A nice cup of rabies

(Oh, there's an ironic song for iTunes to serve up when I started the music.)

Things always come in flurries. Or maybe we only notice them when they start stacking up.

I've been under several layers of stress: running out of hormones, running out of money, high-stress freelance work that's slow on payment, a headache that persisted for a couple of days... and now I have to add finding a new place to live on top of that. Finding that out just about sent me over the edge. I can understand and sympathize with Sammi's decision; I just wasn't in any kind of state for finding it out.

At least it kicked me out of my lethargy for a bit. In between bouts of crying and sobbing yesterday, I ran through some classified listings for the Bay Area and shot off some brief applications. Who knows, maybe one of the jobs will bite. It was a little depressing; so many of them are saying they want "self-starters who thrive in a fast-paced environment", which I feel is code for "we will overwork you and drain all your life".

And I did something I never thought I'd do. I sent off an e-mail to a couple of my friends down in LA, asking if they happen to have Pringle's contact information. I'm going to politely beg him for a job on whatever show he's currently Flash directing. It'll be an odd reversal; I was a Flash director at Spümcø when he started. And I haven't had any contact with him since the whole Nebulous FIlms affair. I don't know how he feels about me at all. I don't even know if rumor's reached him about my transition.

And if worst comes to worst, it looks like my mother will take me in for a while. Moving back to New Orleans is a scary scary thing but... it might be what I need. Quiet and figuring out who I am. I'm just afraid I'd never get back out again. It's not where I want to die.

One thing that I found interesting about my reaction yesterday: I didn't curl up and be quiet and try to bury it all. That's been my reflexive response for my whole life. I screamed and howled and whimpered and wept. And there were a few moments of noticing this, which were kinda nice, even as I was running around in mental circles fearing the absolute worse - being out on the streets, with no money or hope, and turning back to a bitter boy-thing. That's pretty close to dying, for me, or as good as dead, and there was one stupid part of my mind that suggested, well. Skipping the slow decline and going out with a dramatic gesture. I strongly suspect it was the testosterone talking, and I refuse to fucking listen to it. The self-destructive urge can go off and die for all I care, but I'm not going with it.

It's still strange to have emotions instead of locking them all away somewhere inside, to just rot.

And thanks, tugrik, for being solid and blue and listening to me last night.