letter to Elizabeth

Note from 14 February 2024: I left this on the odd little table or whatever-it-is in the living room of the apartment my landlady evicted me from. I wasn’t going to be a problem as I was vacating, but I wasn’t going to leave without a last word, either.

I ended up neither texting nor emailing her because in the end, it didn’t matter. I figured by the time I was going to get anything important in the mail, I’d have a post office box to forward it to. Turned out I moved back in with my father several days later, so I had a real address. Same deal.


I wanted to clean up more for you, but you took three hours off my prep time. I was afraid that if I left to get a storage locker you might renege again and I’d come back to my property damaged or worse. Can’t have that.

So I’m actually out early but you’ll need to do a little cleaning. U-Haul closes at 7. I need the locker more than I need to make you happy.

For the record: I am neither a criminal nor a drug addict. I can’t otherwise explain your attitude beyond the rent situation. I do understand the rent situation. But things you have said make me wonder if you are afraid of me. So let’s clear that up now. You’re wrong about me. The end.

Yes I left the laser printer on purpose. I am tired of moving that thing. It works but may need maintenance. Or sell it or donate it. I don’t care.

Whatever housewares I left are yours. What would I do with them in a car?

Your relative downstairs [in the downstairs apartment] smokes weed.

I will text you once with my P.O. box and then block you. Will also email you, ditto. Whatever comes after that, that’s that.

Thank you for giving me a safe place for half a year. Not really giving, I paid for it, but you know what I mean.


16 December 2023

I’m not posting about this separately on Facebook, though I will link to this there, and don’t count on me doing much replying right now.

I got a visit from Elizabeth today. I have been informed that my sitting up here not bothering anyone is taking up too much of her energy. I could count on one hand how many times we’ve interacted in the past month. That’s right, month, not just the past two weeks but anyway, that seemed to be the most important thing to her, even more important than the rent, which I had only managed half of. I had hoped to be able to give her something for the third week by the end of this weekend. Maybe I should have told her that days ago but we’ve seen I can’t trust people already and I had no reason to believe this was any different.

So I have until midnight tonight to vacate.

9pm. I can’t even have that last three hours. I can do it, but I won’t like it as well. More later.

I have basically no money. I have to rent a locker again or I will not be able to sleep in my car. I’m going to sell a couple things today and maybe I could get a room from that but I won’t hold my breath. I would be better served bearing down and getting a weekly room somehow. It won’t be InTown Suites. They refuse to book anyone until the beginning of next year. Already checked the site. All three locations.

So it was, “you are taking up too much of my energy” and “your actions affect people around you, you know.” She reminded me a bit of Dad there. Not so much his words as his attitude. Acting like my mere existence, not bothering them, not doing anything to them was somehow the worst possible offense ever. Look, I get it. Half rent is no good and I’m no longer on a lease anyway. That bit right there would have been sufficient reason to say “please leave,” though in her shoes I might have said “you have until Monday” given that IT’S THE WEEKEND. “I’ve been in your shoes” You got rescued by a man who sells real estate, lady. Don’t talk to me about shoes.

I said it though, didn’t I. This is the sort of woman who starts out all kind and affectionate and then turns on you. Saw it coming miles off.

I hate the way most of society ignores people like me in my particular situation but it beats being told someone cares about you only to have the games played. I’ll say it again: we have not interacted all that much. There were times I’d even ask her reasonable questions about things, and this was back when I had the Quantum job, and she wouldn’t answer. Pat was still alive at that point and that was what took up her energy. Not me. I make a great scapegoat. It never ends.

I feel like I want to ramble on about this but it will eat into my time. Storage place closes at 7pm. What a joke: it’s the one near where I used to live. Good thing I know I can handle being near the old house. It’s half the price of the Worthington unit. Wherever I end up, as long as I pay they won’t care.

Oh and if she thinks she’s ever going to come after me for my part of the electric bill, nope. She can go crying to my credit report. I literally live across the driveway from her, and not once has she said “okay I have the information together, come get it” or “can I come over with the bill, are you home.” It was “I don’t have your email address.” Well, you had it at one point. You must not have cared enough, then. Nothing I can do for you. Sorry.

I’m thinking about talking to the shelter in Delaware. It was implied I could do that after 30 days. It’s been well more than 30 days. I don’t want to be there again, but there are worse outcomes.

I also wonder if she’s the reason I got booted from the rehousing program. Which could have gotten me out of this mess. I won’t ask, though.

Anyway. Onward.

15 December 2023

Got in a more full day today. It was still only low $100s. But Fridays have been iffy for a while.

Was around Polaris/Worthington/Westerville and there’s this one spot with this church, I’m trying to think, maybe Worthington-Galena Road and Sancus? Anyway, sometime last year there was this black guy out in front of the church holding up a sign encouraging passing drivers to smile. As I passed that same church today I thought, “This is where that smile guy was.” Glanced to my right and THERE HE WAS. He just seemed so joyful and I smiled and waved as I passed him and suddenly I was blinking back tears.

If I avoid people a lot right now, that’s got to be one reason. It’s easy enough to talk about shit with a keyboard and usually I don’t get too emotional but if I’m face to face with a person I’m too vulnerable and, well, we see where that got me.

