Published April 27, 2025 

Please put good thoughts into the cosmos for me. I rarely go anywhere, but now I have an event I’d like to attend if my mental and physical health will cooperate.

I’m still on medical leave from work, sleeping off and on at least half of every day, and when I woke up before dawn today I saw a story about a local fundraiser for the trans community.

Kiggins Theatre is a cool place I first heard about when I was a copy editor for the local paper. You may remember it for its fun social media posts with movie quotes on its marquee during the early days of the pandemic. I bought popcorn there when I could to support a local business struggling to stay open.

I’m so happy to have the chance to go to Queer Night Out. It’s so close I could bunny-hop a few times and be there, but I’m probably going to have to hail a ride. I’m not doing well. But I want to make sure there’s at least one transgender person in the audience. I’ll also stop by the bookstore whose brainchild it is and thank them.

My plan is to crowdfund the most expensive ticket possible to help raise money for a good cause. If you’d like to participate, please check out my Tip Jar link below. After a busy week of appointments and other expenses, I can still afford a $25 ticket, but I’d like to give a boost to the local organizations who will benefit.

A sincere thank you for anything you can do.

Thank you

If you appreciate what you find here and feel generous, you can check out the Tip Jar. Thank you for reading. Here’s a butterfly for you.

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Bonus content

Here’s one you shouldn’t skip. Séamas O’Reilly consistently writes winners, and I’ve shared some of them before. This one’s a must-read.

We love it when a cisgender person gets it and says what needs to be said.

This “moral panic,” this “culture war” nonsense, is a manufactured crisis. It’s easier to blame us for society’s actual problems than to try to fix them. The people in power now have no idea how to lead. We’re an easy target for them to shift the focus away from that fact.

The post A local fundraiser for the trans community is just the ticket for me appeared first on CarlyJDubois.com.

Published April 24, 2025

How much more do people need to see? The Trump administration, according to reports based on leaked documents, wants to eliminate all funding for a federal program whose central mission is life-saving crisis support for LGBTQIA+ teens and youth.

The same Republican Party that considers a declining birth rate an emergency of epic proportions and has thrust weirdo pro-natalist wackos into the national conversation, doesn’t seem to embrace the 2020ish refrain that “all lives matter.”

I’m so tired.

Reports vary on how to interpret the news. This is, after all, the flood-the-zone-with-shit administration. We see trial balloons  We see outright lies. Supportive reactions people on Facebook are telling me about are disturbingly bigoted. It’s all so gross.

Every day there are dozens of stories I could share, but holy fuck. Do people still not know who the bad guys are?

My status

I am still on leave from work and applying for long-term disability. My clinic says I am nowhere near ready to return to my job.

Many kind people are doing wonderful things for me. A neighbor is bringing me stir-fry today. He feeds me about once a week. Another neighbor has helped me with my hair. Friends check in on me.

A friend is buying me a new portable AC so that if my 10-year-old unit conks out this summer, I’m ready. I first used that one the day Trump came down the escalator in June 2015 to announce his candidacy for president. Both — the horrible man and the powerhouse Pinguino — are still alive against all odds, but maybe it’s time to say farewell, huh?

This is another important week for me. My future is riding on a lot that will happen.

If there’s a law in place that says I can’t look cute at the medical clinic, I’m ignoring it. When I have more energy, I will tell you about the Betty Boop T-shirt I am wearing in this photo and its significance to me.

Almost six months after the election that put me on the floor and was followed by my posting what is essentially a suicide note online, there are still people I’d have thought would have called or written, but people have been surprising me in all sorts of ways. Maybe they don’t even know transgender people are targeted for eradication. Who knows?

I’m grateful for and focused on the ones who show up. They are a big reason my life force is fighting so hard. Whatever parts of me that want to come back to life, I probably owe to their kindness. If I someday slide across a ballroom floor in a magnificent dress and in defiance of the odds, I’ll dance with the ones that brung me.

You are probably one of the people who have done a kindness or two for me. I’m so grateful. Thank you.

Sending love.

Main photo by Lia Koltyrina via Shutterstock.

Here’s a song for you

Many years ago, I could play it so well that wedding singers would track me down and say they heard I was the person to call if you wanted a guitarist to play “The Water is Wide.” I could play it in my sleep. In fact, I still do. My fingers know where to go, and I dream I am playing it perfectly.

As I relearn how to play, my fingers can’t get there yet, but I have hope. Muscle memory is a funny thing. So is rust.

Thank you

If you appreciate what you find here and feel generous, you can check out the Tip Jar. Thank you for reading. Here’s a butterfly for you.

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The post The ‘pro-life’ party wants to defund suicide hotlines? appeared first on CarlyJDubois.com.

Published April 14, 2025

Whatever day it was — a week ago, I see — I told you I bought a guitar. I am slowly adding accessories. It’s therapeutic, 162 days into this leave from work.

It almost didn’t get to me, but my gig bag finally landed on my welcome mat (which has butterflies on it, of course). My building is filled with honest, kind neighbors.

Although I wasn’t 100 percent sure of the contents, I was fairly confident my guitar gig bag was inside.

I was right.

It’s like it was made for me, yes?

I took several photos, so I might as well show them to you.

There’s been a purple-ish makeover going on in my kitchen since late last year, and maybe someday soon I’ll clean enough to show you.

But how about that case, huh? It seems happy here.

When was the last normal April?

In April 2017, I was preparing to come out as transgender, slowly letting managers at work know. I laugh now thinking about how I gradually began changing what I wore to the office on Sundays, dipping my toes in the process. Those clothes were not nearly as dramatic a change as what was coming, but I needed the slow bloom.

On April 2, 2018, a co-worker totaled my parked car by crashing into it while I was at my desk on what had been a routine night of editing. My whole life changed. With lucky timing, I found an apartment six short blocks from work and moved into it from 8 miles away. I could walk if necessary. My car was repairable; I bought it back from the insurance company for $114. I had to pay two months’ rent for April, two months’ rent for May, plus moving expenses, plus a deposit, and I moved.

I spent the last 12 days of April 2019 in the hospital after emergency gallbladder surgery and a follow-up surgery. During that stretch I had a close call with death, and my voice has never been the same for whatever reason, but I survived.

April 2020 was early enough in the pandemic to … well, you know what that was like. My hours were cut from 40 a week to 22 on the heels of a major financial blow. By April 2021, I had a different job and was halfway between having my car stolen for the first time (Feb. 28) and the second time (June 20). Life put many obstacles in front of me.

