Coping Mechanisms from Somewhere South of Sane
It's been a really long weekend.
I took Thursday and Friday off so I could pack, clean, move and have the weekend to unpack and settle myself in. I'm in Squirrel Hill now which is kind of amazing to me. I haven't been able to afford to live here since before I transitioned. It was a different neighborhood then, mostly just working people and the biggest population of Jewish people in the country outside of New York City. We still have the Jews, which is fine, but the rest of the population is mostly made up of wealthy foreign students and the bourgeoisie.
I'm paying double what I was paying here thirteen years ago. It's worth it – the room is nice and my housemates are reasonable. It's a nice change from the varying degrees of squalor I've been living in for most of my life as myself.
I'd only been packing for an hour and my arms already ached. It was hot. Really ridiculously hot. Also humid, like a small fan-less bathroom when you took too long in the shower. My dresser and table as well as most of my boxes were already in the van. I was about ready to take a break.
I heard a crash. It came from above me. I looked up and my face starting getting wet.
“Fantastic...”
I've got a big bay window. The room came with a bed, which isn't a thing I've had for many years, and a large desk big enough for my computer monitor, my globe, my lamp and my mirror without feeling cramped. The closer is ridiculous. Gotta be ten feet long. Two hanger-bars on either side of a central unit thing that has some shelves and drawers. Everything is hung up. My shoes and my mass market paperbacks inhabit the three box-style shelves above the hanger-bars and the majority of my oversize fiction runs in a single line atop.
It's roomy. I think I could put a six or seven-foot circle in here comfortably. Maybe I will. It's past time I started to pursue the Great Work again.
We have a washer and a dryer, an electric range and a dishwasher. There's a big friendly dog and a moderately stand-offish cat.
No Purp though. No Purp.
I backed the van into the space in front of Runner's car. I'd had to spin around the block once to figure out where my new home was. I turned off the ignition and walked up the double-flight of stone stairs up to the front porch where we smoke cigarettes and hang out with Brayden the Pooch. I had trouble with the lock. Runner heard me and opened up. It took me a few tries to get the hang of our door – it's heavy, solid and makes a good seal against the frame.
We exchanged greetings and complaints about the heat. “Did you get caught in the rain?” he asked me.
“Yeah. Good thing I conditioned my hair this morning. Absolutely not a waste of time.”
He laughed.
After my fourth or fifth trip up the stairs I was standing at the side of the van with the doors open, wondering what I should hump up there next.
Another crash, and then a torrent. Fucking great.
I like Runner. He's my age, has his own business doing some kind marketing that I haven't really asked him about. Works out of the house. He and his... girlfriend? Partner? Whatever – he and Medigal live in the back of the flat, and his office is back there, too. I like Medigal. She has a cool job. Us busy professionals, forty something, successful and in need of housemates to get by in this new gilded age.
I'm back at work tomorrow, just for the day and then I have the fourth off. Three more days and then another weekend to do... what? I used to see Purp twice a week outside of the office. I'd cook or something on Wednesday or Thursday and then one of the days on the weekend we'd spend most of it together, up to something or another.
I'm lost. I don't know what to do with myself. She's super busy. Just bought a house. sister is getting married. Played a show this weekend.
“So, she broke up with you when?” Medigal looked confused.
“Tuesday.”
“And you're going to see her play tonight.”
“Said I would.”
“Before or after she broke up with you?”
“Both.”
I had the same conversation with Bearjo Friday evening at the bar after I took the van back. He hadn't heard that she'd ended it.
“She said she didn't have any feelings for me, and that was the end. Called me here on Tuesday.”
“...She seemed like she liked you.”
“Yeah. She did. I feel... I feel like a sucker.”
“Why's that?”
“I've been doing all this emotional heavy-lifting. I took on two massive projects in the office having to do with discrimination issues we've been facing and put myself dead on the bulls-eye with management on one of them. Everything's at the point where it will move along under it's own speed. As soon as it got there... Boom. The end.”
“Well... platitudes aside, the great thing about not talking to the person who broke up with you is that you can make up any reason why you choose.”
I laughed a little and sipped my beer. “You're right. Of course you are. I need to talk to her and see what she says.”
Even after moving all day in the swelter, I looked about as good as I ever did when I left the house and headed to the little club she was playing at with her friend. Corset, long lace dress, high boots and striped stockings. I sat down at the bus stop and this young grad student immediately tried to pick me up. When I walked into the place I dropped jaws. It felt good.
I walked up to the little folding table they were using as a bar – the place is semi-legal, seriously underground. The young lesbian behind the bar could barely serve me a drink for hitting on me. She ended up pouring me five, maybe six shots of whiskey into a red solo cup for four dollars.