I have to say this because I’m not sure Thea even knows about this blog but I want her to know something. Dawn tells me about you. Not a lot. Mostly she shares pictures you’ve posted. You two have been Instagram friends for years. I told her I would not be surprised if you remember she’s there and this is your way of telling me you’re okay. In case I’m right and you peek in to see if I’ve noticed, there you go. I’ve noticed.

I know about the voice change too. If you do read this I’d like to request that you stop the testosterone now. See, the voice change is permanent. I hope that’s what you really wanted, because you will never get rid of it now. Look up detransitioners on YouTube and you will see what I mean. They can only detransition so far. I’m not even asking for that. Whatever you get up to, you get up to but to continue to take T is self-harm. It already was, and it will only get worse from here.

I will warn you that if you heed my advice you are going to possibly go through hell for a while, because one of the side-effects of upping testosterone levels is elevated mood, and one of the side-effects of stopping it is depression. So don’t do it until you have proper support. The fucking clowns around you right now mindlessly cheering you on because they will believe any stupid bullshit a hippie tells them do not know about these issues. See if you can get in to see an endocrinologist. Ask to be monitored. Get your therapist involved too. If they’re a gender clinic therapist, fire them and get a real one. Your dad no doubt still has good health coverage. He wouldn’t have settled for anything less, what with his health issues. Take advantage of it while you still can. It ends at age 26 for you. But yeah. Get off the T with an endocrinologist and your therapist monitoring you CLOSELY. Maybe take a gap semester and do it so you don’t fuck up your grades.

I’m serious. You broke up with Willow because you want kids. Silly reason. You could have used a sperm bank, but if you don’t want to do that, that’s fine. But the point is you’re going to fuck up your uterus now. If you want your own kids, don’t do that. And don’t say “I’ll use a surrogate,” either. That’s fucking evil. Never use another woman as your brood mare. Never ever ever. That goes for adoption too. You don’t have to like all women and you don’t have to believe women are perfect. I don’t like all women and I don’t believe women are perfect. But don’t reproductively abuse women, either.

I’m half convinced that’s what your dad wanted out of me all along. It certainly fits the evidence. I think he had a vague notion he would knock me up, win custody from me in court, and then give you to his then-wife. (Marti, called Vivien when I knew her, goes by Kit and pretends to not be a woman now. Perhaps you’ve gotten acquainted; all of a sudden she wants to be friends with your dad again.) If I’m right, he fucked up his own plans by lying to her, which prompted her to divorce him. This was very early in your life and he hadn’t had time to make a court case yet. Joke was on him. And in the end she was able to have her own baby anyway. Hadn’t convinced herself she was an It yet, so could still manage it.

Anyway, don’t be like your dad. Not in that way. There are some traits he has that I wouldn’t mind seeing in you, but that’s not one of them. Don’t be a user.

Tonight I was at Meijer to pick up a little food — it is always a little at a time with me, money being what it is — and this woman parked next to me with her little girls and I thought, Enjoy it while it lasts. They’ll be gone in a blink, got out of my car, turned around to go into the store, and the car parked behind me had Stitch on their dash.

I can never see Stitch without thinking of Lilo and how much you loved that movie. And you have always been a little Lilo to me.

Stitch not fluffy. Stitch very sad.

14 December 2023

It’s really early morning, nearly 2am, but I probably won’t write later today, so I don’t care. If I change my mind I’ll just tack more onto the end of this post. Okay? Okay.

I keep running into the same old nonsense with trying to catch up the month as I ran into trying to be on time for the month in the first place. There is a strong possibility I will be back in an extended-stay suite by January. I don’t know for sure, but if it happens, don’t be surprised. I won’t be.

For example, we saw that I was dealing with heavy-period garbage, and then on top of that things have been crappy pay-wise when I did manage to get out and about, and on top of that on Tuesday I wanted to get out and do some driving and… the driveway was blocked because one of Elizabeth’s helpers was moving firewood from the far side of the lot up closer to her house. There is one driveway, it’s single-wide, and if I can’t get down it with the car then I’m not getting out of here with the car. I could have asked to get past them but I don’t want to draw attention to myself because I’m not sure how much Elizabeth has noticed because last she knew I had a new temp thing going on. Right. I haven’t talked with her about that. I didn’t see the point if I have to vacate the premises at the end of January anyway. If we were looking at the potential to renew the lease it would be a different matter. That’s not going to happen, so right now I’m in hypervigilant mode and trying to stay out of her way.

At least if I leave early the worst she’ll be able to say is I didn’t give notice but the lease is no longer active, so that hardly matters. What’s she going to do, tell some future landlord of mine that I didn’t give notice on a month-to-month? Come on. And that’s if I use her as a reference in the first place. I probably won’t.