My state of mind in April 2022 is obvious if you read the second story hyperlinked in the first paragraph above. We were still in a pandemic in April 2023, although the end of the COVID-19 Public Health Emergency in May fueled the erroneous belief that we were in a post-COVID world. Some of us continued to take precautions. Still do.

I don’t remember April 2024.

Now it’s April 2025. Was 2016 the last “normal” April?

I don’t know where to go with this

After making the collage I used as a featured image for this post, I put it in a LinkedIn post.

I haven’t worked in 162 days. Sometimes, being away, even under awful circumstances you’d never wish upon anyone, you learn so much about your professional self. I have everything I need for big-league editing. In a given shift, I might need a book to inspire me more than to guide me, tea to refuel and warm me, reminders that recharge my battery, and even a creative outlet to help me solve a problem by setting it aside for a few minutes.

A version of this collage included a decorative ampersand against a lavender-themed drying mat I turned into a companion piece of wall art. This one feels right. I call it: Pieces of April I’ll look back on, some morning in May.

I’ve got resources at my fingertips and editing buddies near and far, although some might consider Rarity a stretch. My Wonder Woman action figure would laugh at them, though she’s mostly the strong, silent type.

You’ve got everything you need. You’ve got this. Be confident, be fearless. You know what you are doing. Let each piece of your April give you peace in your April.

Hat tips to Karen Yin and Nadia Geagea Pupa and many, many others represented in spirit here.

Possibly, hopefully, maybe, I’ll show you the other collage someday. Unsurprisingly, there’s a lot of maybe these days.

Why can’t I remember April 2024? Surely it’s part of the fog of 1,857 straight days of mostly being alone inside this tiny apartment, afraid of what I knew was coming in November and every day after.

There’s nothing else to say. I hope you’ll enjoy the images. Pieces of April I’ll look back on, on some morning in May.

Why is this the most surreal (and scary) of Aprils for me? I’m a trans woman in America in 2025. Enough said.

If you spot a grammatical error or some other inconsequential mistake, please know:

Sending love.

Thank you

If you appreciate what you find here and feel generous, you can check out the Tip Jar. Thank you for reading. Here’s a butterfly for you.

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Oh, one more thing

Calm down, folks, it was just an attempted assassination of a Jewish Democratic governor and his family on the first night of Passover, it’s not like somebody spray painted a dick on a Cybertruck.

— The Volatile Mermaid (@ohnoshetwitnt.bsky.social) April 13, 2025 at 7:24 PM

The post Pieces of April, I call them, in the most surreal of my surreal Aprils appeared first on CarlyJDubois.com.

Published April 10, 2025

There’s a lot going on. As usual lately, I don’t have the energy to do much of the telling. So as usual lately, I’ll let others deliver much of the mail today.

First, let me say that I’ve continued to update Monday’s story. You might want to see what’s new.

Those updates segue into today’s updates.

You may recall that a week ago the Fox News stock ticker vanished. Interesting timing.

Yesterday, it came back.

stock ticker is back on fox news, roflmao

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— Oliver Willis (@owillis.bsky.social) April 9, 2025 at 11:16 AM

What happened in the interim? Let’s have a look.

Your wallet is being cleaned out by expert pickpockets. This is criminal. Literally criminal. I call for an IMMEDIATE investigation into who knew what, when, and what they did with the info. You can bet the Admin and many here in DC are considerably richer tonight than they were this morning.

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— Rep. Chrissy Houlahan (@houlahan.house.gov) April 9, 2025 at 1:14 PM

Yeah, I think people know what happened.

Any traders with inside information that Trump was going to walk back his tariffs — some of them, presumably, Trump family members and cronies — just made a fortune.

It all feels like chaos until you look more closely at who is winning.

— Robert Reich (@rbreich.bsky.social) April 9, 2025 at 3:23 PM

People who get their information solely from Fox News might not know. Luckily, a series of indicators can be handy for this.

How to understand the stock market if you only watch Fox News

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— The Daily Show (@thedailyshow.com) April 9, 2025 at 11:12 AM

This is a 12 alarm fire for the economy. If being friends with the president and giving him kickbacks makes you exempt from large import taxes Vs your competitors, it will stratify the whole economy and push corruption and loyalty and political controls deep into the private sector

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— Pwnallthethings (@pwnallthethings.bsky.social) April 10, 2025 at 12:51 AM

This is quite literally what killed the Soviet economy

— Pwnallthethings (@pwnallthethings.bsky.social) April 10, 2025 at 12:52 AM

We are being governed by chaos agents working against us.

Rep. Steven Horsford to Greer: “So the trade representative hasn’t spoken to the POTUS about a global reordering of trade, but yet he announced it on a tweet? WTF! Who is in charge? It looks like your boss just pulled the rug out from under you. There is no strategy … is this market manipulation?”

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— Aaron Rupar (@atrupar.com) April 9, 2025 at 11:18 AM

That pain in the neck you feel is whiplash.

So about my new religion

I don’t know if it’s really that, but I saw something a couple of days ago that got my attention. It’s there in the featured image above, but it bears repeating.

As best I can tell, it dates to the day after the election, when I was on the floor and Margaret Killjoy was writing those words for her readers.

Deescalate all conflict that isn’t with the enemy.
Deescalate all conflict that isn’t with the enemy.
Deescalate all conflict that isn’t with the enemy.

I don’t care whether you hyphenate that first word or not. It doesn’t fucking matter.

This thing can get tricky when it comes to knowing who your enemy is. But I think that’s as clear as it’s ever been in my lifetime. Anyway, that’s up to others to decide for themselves. I’ve got a pretty good handle on it these days. The people who want to eradicate trans people, and those who support that goal, are at the top of the list.

You do you. I’ll be me.

Butterfly Wednesday

I had another round of treatment to address my ongoing medical mystery. My outfit leaned hard into butterflies.

Those Vans are new. Wednesday was their public debut. They were a big hit.

As was this T-shirt.

I almost forgot about my lilac butterfly sunglasses. Very popular out and about. Handy, too, for someone whose limbs shake so much now that putting on eye makeup or doing her brows is out of the question.

Speaking of T-shirts

Mom had BOOP (Bronchiolitis Obliterans Organizing Pneumonia) in the months before she died of complications of lymphoma. She soon had a collection of Betty Boop items as a way to wink at the scariness of it all.

I realized a couple of weeks ago that I could have this T-shirt for shoulder injections and give nasty illnesses the cold shoulder (and think of her).

Betty Boop arrived late Wednesday, too late for my latest injection, but she’s in my closet for next time. And the next.

