Please call it by its name, Transgender Day of Visibility, not Transgender Visibility Day. If you click in, you’ll know why it matters to me.
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There’s a type of neurotypical person that has made me feel shitty my whole life. I’m done with them, the way I am with a lot of cis people.
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The place where all of my healthcare originates or takes place is no longer in network with my insurance company. This is bad.
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We’re not serious about understanding much of anything, except wanton destruction that is going to cost us like never before.
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Lockdown began on different days for different people. For me, it was the evening of March 13, 2020.
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Everything’s overwhelming, so I didn’t think I’d post today or anytime soon. And then I saw this poem by Mary Oliver.
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These days, I take my joy where I can find it. Sometimes it takes me to unexpected places. Between sleeps, I wrote about one such time.
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I’ve tried to not repeat myself, but I’m all out of words. I’m out of ways to say this an ongoing nightmare you’ll never fully understand.
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“Woke Is Not to Blame for Trump: How a misdiagnosis of the 2024 election has calcified into self-defeating conventional wisdom.” Read it.
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