Yeah. I didn't stay away from the brown liquor. I was fine, though. No tears, no scenes, no stumbles.
I had a good bit of swagger when I walked into the other room, which which was a small dance floor and a smaller stage. I thought she was playing at midnight, but she was already on stage.
All my confidence drained out. There she was. There I was. Separate. Not together. It fucking hurt.
She won't be at work next week and I'm pretty happy about that. It's hard enough with most of her friends, who I thought were also my friends, avoiding me and pretending to be on their phones in the elevator or similar. Her best friend still talks to me, so at least there's that.
I can't wait to change jobs. We're going to get to – every year we get to try to go to a different area or location. She and I are trying for the same place. I really, really hope I get it and she doesn't. Not because I don't want her to be happy at work, but because I don't think I would really enjoy training with her on something new in close proximity.
A week ago I was really looking forward to that. She had told me she was, too. Now... not so much. I don't know if I can handle it.
Her set was over. I was the third person she talked to.
“Did you like it?”
“I thought it was good. Did you have fun?”
“Oh yeah! I needed that!”
“Good.” She danced near me for a minute, and then went into the other room. I gave it a bit of time and then followed her.
I touched her on the shoulder. “I'm going to go,” I said. “I'll see you next week.”
“I'm not at work next week.”
“Ok. See you soon then.”
I spent the rest of the weekend unpacking and settling. A place for everything, and similar. Runner and Medigal told me I could put my kitchen stuff in the kitchen. I didn't – everything's in my room, right where I can reach out and grab it.
It's been a rough decade, and one of the ways I cope is by keeping all of the material things I've managed to accumulate as much under my immediate control as much as possible. As coping mechanisms go it's certainly from somewhere south of sane, but it's the one I've got so it's the one I use.
When I got home I sent her a text message telling her I wanted to talk to her, sooner rather than later. She's busy with the wedding through Wednesday, and then Thursday she's celebrating her birthday with her – our – friends from work on this boat tour that goes around the rivers. I'd been planning on going too.
Yeah, not going.
We texted back and forth a few times. She suggested today. I told her I had to get my residence in order before I could deal with anything else. We're going to touch base later in the week.
I need to know what happened. I need to know why she broke things off. I was so sure we had a good thing... If I was wrong about that I don't know what I'm right about.
I'll find out soon. I hope.
I took Thursday and Friday off so I could pack, clean, move and have the weekend to unpack and settle myself in. I'm in Squirrel Hill now which is kind of amazing to me. I haven't been able to afford to live here since before I transitioned. It was a different neighborhood then, mostly just working people and the biggest population of Jewish people in the country outside of New York City. We still have the Jews, which is fine, but the rest of the population is mostly made up of wealthy foreign students and the bourgeoisie.
I'm paying double what I was paying here thirteen years ago. It's worth it – the room is nice and my housemates are reasonable. It's a nice change from the varying degrees of squalor I've been living in for most of my life as myself.
I'd only been packing for an hour and my arms already ached. It was hot. Really ridiculously hot. Also humid, like a small fan-less bathroom when you took too long in the shower. My dresser and table as well as most of my boxes were already in the van. I was about ready to take a break.
I heard a crash. It came from above me. I looked up and my face starting getting wet.
“Fantastic...”
I've got a big bay window. The room came with a bed, which isn't a thing I've had for many years, and a large desk big enough for my computer monitor, my globe, my lamp and my mirror without feeling cramped. The closer is ridiculous. Gotta be ten feet long. Two hanger-bars on either side of a central unit thing that has some shelves and drawers. Everything is hung up. My shoes and my mass market paperbacks inhabit the three box-style shelves above the hanger-bars and the majority of my oversize fiction runs in a single line atop.
It's roomy. I think I could put a six or seven-foot circle in here comfortably. Maybe I will. It's past time I started to pursue the Great Work again.
We have a washer and a dryer, an electric range and a dishwasher. There's a big friendly dog and a moderately stand-offish cat.
No Purp though. No Purp.
I backed the van into the space in front of Runner's car. I'd had to spin around the block once to figure out where my new home was. I turned off the ignition and walked up the double-flight of stone stairs up to the front porch where we smoke cigarettes and hang out with Brayden the Pooch. I had trouble with the lock. Runner heard me and opened up. It took me a few tries to get the hang of our door – it's heavy, solid and makes a good seal against the frame.
We exchanged greetings and complaints about the heat. “Did you get caught in the rain?” he asked me.
“Yeah. Good thing I conditioned my hair this morning. Absolutely not a waste of time.”
He laughed.