Wednesday was rougher than you’d think looking at these photos. I stopped at a grocery store to see if I could do it. I watched the steady flow of people going inside and really didn’t think I can do it. This country and its people scare me now IRL.

I kept my friends on Bluesky Social informed.

Didn’t go in. Vertigo showed up at the worst time. And now I’m freaked and frozen. Stay with me awhile?

And later:

Actually stuck here and kinda terrified right now. Going to try going places after my clinic was a bad idea. I do t k ow if I can figure oit how to get home. They’re tearing up the streets. Suns in my eyes. Ears popping. Vertigo worse. If I die please note I look good today.

Didn’t notice the typos. Not correcting them.

I did get home, but I had to ask for directions because of closed roads downtown.

I couldn’t go left because it was a one-way street. Couldn’t go straight because the road was closed. A right turn would put me headed to Oregon or to the other end of town. I went inside my neighborhood convenience store, where I learned of a dipsy doodle that may or may not  have been legal but got me home.

So many stories from that store. Longtime followers have heard them all. Like when I went in and my phone just started playing this song and we were all like everyone in Shawshank for 4 minutes, quiet and lifted out of our dreary lives.

An update on my leave

My latest note from my clinic tells my employer(s) that the earliest I could return to work is July 1. That’s well beyond the 180 days covered by short-term disability. A claim for long-term disability is in the works.

I can’t work. Can’t function. Words won’t come. Typos will. These sentences take longer to build than you might think.

Hand-eye coordination and language skills are shot. Physically, mentally, emotionally, I’m still a wreck. I’m a trans woman in America in 2025. If you don’t think that’s so hard, try it. Look at how much they hate us. That’s how much they want us gone.

1. Trump has officially defunded school lunches in Maine for kids and disabled adults because of transgender people.

Trump is holding the funds hostage and will allow kids to go hungry unless Maine discriminates.

The latest from S. Baum.

Subscribe to support our journalism.

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— Erin Reed (@erininthemorning.com) April 9, 2025 at 3:56 PM

Before you go, please look at this

I got this message a few days ago and wanted to show it to you (with permission).

Keep being you. Someone is watching you, and you are probably helping them. If you aren’t, there’s still time to be a good example.

Sending love.

Thank you

If you appreciate what you find here and feel generous, you can check out the Tip Jar. Thank you for reading. Here’s a butterfly for you.

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The post My new religion, and an update on a few things appeared first on CarlyJDubois.com.

Published April 7, 2025

This machine kills fascists. I probably won’t write that on my new guitar, but I’ll probably buy some stickers and put them somewhere close to it. Maybe on the case when I can buy one.

You know who Woody Guthrie was, right? Boy, would he be pissed off right now.

This land was made for you and me.

My goodness, the songs. Look them up. They’ll keep you busy.

If he were around today, he’d be writing about the dumbass-ification we see in politics every day. He’d go after them all.

That’s from Chuck D.

Woody had fun, too. He didn’t just kill fascists.

You owe it to yourself to listen to that. It should start at the right place, but if it doesn’t, steer it to the 5:56 mark. Trust me.

Like I said, I have a guitar again

The Seagull guitar is the first regular guitar I’ve bought since 1981. I bought a couple of Martin parlor guitars 25 years ago and gave them to my nephew, a more accomplished guitarist than I’ll ever be.

My favorite story about playing guitar goes back to when I played in church every Sunday. One of the members of our group played an album for me at his house, focusing on one song in particular.

The live version, which he played for me, is not on YouTube. It’s my favorite version, slower and more sparse than the version above. There are videos of other people playing the song, but no videos I can find of the live version.

We played instrumentals during parts of the Mass, and I was always looking for something new to play. When I heard the concert version of John Pell’s song, I told my friend, “I want to learn it and play it in church someday.”

He was skeptical.

“If you could play like that,” he said, “you wouldn’t be playing here with us.”

It sounded like a challenge.

I couldn’t figure it out

At first, I was stumped. My fingers and limited guitar knowledge couldn’t make it happen.

I’d been rewinding the song back to the part after the spoken introduction, when Pell began playing it for real, and I continued to be frustrated. Then one day I started it from the beginning, and I heard something along with Joe Wise’s intro.

I didn’t know about open tunings, so this blew my mind. Pell was lowering the top E string down to a D note. I suspected he may have changed the A string below it down to a G.

Tinkering with it, I was on my way.

To someone like me, it was as if someone had given me a typewriter with a DVORAK key configuration instead of the more standard QWERTY arrangement and expected me to be able to type normally. This was the guitar version of that for me. Guitar without a map.

I practiced and practiced until it was “good enough,” as close as I could get it, with me able to play it without mishap. The song sounds better on a nylon-string guitar than one with steel strings, so I needed to borrow my friend’s nylon-string Ovation guitar to debut the song. I picked a Sunday when I was ready and didn’t tell anyone what I’d be playing.

He looked puzzled when I changed the tuning of the guitar. This was going to be fun.

I played it without a hitch

The congregants got their host, the body of Christ, and went back to their seats. While they reflected in the pews, I began playing the song.

I never looked at my friend, and I don’t recall if he ever said anything to me about it, but his respect for my musicianship seemed to jump up a notch or two.

After being doubted that I could ever “play like that,” I stuck around and kept playing at the church. Didn’t take my guitar and head off seeking fame and fortune. I did stop playing for years at a time, and with fatter, tired hands and fingers now, relearning will be hard.

And I face another challenge.

I’ve got to learn how to play with longer, manicured fingernails.

But hey, Dolly Parton does it, right? And she recorded her first record in my hometown, riding a bus for hours to do so, so this will work out, yes?

Anyway, if I am going to stay alive, I’m going to need something to do to distract me from the  horrors between sleeps and while I try to recover as my leave from work continues. Find yourself a way to survive the madness.

I won’t likely ever dazzle anyone again with my guitar-playing ability, but I can maybe kill fascists, yes? She’s finally ready to play, so here’s one last look at her.

I was so excited when I found out it was ready to play, the action all set for my tired old fingers, and the neck was straight. Good to go.

The excitement got the best of me, and the man who brought me lunch saw me trying to spring back to life. Poor man, he was so flustered.

Wouldn’t you have been?

Sending love.

Thank you

If you appreciate what you find here and feel generous, you can check out the Tip Jar. Thank you for reading. Here’s a butterfly for you.

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Photo looking down a guitar neck by Nik Waller Productions via Shutterstock.

Photo of a woman tuning a guitar by Vitalii Stock via Shutterstock.

Photo of a person with nail polish on their fingernails by Serge Vo via Shutterstock.