Anyway I was going to go on. I wasn’t done. So the period thing, the driveway, and then I’ve had two bills hit in the past week. Both minor, neither more than $50 (and under $75 both together), but that’s the razor-thin margins I’m working with right now. I have no wiggle room. I might even have negative wiggle room. I really don’t know. But I’ve got another one coming up in the next day or so that’s another $11, and then on the 18th or maybe 19th I will owe insurance which will be another $100. Then Christmas is coming and that will be enforced downtime for at least a day and a half (early closings Christmas Eve). That screaming you hear is my brain trying to claw its way out of my skull. I am so tired of this shit.

I know. I bought it by quitting Quantum. I am well aware of that. I don’t have to find this shit fun just because I do stupid things. Even if it’s written somewhere that I have to, it’s written lots of places that men who like wearing lipstick are women and that’s not fucking true either. I’m not going to find this situation fun. Ever. You can just fucking cope.

I’ve given it some thought and I have sort of a game plan for at least securing employment. It won’t matter whether I keep this place if I can pay for the extended-stay suite without driving six damn days a week for at least six hours a day, or at least not in my own vehicle. So. One possibility in Delaware. One possibility along the High Street corridor not far from where I’d live there if I could. A couple possibilities here in Dublin.

I need to get those applied for by the end of the week. At least one ought to bite. You would think.

And from there, maybe we’ll see.

God knows that no one is yet supporting me in my preferred endeavors except one lady on Substack. That was a nice surprise. I need to write more there. But there are many things I want to write about and then I get in front of my laptop and I get a mental block. I’ve been talking for a long time without people bothering to listen. I’m mentally exhausted by it at this point. People were not listening before I left Matt’s two years ago either. But it feels more real now because with people still around it was easy to assume that my thoughts and feelings were incorporated into sort of the fabric of our lives and people were aware of them. Even though there was no reason for me to feel that way. It was an illusion. Dispelled now.

(Whatever Matt tells you about “feelings” he had for me, one reason I never trusted him again after all the shit from 2004 to 2007 was that he never engaged with me on social media again. To have written me off and not bother looking at anything I had to say, that was a pretty clear sign he’d washed his hands of me from way back. So much of the ill will between us could have been prevented had he told the truth and listened to my side of things. Not just recorded my words in his head to parrot back at me, but actually comprehended them. He didn’t do either, so here we are. And remember, he got mad at me for rolling my eyes when he’d interrupt whatever I was doing or reading to talk about his workday. Actually interrupt. Not even a “can we talk, let me know when you get to a stopping place.” Just immediate blah blah blah like I had nothing better to do but change gears immediately for him.)

But it isn’t just writing I want to do. I need to list more bracelets, make more jewelry, and start a regular drawing practice. At this point it’s too late for anything but priority and express mail if I do happen to sell anything in time for Christmas, and that’s not likely to happen. At least the listings are cheap and last about three or four months. I just feel a bit put out that people were going “ooh” on Facebook but nothing’s nibbled. Well, I’m going to list more anyway, and they can bite me. At some point, someone will nibble. That’ll be a nice little windfall. Certainly a better outcome than trying to just sell the beads.

God. It’s 3am already. (I took forever to write this little bit. Like I said. Block.) Another fun thing I had to deal with was waking up with the shits when I wasn’t done sleeping. Hopefully it’ll go better this time. Off to bed.

08 December 2023

I mentioned in the previous post that when Shark Week rolls around, there are two or three days where it gets really heavy and I can’t predict which days those will be anymore. It used to be just the first two or three days. In the past several months it’s mixed things up so that I might be okay the first three or four days and then suddenly, BAM. So I never know what I’m getting ahead of time, I just sort of know roughly when Shark Week’s going to happen. (Lately it’s been pretty much the first week of the month.)

Well, this time around the first couple days were just sort of boring and then after I fucked up that prospective temp job, BAM. I did get in a day delivering and was pretty happy about that, and then almost had a massive accident here at home. So I’ve been laying low hoping it will calm down. It’s a good thing I did fuck up the temp job. I’m trying to imagine asking to run to the restroom often enough to prevent massive leak and it would have been a nightmare. I have a whole system down for slowing down the deluge, but even with that I go through a super tampon in an hour, if I’m lucky. (Needless to say, I keep iron supplements in stock at home.) After that I’m on borrowed time. It would have gotten ugly.

I still mean to do a whole breakdown of why employment is difficult for me. There are a whole lot of factors, only some of which having to do with my actual personal shortcomings that I might have a prayer of any control over whatsoever. I am just not in the headspace to do justice to it right now. This situation here is a big part of it though. It’s a catch-22 because menstruation is not a disability or a disease, BUT, when things go wrong with female plumbing it can go in that direction, AND, gynecological care is seriously fucking lacking worldwide and disgracefully low-quality for a first-world country (the United States). If they just go in and yank the babymaker they will fuck me up on at least two levels. Then I need recovery time. I am completely alone now and that’s not fucking happening. So I need to just stop my periods if I can but (1) birth control might not work well with me because I’m too fat and (2) even if I sign up for ACA health coverage in time, and that’s debatable considering how my life’s gone, that doesn’t kick in until January. ARGH.

I have a thing going if anyone fucking cares. God, it could actually get me ahead. You’re not going to get it in time for Christmas, but you’d do me a big favor. Look! Not asking for free money! How ’bout dat!

Okay. On to bed.