female as the next woman. At that point, my transsexuality will be past-tense. I should start thinking in those terms now. It may make the illusion of who I have to be legally harder to maintain, but it will probably make the reality of who I am easier to be.

Wednesday night, I had what will be my last individual therapy session unless something happens that I need to process in another one-on-one. Feleshia said she felt as a therapist that there wouldn't be anything further to be gained from private sessions, and she had a duty as a professional not to keep me in something I didn't need.So, my next meeting with her is on the 25th, for my first group session.

I'm looking forward to group, really. The chance to meet others face to face and talk with them about what it's like will be good. What I find funny is that, of all my concerns, my biggest is how good a visual presentation I'll make. Will I pass in the eyes of those who have studied how to pass? After going out in public, being told repeatedly by my boyfriend that I look good dressed and even going shopping by myself at the mall, my concern is what?

How do I look?

Strange, isn't it? I can go to the mall without batting an eyelash, but when it comes to an environment where I know everyone will be supportive and helpful and no-one will be negative, only constructive, I worry that I'll feel like the outsider because everyone else is within the ideal of "normal."

I wonder if they're all sitting around feeling the same thing.

What I'd like, honestly, is one "ma'am" from someone who has no reason to say it. One "Miss" from someone who doesn't think about it. Right now, without hormones, it probably won't happen. It might never happen.

I'm willing to wait.

---

Last night started as one of those routine days that ended up becoming important not by virtue of any action of mine, but of just the events of the night. In Masks of the Illuminati, Robert Wilson has James Joyce utter words to the effect of, "Suppose this had been an ordinary night, four men sitting around drinking champagne and talking. None of us would have remembered it later. If one of us had died the next day, though, the survivors would have perfect recollection of totally ordinary day, not because of the evening itself, but because of its context."

Jason and I came home from work and grabbed a quick bite to eat, then I changed into something more casual and we went out to a mall over in Dallas to do some looking and windowshopping. I made the mistake of wearing new shoes to do this (I know better, I really do) and so I gave myself blisters on my toes as expected, and as we were leaving, I asked to sit down for a bit so I could rub my feet and look at my toes which were really starting to hurt.

When I looked over at Jason, he had that expression that said something was on his mind and it wasn't pleasant, so I asked him about it. After a bit of prodding, I found out that, in one of the stores we had visited, the salesclerks had been staring at me, exchanging knowing glances and laughing behind my back. Now, I had been totally unaware of this, and I suspect that if I had been in a position to see it, it wouldn't have happened. However, Jason did see it and he was upset by it. He'd wanted to say something but didn't think it would have helped, might've hurt and generally would've just wasted our time. He expressed disappointment at the status of things and said to me, "You don't deserve that kind of treatment".

Well, he's right, I don't, but I don't expect otherwise. As much as I'd like to be treated as a normal woman, I'm likely to forever be questioned, and I accept that. I was when I was overweight and trying hard to be male, only then I thought the problem was with me and not with everyone around me. Now I know the problem isn't mine, but I don't expect other people to change how they act. I'm being myself, and as long as they don't try to pigeonhole me I don't care how they act behind my back.

As we were getting ready to leave, though, someone did just that. A polite older gentleman walked up to us and held out little pamphlets to us, saying something like, "You two might need this". I took one, but Jason just stood there and silently stared at him until he started backing away.

I still have it. it's a little tacky two-color printed once-folded sheet with WHAT EVERY YOUNG MAN SHOULD KNOW! in bad lettering on the front, two checkboxes on the back for accepting or rejecting God, and some Bible verses in the middle. One of the cartoons shows a picture of some people standing around pointing and laughing at someone being bitten by snakes with the names of alleged sins on them, such as pornography, drugs, liquor and "queer 'civil' rights".

I'm not Christian. I've never professed to be Christian. If anything, I'm an agnostic with amerind, SubGenius and Discordian leanings. Nevertheless, I have several friends that are Christian, and on matters of faith we agree to disagree because we accept that there are many roads to enlightenment. This, however, was a blatant insult to me. Here was some person deciding, most likely on the basis of my clothing that I wasn't Christian, that I considered his advice important, and that I would think his attempts at intervention were praiseworthy.

In hindsight, the whole thing is funny, if a bit irritating. If I had made the same presumptions about him, he no doubt would have been highly offended and said as much, though perhaps not in front of the children he was trying to escort out of the mall. Maybe I should've made more of an issue of it, but what are the odds that I ever see him again? Negligible. It wasn't worth my time.

I checked the rejection box and mailed it to the address on the back of the pamphlet, though.

Yesterday, I was talking with my sister, and at one point in the conversation I laughingly said something like, "I used to try very hard to be male, and I never really got it right, and now everyone's going to think that I'm trying to be female and not really getting that right either." She quickly pointed out to me that there really isn't any right, that there's only Kristina, and that I'm being the best Kristina I can be.

I'm not trying to "be female", really. I'll never menstruate, never bear my own children, probably never lactate, et cetera. I can live with that fact. I'm trying to be myself, Kristina Davis. I'm not trying to be female or be male or anything like that. I want to be physically female because that's how I see myself, but this isn't about becoming a rank-and-file member of the "other sex". It's about being happy with who I am, making the outside fit the inside as closely as possible.

I've been reading Kate Bornstein's "Gender Outlaw", and I'd have to recommend it to anyone going through this. A lot of what she says are things I'd told myself or told others when I was helping them, but it's good to hear others say it and see your advice coming from others. I hope others who read it get as much out of it as I have.