After my fourth or fifth trip up the stairs I was standing at the side of the van with the doors open, wondering what I should hump up there next.
Another crash, and then a torrent. Fucking great.
I like Runner. He's my age, has his own business doing some kind marketing that I haven't really asked him about. Works out of the house. He and his... girlfriend? Partner? Whatever – he and Medigal live in the back of the flat, and his office is back there, too. I like Medigal. She has a cool job. Us busy professionals, forty something, successful and in need of housemates to get by in this new gilded age.
I'm back at work tomorrow, just for the day and then I have the fourth off. Three more days and then another weekend to do... what? I used to see Purp twice a week outside of the office. I'd cook or something on Wednesday or Thursday and then one of the days on the weekend we'd spend most of it together, up to something or another.
I'm lost. I don't know what to do with myself. She's super busy. Just bought a house. sister is getting married. Played a show this weekend.
“So, she broke up with you when?” Medigal looked confused.
“Tuesday.”
“And you're going to see her play tonight.”
“Said I would.”
“Before or after she broke up with you?”
“Both.”
I had the same conversation with Bearjo Friday evening at the bar after I took the van back. He hadn't heard that she'd ended it.
“She said she didn't have any feelings for me, and that was the end. Called me here on Tuesday.”
“...She seemed like she liked you.”
“Yeah. She did. I feel... I feel like a sucker.”
“Why's that?”
“I've been doing all this emotional heavy-lifting. I took on two massive projects in the office having to do with discrimination issues we've been facing and put myself dead on the bulls-eye with management on one of them. Everything's at the point where it will move along under it's own speed. As soon as it got there... Boom. The end.”
“Well... platitudes aside, the great thing about not talking to the person who broke up with you is that you can make up any reason why you choose.”
I laughed a little and sipped my beer. “You're right. Of course you are. I need to talk to her and see what she says.”
Even after moving all day in the swelter, I looked about as good as I ever did when I left the house and headed to the little club she was playing at with her friend. Corset, long lace dress, high boots and striped stockings. I sat down at the bus stop and this young grad student immediately tried to pick me up. When I walked into the place I dropped jaws. It felt good.
I walked up to the little folding table they were using as a bar – the place is semi-legal, seriously underground. The young lesbian behind the bar could barely serve me a drink for hitting on me. She ended up pouring me five, maybe six shots of whiskey into a red solo cup for four dollars.
Yeah. I didn't stay away from the brown liquor. I was fine, though. No tears, no scenes, no stumbles.
I had a good bit of swagger when I walked into the other room, which which was a small dance floor and a smaller stage. I thought she was playing at midnight, but she was already on stage.
All my confidence drained out. There she was. There I was. Separate. Not together. It fucking hurt.
She won't be at work next week and I'm pretty happy about that. It's hard enough with most of her friends, who I thought were also my friends, avoiding me and pretending to be on their phones in the elevator or similar. Her best friend still talks to me, so at least there's that.
I can't wait to change jobs. We're going to get to – every year we get to try to go to a different area or location. She and I are trying for the same place. I really, really hope I get it and she doesn't. Not because I don't want her to be happy at work, but because I don't think I would really enjoy training with her on something new in close proximity.
A week ago I was really looking forward to that. She had told me she was, too. Now... not so much. I don't know if I can handle it.
Her set was over. I was the third person she talked to.
“Did you like it?”
“I thought it was good. Did you have fun?”
“Oh yeah! I needed that!”
“Good.” She danced near me for a minute, and then went into the other room. I gave it a bit of time and then followed her.
I touched her on the shoulder. “I'm going to go,” I said. “I'll see you next week.”
“I'm not at work next week.”
“Ok. See you soon then.”
I spent the rest of the weekend unpacking and settling. A place for everything, and similar. Runner and Medigal told me I could put my kitchen stuff in the kitchen. I didn't – everything's in my room, right where I can reach out and grab it.
It's been a rough decade, and one of the ways I cope is by keeping all of the material things I've managed to accumulate as much under my immediate control as much as possible. As coping mechanisms go it's certainly from somewhere south of sane, but it's the one I've got so it's the one I use.
When I got home I sent her a text message telling her I wanted to talk to her, sooner rather than later. She's busy with the wedding through Wednesday, and then Thursday she's celebrating her birthday with her – our – friends from work on this boat tour that goes around the rivers. I'd been planning on going too.
Yeah, not going.
We texted back and forth a few times. She suggested today. I told her I had to get my residence in order before I could deal with anything else. We're going to touch base later in the week.
I need to know what happened. I need to know why she broke things off. I was so sure we had a good thing... If I was wrong about that I don't know what I'm right about.
I'll find out soon. I hope.
7 years ago