Postscript

Two summers ago, I thought of my friend from the folk group for the first time in many years. I searched his name online and learned he’d died the week before. It was a blow.

He was protective of me, and generous with his time and help. And despite how this “I’ll show him” story might read, I have only fond memories of him.

Remember some of us sitting around playing “Seagull?” There’s no relationship that I know of, but it makes me smile that this guitar is a Seagull.

Rest in peace, Freddie.

The post In other news, I have a guitar again appeared first on CarlyJDubois.com.

Published April 7, 2025

Administrations do bad things all the time, but this man and his stooges are toying with us. Today will be remembered for a long time. There will be more days like it.

I was so wound up last night I couldn’t sleep, so I watched Bloomberg Television’s “The Opening Bell” show after midnight while Asian markets were reacting. My screen was a sea of red.

To date, markets have fallen ~16% since Trump’s 2nd inauguration.
Here’s the same period to date for other recent presidential administrations.

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— Catherine Rampell (@crampell.bsky.social) April 7, 2025 at 3:49 PM

Obama inherited the mess from Bush that nearly killed the entire global economy. Biden inherited cleanup duties after Trump’s poor COVID-19 response and other irresponsible mismanagement. This one’s unforced error after unforced error.

And that’s “just” the markets. The man-made mess is everywhere.

At the Internal Revenue Service (IRS), which ordered its workers back to the office four weeks ago, the $1 limit caused significant problems for those back in the office. www.wired.com/story/federa…

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— WIRED (@wired.com) April 7, 2025 at 8:31 AM

We knew today was coming. All of the political cartoonists had time to work on their sketches of our cartoon-villain president.

Monday’s @theguardian.com cartoon
theguardian.com/commentisfre…
#trump #tariffs #TradePolicy #tradewar #stockmarketcrash

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— Ella Baron (@ellabaron.bsky.social) April 6, 2025 at 10:59 AM

It’s not just one man

But we really need to come to an understanding and an agreement and have a reckoning about this notion that all of this is because of ONE MAN. If someone really believes that, they have misread the worst moment of their lifetime in the worst way.

From the minute he came down the escalator in late June 2015, a steady stream of people put their cowardice on full display while millions of others were emboldened to seize the opportunity to be as cruel as possible. Many, many people own this. He’s just the face of it.

A lot of people voted for him. Twice.

Speaking of that …

when people say “this isn’t what I voted for” they should be forced to list what they DID vote for

— shauna (@goldengateblond.bsky.social) April 6, 2025 at 6:55 PM

Yeah.

This is really unfair to everyone who just voted for him for the racism.

— Ken Jennings (@kenjennings.bsky.social) April 6, 2025 at 5:18 PM

After all, this is America we’re talking about.

There were public pools all over America. They filled them with concrete rather than let Black people enjoy them.

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— Melanie Dione (@thegatesofmel.bsky.social) April 7, 2025 at 7:03 AM

This is America we’re talking about.

The money is going to what now

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— Laura Bassett (@lebassett.bsky.social) April 7, 2025 at 7:52 AM

“Our client, who was in the middle of seeking asylum, just disappeared.”

Lindsay Toczylowski represents 31-year-old Andry, a gay makeup artist from Venezuela who was flown to a notorious prison by the Trump administration after seeking asylum in the U.S.

MORE: www.cbsnews.com/news/venezue…

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— 60 Minutes (@60minutes.bsky.social) April 6, 2025 at 6:53 PM

This is America we’re talking about.

Anyway, who cares about the market crashing as long as you can say whatever you want, right?

let’s check in on this wanker

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— Sasha Talebi (@sashat.bsky.social) April 7, 2025 at 11:14 AM

Anyway, back to those crashing sounds you’re hearing …

I don’t think it’s being talked about enough that Trump is basing his tariff assaults on Peter Navarro, and Navaro’s theories rest on the “research” of “Ron Varo” which is an economist he made up and cited for decades: www.youtube.com/watch?v=oP-e…

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— Clara Jeffery (@clarajeffery.bsky.social) April 7, 2025 at 8:37 AM

Here is that video in full:

They are playing with us like a child plays with a yo-yo.

It’s extremely funny how markets thought that they were saved based on a single fake tweet saying a 90 day pause is coming only for Trump to say he’s ready for a trade war with China to go all the way to an outright trade ban

— Hikouki- (@hikoukihikouki9.bsky.social) April 7, 2025 at 8:29 AM

CNBC: The white House wants to make it very clear now that the president is not considering a pause [and] is full steam ahead on his tariff agenda.

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— Nikki McCann Ramírez (@nikkimcr.bsky.social) April 7, 2025 at 8:08 AM

Flood the zone with shit. Make every day an emotional roller coaster. That’s a big part of all of this.

So this April 2nd, tariffs are a go, right?

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— Paul Leigh -Some Rascal on the Internet (@pleightx.bsky.social) March 31, 2025 at 9:48 AM

Make people argue about whether the point is cruelty or chaos or dozens of other things underscored by incompetence and greed.

I’m sorry, but isn’t this just the Cultural Revolution 2.0? Why on earth would fired aid workers and NIH medical researchers go to work on assembly lines for worse salaries in jobs they don’t know how to do? Why are they getting their economic policy from Mao?

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— Patrick Meyers (@pmeyers7.bsky.social) April 7, 2025 at 9:23 AM

I wonder how many people don’t even know what’s going on.

Rural voters are living in an informational vacuum. Fox and OANN are not even showing the Dow, the S&P, the NASDAQ. They know their audience cannot handle any negative news but need to be constantly reinforced with nonstop pro-Republican, pro-Trump, pro-MAGA news because they can’t handle the truth.

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— jkavanagh.bsky.social (@jkavanagh.bsky.social) April 7, 2025 at 2:21 PM

This is an example of the thinking being broadcast by Fox News.

The skeleton key to understanding reactionary conservatism is quite simple: they are scared, all the time, of everything.

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— David Roberts (@volts.wtf) April 8, 2025 at 10:04 AM

Hang in there

I don’t know how this day will end, but my thoughts are with you. Today is a scary day for a lot of people, and we aren’t nearly done with the scary days. We haven’t even made it through the first 100 days of this term. I may update this later. For now, I have to see if my brain remembers how to do basic tasks.

Also: Watch out for scams. The other kind.

Featured image by Gannvector via Shutterstock.

Thank you

If you appreciate what you find here and feel generous, you can check out the Tip Jar. Thank you for reading. Here’s a butterfly for you.

