Neuroqueer Neurofemme Neuroprole

Attraction to men was a precipitating factor for downward mobility among trans women, precisely because it disposed those with transfeminine desires to actually live a transfeminine life.

He frames trans women attracted to women as being a white, upper-class, homophobic oppressor class who considered themselves at least partially 'heterosexual men', and claims they had a deep disdain for and privilege over trans women attracted to men (who were all non-white street queens), and then only in the 1980s began to re-evaluate their self-identity to become 'lesbians'

Every now and then a difficult period like this comes along: so it's time to request some assistance.

I've kind of been neglecting my vision for the past year or so, aware that I needed new glasses (and to go have a consult for possible eye-related surgery), but putting it off... and now the situation has, as it were, come home to roost.

The other day, when I was typing something and then (to check it before posting) had to pick up the Mac and hold it up to my nose to see what I'd typed... I realized that if this went on much longer, even with dictation (because after you dictate, you still have to edit...), I wouldn't be able to write.

That would be bad.

I need to go see my Eye Lady, get examined, and get both sets of glasses re-fitted with new prescriptions. This—as usual, each time it needs to be done every year and a half or two years, due to Weird Eyes—is going to run into a low-four-figure-ish kind of money. And due to other recent unexpected medical expenses, right now there's not enough dosh around (or spondoolicks or whatever term you prefer...) to get things sorted.

Therefore: can I get people interested in keeping a writer, you know, writing (as I've got three novels working at once at the moment...), to consider doing one of these things?

(a) Go over to Ebooks Direct and buy a book. (Or a bundle. Or a gift card for somebody else who might like my work.) And if you do: thanks so much!

(b) Stop by my Ko-Fi and drop a little something in the pot. It'll be most appreciated.

And if you can't do either of the above:

(c) Reblog this and let other people see it?

Rainbow text: STOP giving me life advice!

Regular text on all the following lines, until noted otherwise:

- I didn't fucking ask.

- I don't know you. I have no reason to think that you know what you're talking about.

- Your advice is stupid and it makes you look stupid.

- A two sentence facetious tumblr post does not give you enough context about my life to offer advice.

- I didn't fucking ask.

- I don't know you and you don't know what you're talking about.

- If your smug little off-the-cuff response took you less than five minutes to think of, I guarantee I've already tried it or it doesn't apply to my situation.

- Because you don't know what you're talking about.

- And I'm not a fucking idiot.

- Your advice sure makes you look like a fucking idiot though.

- It's bad advice. That I didn't ask for.

- It's stupid advice and it makes you look stupid.

- Seriously, just think for like five seconds. About how conceited and self-aggrandising you're being. And how stupid you clearly must think I am.

- When you assume that your thirty seconds musing on a situation you know nothing about is somehow valuable to me.

- Because clearly I'm too much of a fucking idiot to think of something that obvious by myself. Good thing I have your genius take to remind me that thrift shops or food pantries or farmer's markets or Etsy or whatever the fuck you're recommending exists.

- Good thing I have you dipshits to tell me how to grow a garden or cook a soup or use up my lemons or eggs or choose birthday presents.

- Too bad I didn't fucking ask.

- I've been polite about your stupid fucking ideas for years and my patience is running thin. I'm about to start blocking you motherfuckers.

- STOP GIVING ME LIFE ADVICE.

Rainbow text: I didn't fucking ask!

my friend's 5 year old recently got a toy veterinary medicine set - it's super cool, like one of those mini play kitchens a lot of kids have, but it's set up to pretend to be a vet (it's this thing) - it has stuffed animals and things to weigh them, give them medicine, take x-rays, write on their charts, etc.

so this kid, who is five and to my knowledge has no experience in the administrative bureaucracy of modern healthcare, puts a stuffed pig named Piggy on the exam table. she pretends to draw blood from Piggy using a fake syringe, and the blood goes into a toy test tube vial that she calls "the resulter"

i'm playing with her, right, so i'm like, awesome, what are the results of Piggy's blood test? and she says "we have to send it to the scientists." so we send the vial to the scientists (put it in her bedroom) and when we get back to the vet playset i'm like awesome what did the scientists say? and she says they have not gotten back to us yet

so she rolls her eyes, exasperated, and says we have to call the scientists. she pretends to call them. apparently, they tell her that Piggy's blood test is "at the bottom of the list" and "we have to WAIT." she frowns. we wait a bit longer and call them back. they tell us it will be a while! she says we should go ask the scientists in person so we go back to her bedroom and she inquires at this imaginary lab, at which point the scientists yell at her and tell her now they will make us wait even longer!

keep in mind she is 100% directing this play. she is making all this up. she is fully in control of this game, and she has decided that what we are going to pretend is that we are dealing with this exhausting nonsense, not actually treating Piggy.

finally the blood tests come back. they are inconclusive. the scientists do not know what is wrong with Piggy. the little girl walks back to the stuffed pig on the exam table, sighs deeply, and says in a very serious voice "we can never help you."

i'm obsessed with this kid. when given complete control over a make believe scenario, instead of becoming the heroic rescuer administering effective cures, she is instead a beleaguered vet making multiple calls to an overworked lab only to be left unable to help her patient.

it was like,,, their second to third case together.