Another interesting point came up in our conversation, one that Bornstein addresses a bit in her book. I was talking with someone online that never met me before, never knew "LoveBear" and only knew me as female, and I caught myself not talking about my past because I didn't want to "reveal my secret." It was an interesting sensation, really.

I said in the introduction to my pages that I'm not going to pretend that I'm not who I am, either in making up a past to fit my present or in denying my future for the sake of my past. As I see it, the burden of acceptance for who I am is not on me. I like who I am and who I'm becoming. If someone else doesn't, that's not my problem.

Even still, sometimes I choke in the moment. I know that will relax with time.

---

I had my first laser hair removal treatment today, on my face. I wasn't really prepared for the expense, but it's worth it if it means that I don't have to shave. I know I'll need at least one more full treatment and then one or maybe two spot-treatments to get stragglers, so I'm looking at a lot of money just for my face, not to mention everything else that I plan to have done, but it will be spread out over several years, and so it's not that much per time.

My therapist suggested electro, but honestly, the idea of sticking that many needles in my face, over such a long period of time, scares me rather badly. I don't need the skin irritation, I don't want to risk the scarring, and I generally would rather walk away from a session feeling like I have a patch of sunburn than a bunch of pinpricks. It's a lot of little zaps that sting more than anything, kind of like having a hot rubber band smacked against your skin. It doesn't even hurt at all now, and it's only two hours after the last zap.

Actually, what bothers me more right now than any of the money I spent today is the response I'm going to get in about two hours. Last week, I told everyone in my gaming group that I'm transsexual and that I'd like to start showing up to the games as female. This week, I've got two days' growth on my face that, because of the laser treatment, I can't shave until Monday morning. If I don't dress, I feel like I'll get people asking me why I made such a fuss last time. If I dress, I'll get flak for the beard. If I explain that I had laser treatment and can't shave today...

... I'll have to deal with people telling me their concerns again. I played that game last week. I don't feel like doing it again. If I don't go, though, they'll just call and then it'll be the same as if I'd
gone.

That's what bothers me most, right now. I want the support of my friends, and I don't feel like they all support me in this. I accept that some are having trouble with it, but that shouldn't mean that they oppose me at every turn. I shouldn't feel like I have to avoid them, but if they're going to keep being negative about it, or what I perceive as negative, then I'm going to stop talking with them about it. If I can't do that without cutting them off completely, I will.

I don't want it to come to that. I hope it doesn't have to. They mean too much to me to lose now.

Sunday was much better. I called my sister and told her everything that had happened, and she listened and told me I did the right thing, which I didn't need to hear but enjoyed anyway. I'm worried about her, a lot, but until she graduates in three months I can't do anything for her. I'm going to see her in June, and I'm so excited about that I could pop! Jason and I had to do laundry, and at first I got up and dressed in my new blouse and my old ankle-length skirt, the most casual femme outfit I have, and then Jason came in and asked me why I'd dressed up to do laundry. I laughed, but he had a point, and I needed to wash the blouse anyway. I changed into some drabs and we took care of business, but the whole time I felt a bit off. I didn't want to have changed, but so far everything I own that's obviously feminine is "nice," the sort of thing that you just wouldn't wear to a laundromat unless it was Turtle Creek.

When we got home, the first thing I did was change back into what I'd worn that morning. Afterwards, I made arrangements with my parents to drop by their apartment on the way to a movie so that I could pick up some paperwork that I had left there by mistake. After I got off the phone, it occured to me that I was planning on showing my parents Kristina for the first time, without warning. I decided to take that chance, and we went.  They didn't say a word. Well, not exactly. My mother wanted to know where I got my purse and how much it cost me, and she laughed when I told her what a deal I'd gotten on it. Then she wanted to know what size skirt I wore and she got flustered when I said I'm a 16 because apparently I'm now smaller in the waist than she is. My father just looked at me when Jason and I got ready to leave, and he said, "You've got a hard row to hoe in front of you, but we're here." My parents are incredible people, and I wish I'd been wise enough when I was younger to know that.

The movie itself was fun. Jason was a bit on edge as we got in line, walking past a group of teens who were muttering but not loudly enough for us to hear what. He really is a sweetheart, but he's learning right alongside me not to be afraid of everyone else just because I'm out being myself. One rather creative individual did shout something like, "What the fuck?", but we ignored it and went about our business. We were going to see the Tigger Movie because I've been a Pooh fan for years, but we changed our mind and ended up at The Whole Nine Yards, which turned out to be well worth it. I thought the movie was hilariously surreal, but maybe it's just that I was enjoying being out as who I want to be so much that everything else became fun in comparison.

The work week is a chore. I've now been in my cube for eleven weeks, doing nothing. I've got a charge number, but nothing to charge to it. The Monday after is always something of a letdown: I'm back to pretending I'm still the same-ol'-same-ol'. I need to make an appointment some time soon with Human Resources to talk with them about their policies regarding transition in the workplace; it'll make a lot of difference between whether or not I stay for the long haul or look for another job despite the problems. I'd rather go through this in a place I know will accept what I'm doing. Somehow I don't think this is it.

I have my first electrolysis appointment this Saturday. Actually, it's a consultation to determine if laser hair removal will work for me. It's more expensive, but much less painful and much faster, so I'm willing to bear the cost if it will give me the results I want. I know my therapist advised electrolysis, but I know I'm allergic to lidocaine which means most local anaesthetics are out, and that needle hurts quite a bit. We'll see how the appointment goes. I'm really looking forward to this. It's my first "real" step. Everything through to now has been talk and image. This is an actual permanent change. I can feel it coming together.