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And … we told you she was horrible

Happy International Fake Oppression Day to everyone who wants complete strangers to know they don’t fancy a shag. pic.twitter.com/xkBhbWqP5z

— J.K. Rowling (@jk_rowling) April 6, 2025

What a shitty person.

Never forget;
1. Bigots never stick to one type of bigotry.
2. Rowling is a supporter of the LGB Alliance, an anti-LGBTQ+ organisation claiming to be for LGB people, but instead spend money on things like a lecture claiming that the Ace is self-hating gay people from tumblr, and I am not joking.

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— Jack ‘o’ Flames (@jackoftheflames.bsky.social) April 7, 2025 at 1:49 PM

Some people have lost their minds about us.

As an aside, I saw that the White House vowed “as a matter of policy” not to respond to reporters who use pronouns in their email signatures.

Is this dumb and an attempt to distract from Trump destroying the global economy? Yes.

Did I still run a test? Yes.

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— Jen Bendery (@jbendery.bsky.social) April 9, 2025 at 9:39 AM

And check this out.

John Oliver’s new segment on trans people in sports is pretty good. On content I give it like 7 or 8 out of 10, but you should def go watch it. It’s so surreal seeing a high production quality media team actually do some research and treating trans people as human

youtu.be/flSS1tjoxf0?…

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— Katy Montgomerie (@katymontgomerie.com) April 8, 2025 at 4:13 PM

It’s not available in the UK but VPNs are

I don’t think I’ve seen something like this in so long. They did research, they talked to trans people, they dipped their toes into talking about transphobia. Can you imagine if even 10% of big budget media about trans people was like this

— Katy Montgomerie (@katymontgomerie.com) April 8, 2025 at 4:13 PM

Made me feel a bit emotional imagining a world where we got a fair chance in the media. Can you imagine if there was a UK org that did stuff like this and did one on Wes Streeting and conversion therapy. The media landscape is so unjust

— Katy Montgomerie (@katymontgomerie.com) April 8, 2025 at 4:15 PM

Hat tip to Parker Malloy for first making me aware of the segment.

I’ll try to have something better for you soon.

The post Thoughts and prayers today for your 401(k) appeared first on CarlyJDubois.com.

Published April 5, 2025

Sunday, April 5, 2015, began as just another day. Due at work by 3, I set the DVR to record “Mad Men.” I began to drive to the office, popping in a random CD.

Green Day’s “Wake Me Up When September Ends” was first. Neil Diamond’s “Heartlight” was last. Somewhere between them was Peggy Lee’s “Is That All There Is?” I remember thinking I hadn’t heard it in a long time, and I’d forgotten I’d put it on what was essentially a mix tape. If someone had been with me in the car, I’d have been like this guy.

(I can’t do this one without some comic relief. Also, if that’s not a “Seinfeld” clip, please refresh the page until it is. Weird things are happening on smartphones today.)

Peggy Lee’s song took the wheel from me for the rest of the day and, in a sense, for the next decade. It was my stealth soundtrack for my entire work shift. As always, it put me back in a neighborhood bar where I spent a lot of time — years before it was legal for me to do so. It was a “holy shit” moment to remember the song, but not the biggest holy shit moment of the day. That was still to come.

Unexpectedly hearing it in the car set up an ending to my day that rocketed to the top of my extensive collection of “You Couldn’t Make This Up” unexplainable stories.

This is a story that has been trying to get me to write it for 10 years.

I didn’t see it coming

Nine hours after leaving for work, I got home and pressed the play button. I’m a big fan of Mike Nichols, who had died since the last previous episode of “Mad Men,” so this struck a chord.

Then came the show’s usual intro music and credits. Barely two minutes into an episode titled “Severance,” the wild-ass moment happened. I probably hadn’t unwrapped the steak quesadilla I’d picked up on the way home. My jaw dropped. You’ll see and hear why.

Truly, what are the odds?

Bar talk

My dad was an alcoholic. That’s not something I knew to say before he died in November 1980, when I was 19. No one spoke it until years later. As maligned as the saying “it was a different time” is, it was a different time. Things people whispered to each other included divorce, massage, even toilet paper, often politely abbreviated as “T.P.”

And alcoholic or alcoholism.

My dad wasn’t a sloppy, beat-us-when-he-got home alcoholic. He was a maintenance drinker. He needed beer, and lots of it, to get through life. I found out why years after he died. I’ll keep that part to myself. The cigarettes are probably what killed him at 52, but the alcohol probably contributed.

I watched him drink countless beers at home, on fishing trips, and at the neighborhood bar when I was a toddler. I’ve got more questions than answers about how my parents worked out that last one, but it seemed normal to me. A lot of people there seemed like extended family.

It wasn’t until one night after my grade-school football team finally won a game that I sensed there might be something unusual about my going to the bar with my dad. “Can we go to Mr. Henry’s?” I excitedly asked my parents on the field. They rushed to shush me, with people all around us, and I didn’t know why. Mr. Henry was his name, not the name of the bar, so why the fuss? What did I do wrong?

I don’t remember if my dad and I went that night, but I recall plenty of nights and Saturday afternoons there. I felt like a semi-regular, at 6, at 8, at 12, at 14, and the odd age here and there. It’s not as if it was a well-kept secret. Classmates would say, “Hey, I see your dad’s truck at that bar a lot.”

One of them reminded me about that a few years ago before she died.

Cue Peggy Lee

The bar was small, with beer-sponsored LSU football schedule posters and other standard fare on the walls over the years. After my dad died, his photo was added to a Wall of Fame that I don’t think I ever saw. Somewhere along the way, I misplaced my wallet-sized copy.

I’m sure I heard “Is That All There Is?” on the radio at home or in his truck before hearing it in the bar, but that happened at least once. I couldn’t tell you now if there was a jukebox in the place or just a radio on a shelf, but there was music. And occasionally, dancing.

Memory is a funny thing, but in my mind’s eye there are middle-aged men and women shuffling their feet together as Peggy Lee sings the song, released in November 1969.

And when I was 12 years old
My daddy took me to the circus
The greatest show on Earth
There were clowns and elephants, dancing bears
And a beautiful lady in pink tights
flew high above our heads

“A circus, clowns and elephants, dancing bears, a lady in pink, the greatest show on Earth,” a friend of mine said last month. “Sounds like a bar to me.”

Yeah, now that you mention it. I guess my daddy did take me to the circus.

If that’s all there is, my friends
Then let’s keep dancing
Let’s break out the booze and have a ball
If that’s all … there is

Trust me, my friend could write this story better than I can. But I press on, recalling a feeling I had many times long ago, whether I was standing quietly at a rock concert or experiencing something for the first time after hearing people rave about it. Is this … it?

