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Done This Week
Mar. 19th, 2023 10:08 amWell, let's see. They moved the work event down by a month, which was annoying. I'm nervous about it, so I just want to get it over with. Nothing to be done for it, though. Which left it a remarkably quiet week, so I had lots of time to work on my electrical training classes.
Unfortunately, that means I had lots of time to work on my electrical training classes.
It's, uh, a lot more theoretical than I wanted or needed. I had to get through a class on Ohm's Law, which involved doing math problems. I was very forcefully reminded of exactly how miserable math made me back in high school, the last time I had to engage with it on this level.
I suspect there might actually be some kind of learning disability involved--even with taking copious notes and trying really fucking hard, I got every question on a particular topic wrong. My brain just doesn't know how to make numbers GO. Trying leaves me feeling all panicky and teary and overwhelmed.
It's made worse by the moments when I think I've figured out what I misunderstood, try to do the work again, and still end up at the wrong answer. Like, no! I had a revelation! It was supposed to work right after that! ಥ_ಥ
Going out with friends the next day was a real panacea, though. People want to spend time with me even if I can't math right. AND they think my hair is cute.
Which, to bury the lead slightly: I cut all my hair off. As in, I got home from work, stripped down to my undershirt, and went at my head with the good sewing scissors and a hand mirror.
Because I've leaned into my status as a scruffy piece of queer trash to the degree that I no longer fear the act of taking hair that hit below my shoulder blades and reducing it to something that doesn't reach the tops of my ears. Fuck it! I'm punk enough to do this all on my own. (Also, I'm not interested in repeating the experience of a salon making me look like someone's midwestern mom. If I knew where a butch barbershop was, that would have been the only acceptable alternative.)
My mohawk is now no more than six inches long anywhere and it tapers down to just enough to grab hold of in the back. It's shaggy enough that, with the shaved sides, it looks a bit like an undercut, but the strip of hair still extends all the way to my neck, rather than being cut off along the back curve. I'm not entirely satisfied with its behavior--curls, man-- but I don't know if the solution is more length or less. So I'm going to let it be for now. I am, in any case, sufficiently pleased to have no regrets.
Now I look a lot like I did in my early to mid-teens. I want to go back in time to little transmasc teen!Jay after the first time they got a proper boy's haircut and tell them: baby, you look amazing. You are the cutest boy creature around. There's nothing wrong with your face, no matter what you think when you look at yourself in photos. You just need to ditch the polo shirts--stop letting mum buy your clothes, you little punk, you. (Oh, also, you have curly hair, don't try to make it be straight. Nothing about you needs to be straight, darlin'.)
Lewisia: 3 new pieces, plus another bonus piece written
Day job: 43.25 hours
Gardening: weeding, garden club post, succulent club meeting, cut some flowers to share with friends
Listening: Through the Deep, Dark Valley by The Oh Hellos (lush and wandering, I'll love it even more once I know the words well enough to sing along)
Other: went to a theater production with friends then out dinner
Aftermarket Parts: researched another new topic, one activity completed
Unfortunately, that means I had lots of time to work on my electrical training classes.
It's, uh, a lot more theoretical than I wanted or needed. I had to get through a class on Ohm's Law, which involved doing math problems. I was very forcefully reminded of exactly how miserable math made me back in high school, the last time I had to engage with it on this level.
I suspect there might actually be some kind of learning disability involved--even with taking copious notes and trying really fucking hard, I got every question on a particular topic wrong. My brain just doesn't know how to make numbers GO. Trying leaves me feeling all panicky and teary and overwhelmed.
It's made worse by the moments when I think I've figured out what I misunderstood, try to do the work again, and still end up at the wrong answer. Like, no! I had a revelation! It was supposed to work right after that! ಥ_ಥ
Going out with friends the next day was a real panacea, though. People want to spend time with me even if I can't math right. AND they think my hair is cute.
Which, to bury the lead slightly: I cut all my hair off. As in, I got home from work, stripped down to my undershirt, and went at my head with the good sewing scissors and a hand mirror.
Because I've leaned into my status as a scruffy piece of queer trash to the degree that I no longer fear the act of taking hair that hit below my shoulder blades and reducing it to something that doesn't reach the tops of my ears. Fuck it! I'm punk enough to do this all on my own. (Also, I'm not interested in repeating the experience of a salon making me look like someone's midwestern mom. If I knew where a butch barbershop was, that would have been the only acceptable alternative.)
My mohawk is now no more than six inches long anywhere and it tapers down to just enough to grab hold of in the back. It's shaggy enough that, with the shaved sides, it looks a bit like an undercut, but the strip of hair still extends all the way to my neck, rather than being cut off along the back curve. I'm not entirely satisfied with its behavior--curls, man-- but I don't know if the solution is more length or less. So I'm going to let it be for now. I am, in any case, sufficiently pleased to have no regrets.
Now I look a lot like I did in my early to mid-teens. I want to go back in time to little transmasc teen!Jay after the first time they got a proper boy's haircut and tell them: baby, you look amazing. You are the cutest boy creature around. There's nothing wrong with your face, no matter what you think when you look at yourself in photos. You just need to ditch the polo shirts--stop letting mum buy your clothes, you little punk, you. (Oh, also, you have curly hair, don't try to make it be straight. Nothing about you needs to be straight, darlin'.)
Lewisia: 3 new pieces, plus another bonus piece written
Day job: 43.25 hours
Gardening: weeding, garden club post, succulent club meeting, cut some flowers to share with friends
Listening: Through the Deep, Dark Valley by The Oh Hellos (lush and wandering, I'll love it even more once I know the words well enough to sing along)
Other: went to a theater production with friends then out dinner
Aftermarket Parts: researched another new topic, one activity completed