And as I sat there watching
I had the feeling that something was missing
I don’t know what, but
When it was over
I said to myself
Is that all there is to the circus?

Since rewatching the “Severance” episode of “Mad Men” (not to be confused with the current TV show “Severance”), I find myself thinking about my conversation with my writer friend.

“A meditation on memory,” he imagined this story being. “How a song sometimes fits you.”

I wanted to capture that “holy shit” moment for you when “Mad Men” surprised me by letting me hear “Is That All There Is?” for only the second time in at least five years — and the second time in less than 10 hours. I don’t think I’ve ever been that good of a writer. You might have to help me and use your imagination to join me in that moment 10 years ago.

Things like this happen to all of us, though, right? They seem to happen to me a lot. A LOT. But you probably have similar stories, yes? Could you feel the goosebumps?

An online friend of mine, Vicki Addesso, is another writer, and when I saw this on a social media feed of hers, I asked for and got permission to use it here. It seemed to fit.

What’s the point of it all? We all wonder. From what I have seen, she lives a life that artfully answers the question in alignment with her values and her heart.

Thanks for the assist, Vicki. Sending you warm thoughts.

Come back to the bar with me

The “Mad Men” episode that inspired this story is set in April 1970. I was 8. I’d been in the bar before, and I would be in the bar again, through much of my high school years.

There were moments that stand out.

If there were newcomers there, if Mr. Henry wasn’t sure about them, they’d have me sit at a small table in the back, surrounded by cases of liquor and beer and along the path to the restrooms. I’d sit with a Coke and a bag of peanuts and eavesdrop.

“I’ll give you a penny for every pushup you can do right now,” a man told me on his way back to the bar after taking care of business. I may have tried to bargain for a higher rate and lost, because I don’t remember doing any.

A woman was at the bar one night after attending a function somewhere that required her to wear a nametag. A man went up to her and pointed to her left breast. “If that one’s Ethyl,” he asked, “what’s in the other one, Regular?”

And there was a lot of smoking.

The “Mad Men” episode features scenes in a diner where there is a cigarette vending machine by the door. Outside the window, you can see it’s nighttime. The vibe of the diner is enough like that of the neighborhood bar from my childhood to be an echo.

It’s all a bit of a blur now, but in memory they are almost identical twins, those places. The goosebumps wouldn’t go away that night 10 years ago.

The life not lived

“This episode was really about the life not lived,” series creator, showrunner and producer Matt Weiner, who wrote the episode, says in a commentary. You’ll have to watch it if you want to know more. This isn’t the place for a plot synopsis.

It’s easy enough for me to think about the life not lived. I went inside the bar in my football uniform, in a Scouts uniform, in boys clothing. It’s fun to imagine going back to visit as Carly, but the bar was torn down decades ago.

My dad liked Willie Nelson, and when I still lived in Louisiana, I toyed with the idea of showing up at Mr. Henry’s with my guitar and playing “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain” or “Remember Me” and dedicating them to my dad. “He was that one,” I’d have said, pointing to his photo on the Wall of Fame, my baby blues probably turning misty.

When I started writing this, I didn’t own a guitar anymore, but I just bought one for the first time since 1981. Maybe after I teach myself to play again I can create that lost tribute here somehow. Why not?

My friend reminded me that relief pitcher Tug McGraw named a pitch in his repertoire “a Peggy Lee fastball.” As the story goes, McGraw explained in 1980 that a batter, after seeing it, would say, “Is that all there is?”

The McGraw anecdote is bittersweet. My dad was in the hospital for the entire 1980 Major League Baseball postseason. I watched alone at home when McGraw threw the last pitch of the World Series and then threw his arms up in the air in celebration.

My dad died of lung cancer barely 11 days later.

Speaking of sports: When I was a child, I was a walking sports encyclopedia. My dad would sometimes call home from Mr. Henry’s and ask for me so I could settle a bar bet. Oh no, I’d say, they’re thinking of Lee May. The other one is Lee Maye, who spells his last name with an “e” on the end. 

I’m proud to say I was the final word. (Heh, as far as I knew.)

Loose ends

The misogyny of the ’60s and ’70s displayed on “Mad Men” was surely in the air in the bar when I was there, but if I had sussed out uncomfortable moments, it would have been an unsophisticated recognition.

“I want to burn this place down,” Joan tells Peggy (Olson, not Lee) in this episode after being humiliated by sexist remarks in a meeting with three men.

At 8 years old, I might not have understood that, but it was all around me, at the bar and elsewhere. I can’t remember how Ethel (actual spelling, I’m thinking) reacted to the joke about her nametag. It was probably understood and customary that she’d laugh along with the others and change the subject.

Don Draper, he of the womanizing ways, shows up several times at the diner, the last time jolted after hearing about the death of someone from his past.

“When someone dies, you just want to make sense out of it,” the waitress he’s drawn to says. “But you can’t.”

Relatable to me in 1970, in 2015, and in 2025.

After all of his running around, Don appears to need to slow things down and rest.

“I just want to sit here,” he says.

That’s me lately. I just sit here. Or sleep. When I’m gone, maybe people will try to tell my story, just trying to make sense of it, and they won’t get 20 percent of it right. That’s how it goes, and I know that. Maybe I will someday decide to outlive them all, out of spite. Let me get back to you on that.

The spoken word

I was afraid of death as a child. It didn’t help that when I asked my dad about it one night, he said it was like being asleep for a long time. You don’t have to be a psychologist to suspect that could partly explain why I’ve had a lifetime of nightmares.

And yes, Peggy Lee refers to dying (and even the question of whether to end it all) near the end of the song.

I’ve often wondered if I’ll ever understand all of why the song has always haunted me. Are the spoken words a part of that? Is there something about that dynamic that brings extra gravitas to a song when it doesn’t come across as cheesy or campy?

(These are cued up for you.)

Cheesy? Campy? Poignant? Something else? You decide.

But seriously, folks …

In the case of the Peggy Lee song, to an 8-year-old, I’m thinking, it’s a grown-up speaking, a grown-up speaking to me, so it’s probably important for me to listen and take it seriously.

The “holy shit” moment during the first few minutes of “Mad Men” came back around at the end of that episode 10 years ago tonight, in case I needed to be reminded of what I’d seen and heard.

The song has lived rent-free in my head from childhood to now. What happened 10 years ago today was a one-two punch, closer to the end of my life than to the beginning of it, that joined a long list of unexplainable moments across my decades.

Okay, that’s it.

Here’s the song in its entirety. I could write many more words, but I’m tapped out. This one took me three months to write, as unfocused and shaky as it is.

Featured photo: Courtesy of AMC.

Photo of cigarette vending machine by dkdkdkdk via Shutterstock.

Photo of wooden table in blurry bar by Buntoon Roseng via Shutterstock.

Oh, one more thing

Bonus “holy shit” moment: While I was writing an early draft of this, U2’s “Vertigo” started playing. It’s on that CD I listened to 10 years ago to unknowingly set up my Sunday night “Is That All There Is?” double feature.

Why is “Vertigo” another “You couldn’t make this up” moment? Because I was writing while waiting for a call from my clinic. I had to make an appointment for what turned out to be a bad (and still lingering) case of vertigo. Holy shit, “Vertigo.”

Dizzying, all of this.

I’m sorry I couldn’t write this better and that I’m asking so much of you here. It’s my job to put you in the moment, and I know I’ve failed, but it was now or never.

Sending love.

If you appreciate what you find here and feel generous, you can check out the Tip Jar. Thank you for reading. Here’s a butterfly for you.

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And now, a political moment

You knew I’d have something for you. Here it is.

Really telling that a whole bunch of people didn’t realize this was a crisis when it was just people of color, LGBTQ+ people, veterans, scientists, teachers, immigrants, and the poor getting destroyed. They only noticed when it was the stock market.

— Deirdre Assenza (@deirdreassenza.bsky.social) April 4, 2025 at 10:16 AM

And in case anyone has forgotten:

This was….five months ago

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— Mina Kimes (@minakimes.bsky.social) April 2, 2025 at 4:49 PM

We all make tradeoffs, though.

It turns out that the joy of calling people “retard” and “pussy” was worth literally trillions of dollars to these guys

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— Jon Schwarz (@schwarz.bsky.social) April 3, 2025 at 9:38 AM

The post Is that all there is? Yes, and no. Here’s one of countless unexplainable moments in my life appeared first on CarlyJDubois.com.

Published March 31, 2025

Imagine me as a mall sign: You are here [ ^ points upward ^ ]. Look up there. It’s International Transgender Day of Visibility. Many thanks to all who have it written on their calendar.

If you don’t know what it is, there’s a lot online about it, but here’s a good place to start.

Here are some different perspectives:

Parker Malloy: Navigating Trans Day of Visibility in Trump’s America.
Katelyn Burns: Well… It’s Trans Day of Visibility… again
Charlie Jane Anders: I Took a Break from Being Publicly Trans. Then I Came Back Stronger.

And this:

It really is a bitter pill. Many people DO NOT KNOW.

Today is also Buy a Trans Woman a Pizza day.

It’s that time again; 3rd annual Mira Bellwether Buy A Trans Woman A Pizza Day is Monday, March 31st.

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— Callan Bellwether (@sleepytimetbear.bsky.social) March 16, 2025 at 9:53 AM

Outside the (pizza) box: If you buy a pizza for a trans man or for a nonbinary person, or for someone gay or straight or pansexual, I don’t think anyone will be upset with you. A pan pizza would be great for at least one of those, I’m pretty sure. (A pun pizza would probably be best for me. Yikes.)

Oh, and Easter doesn’t fall on Trans Day of Visibility this year like it did last year. Still hoping The New York Times frames it correctly when it happens again 61 years from now.

Keeping it short (this story, not my hair)

My energy level is still low. I still sleep at least 12 hours a day. I’m not up to saying more about the state of things in this country. I’m spent on all of that. I’ll let others do the talking at the very bottom of this post.

Today, I’ll spend money on getting my hair done. If it turns out great, I might update this post with a photo.

(Like that.)

I’m still planning to grow it as long as I can. Tomorrow, I’ll spend money on a windshield replacement — perfect for added visibility from the trans driver’s seat. It’s one of the few things I have any control over, and I’m going to be glad to check that off my list. I found out it will cost me only $100 thanks to my insurance, which was great news. It’s probably a good idea to do that before a windshield costs $2,000 or before President Musk eliminates the Federal Reserve and the U.S. dollar and converts us to a cryptocurrency-based financial system.

I don’t have much more for you. For once, I’ll keep it short.

‘Free’

This is what it’s all ultimately about for us: being free to be who we are.

I am going to segue into a song that you probably didn’t see coming. It’s largely about anxiety, which I can relate to, and other things that I can relate to. If you listen, try to watch the video and pay attention to the onscreen information before and after.

Anyway, here we are. It’s International Trans Day of Visibility at the beginning of an already brutal Trump administration. Visibility is risky for us. Existing is risky for us.

Is this how it is?
Is this how it’s always been?
To exist in the face of suffering and death
And somehow still keep singing

Or, for me, mostly, to somehow still keep writing (although I just bought a guitar for the first time since 1981). And since we’re asking questions, here’s a teaser about a story I wrote that’s scheduled to be published April 5. Rather than ask if this is how it is, that one will ask, “Is that all there is?”

Somehow still keep singing? Still keep writing? Or do I want to call it off?

But there is nothing else that I know how to do
But to open up my arms and give it all to you

Can relate, Florence. I’m giving them all I’ve got.

Thank you for reading

If you appreciate what you find here and feel generous, you can check out the Tip Jar. Sorry this one’s a mess. I struggled with how to put it together. It took me way too long to write it. Thanks for reading it. Here’s a butterfly for you.

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Featured image of a calendar square by Alena Ivochkina via Shutterstock.

Where we also are

Such a perfect and pure expression of the contemporary white supremacist Christian nationalist mindset. There are legitimately people in this government now who think we’re in a holy war against invaders from inferior races, and that it’s God’s will for us to push them out.

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— Deirdre Assenza (@deirdreassenza.bsky.social) March 30, 2025 at 10:02 AM

Kamala Harris received 48.3 percent of the popular vote. Trump received 49.8 percent. Don’t try to tell me that “America voted for liberation,” you fucking monster. Voter suppression alone, aided by the 2013 gutting of the Voting Rights Act, was enough by itself to bring about this result, but so much more evil conspired to ensure it.

Those who made it all the way to the end get to see my hair from behind. It’s a bit brassy the farther down you look, but I’m fine with that, and I love the curls. My stylist Tyler’s the best.

The post It’s Trans Day of Visibility, and I’m still here appeared first on CarlyJDubois.com.

Published March 24, 2025

International Transgender Day of Visibility is a week from today. I have things planned. We’ll see what my body, mind and heart have to say about that.

I wanted to share this story from The Advocate with you. (Not the newspaper I worked for called The Advocate, the one where bosses sometimes wouldn’t allow me, a columnist, to “advocate” for certain things. No, this is from the LGBTQ publication.)

I love this lead-in to the story: In her family practice, Dr. Carolyn Wolf-Gould cares for people, not ideologies.

I hope you find the story enlightening and helpful.

We love it when someone gets it

As a cisgender woman, I don’t know what it feels like to experience gender dysphoria. I also don’t know how it feels to be ninety or to work from a wheelchair. I don’t have diabetes or a porcine valve in my heart. I do have experience worrying about my children, but they were adopted. I don’t know how it feels to be pregnant or what it’s like to labor and bring a child like Bella into the world.

No matter. I can still be a doctor. I listen to and trust my patients when they tell me about their experiences.

She also writes:

Transgender individuals have lived in our world since ancient times. They existed long before Trump was born and will continue to thrive beyond his midterms.

That’s for all the people who think we’re a “social contagion.” No, we are not a love of pumpkin spice everything.

This is all I have for you. Oh, and this request: Please call it by its name, Transgender Day of Visibility. It’s not Transgender Visibility Day. That might seem nitpicky, but when you live among people who can’t be bothered to get your name right, your gender right or any of the other details right, you want them to get something right.

If someone intentionally gets it wrong to “own the libs,” all I can say is what a miserable life they must be living.

I hope this finds you well, as the saying goes. I am not well, and I’m barely visible most days, but for now I’m still here.

Sending love.

Image by DETHAL via Shutterstock.

Thank you for reading

If you appreciate what you find here and feel generous, you can check out the Tip Jar. Thank you for reading. Here’s a butterfly for you.

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And some bonus reading

WIRED tested the popular AI video generator from OpenAI and found that it amplifies sexist stereotypes and ableist tropes, perpetuating the same biases already present in AI image tools.

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— WIRED (@wired.com) March 23, 2025 at 3:09 AM

And finally:

your honor, i was just taking a peaceful tour of that tesla dealership

— illumi (@illumi.meme) March 23, 2025 at 7:23 AM

The post Some reading for you one week before an important day in my community appeared first on CarlyJDubois.com.

Published March 21, 2025 

Something an editor friend said yesterday resonated with me. I’m going to start there and back my way into today’s post.

“By age 12, children with ADHD have received 20,000 more negative messages about themselves than their peers without ADHD,” she said. “Now imagine what not getting diagnosed until age 30, 40, or 50 does to someone’s self esteem.”

It was as if someone said to me, “I know what your life has been like, at least as much as a cisgender person can, and I want you to know it’s not your fault.”

I was already done for the day. The above brought tears.

My therapist and I have talked about all the ways I slipped through the cracks. My corneal abnormality. ADHD. Being on the spectrum (AuDHD). Anxiety and major depression. And, of course, gender dysphoria. It’s a lot, and there’s more.

There’s a type of neurotypical person that has made me feel like shit my whole life. I’m done with all of them, the way I am with a lot of cisgender people.

I’m grateful for those who could spot my self-esteem deficit a mile away and didn’t rub my nose in it. It’s their gentleness I remember. “I wish you believed in yourself more” is just one way they expressed their concern and hope for me.

Digging deeper

It bears repeating.

By age 12, children with ADHD have received 20,000 more negative messages about themselves than their peers without ADHD. Now imagine what not getting diagnosed until age 30, 40, or 50 does to someone’s self esteem.

I wasn’t diagnosed until I was 36. And I didn’t pursue treatment. Why? Because I grew up in a time when this counted for sage advice: Rub some dirt on it. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps. When the going gets tough, the tough get going. It was like being trapped in a room with the kinds of motivational posters I’ve seen for more than a decade on LinkedIn and on the social media of toxic “influencers” and “thought leaders.”

I’ve begun addressing it more aggressively since coming out as trans in 2017. What an accelerated growth process that is, let me tell you. Like an immersion course in self-awareness. Mostly, though, I knew these things. No one had given me permission before to believe they were real and not “excuses.”

Let’s get on with it

The rest of the comments below will be from Aaron Brinen, an assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at the Vanderbilt University Medical Center. He’s quoted in this story, which many people will only glance at, missing the point.

Eric Michael Garcia gets it, though.

We see a spike in older women getting prescribed with ADHD for the same reason we see the racial gap close with autism. Our understanding of ADHD has grown and therefore, more people who otherwise went undetected are getting the treatment they deserve. This is a plus.
www.nbcnews.com/health/menta…

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— Eric Michael Garcia (@ericmgarcia.bsky.social) March 20, 2025 at 12:58 PM

Think about this:

“I wonder if it speaks to women feeling more empowered to talk about what they are needing and about their struggles in life,” Brinen said.

They may realize that they had ADHD as children but were never diagnosed.  

And this:

Brinen has female friends who weren’t diagnosed and treated until they were in their 50s. 

“It was the first time in their lives that they felt functional,” he said. “It’s a tragedy that it took so long.”

Untreated ADHD can lead to feelings of failure and depression, Brinen said. “People think of them as not trying, but they are constantly trying and meeting disappointment,” he added.

It’s like having my life told to me.

If this seems unfocused, there’s a reason

This blog post is a mess, of course. Duh.

There’s a reason. LOTS of reasons.

But I wanted to mention this before it vanished in the mist. You’d be amazed how often that happens.

“Say, do you remember that conversation we had in seventh grade? I wanted to make a point and it got away from me. Got a minute?”

This is life on perpetual Hard Mode.

In the eyes of some, I’ve thrived despite it all.* I have more than 70 journalism awards. People have told me throughout my life that they enjoy my writing. That they find it conversational and meaningful. I have a job editing stories for a company The New York Times paid $550 million for three years ago. I mean, I’m not a failure.

So why have I so often been made to feel like one?

If I find the energy, I want to talk about this some more. Falling through the cracks is a fate no one deserves.

For now, I have to sleep and find a whole new medical and trans-care team. I’m no longer covered at the clinic and health system I’ve used since spring 2021. I can’t afford the hundreds of dollars more everything there will cost now that it’s no longer billing to United Healthcare.

Sending love.

Image by Inna Kot via Shutterstock.

Thank you

If you appreciate what you find here and feel generous, you can check out the Tip Jar. Thank you for reading. Here’s a butterfly for you.

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*I should mention I had a LOT of help. I didn’t do it alone, even if it felt like I was fighting an army. I’ll always owe a lot of people so much. Thank you.

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