... threads on the loom...

I refuse to talk about work again, and nothing else happens to me lately, but luckily here is a giant meme from used_songs:

( 80 questions! )

D and I both are encouraged by the healthcare system to take our blood pressure more regularly and/or without the white-coat syndrome (that one's me, though it's not "I'm stressed to be at the doctor's office" so much as "I'm stressed about the anti-fatness I must tolerate imminently in order to sometimes get the healthcare I need").

We had to measure our upper arms today in order to make sure the machine we're ordering has a cuff big enough.

And it turns out they are the same circumference! To the centimeter. How romantic!

I read about this NatGeo documentary about Sally Ride last week and D and I watched the first half or so tonight (before I got too sleepy).

I remember being floored by a photo of Sally Ride in space, in the shuttle, that I saw in my social studies textbook in I wanna say third or fourth grade. American women could go to space. I think I was probably just about grown out of my desire to be an astronaut by this point (I'd seriously considered it until I decided my mom would worry too much about me so it wasn't a good idea...seeing how much she still worries about me, this seems very astute (the fact that I can't see did not occur to me as a dealbreaker until I was much older, by the way)) but I was fantastically interested in astronauts and the space shuttle (I had a toy version, complete with the truck to slot it on to for the drive across the country), the Voyagers still encountering planets at the time, and all that.

Reading about and especially watching the documentary now, I'm struck by how familiar parts of her story are. Never showed her emotions? Had parents who never modeled how to? (In a way that's referred to as "Norwegian"?!) This shit could literally be taken from my counseling sessions, heh.

This person as remote as the space she traveled to still feels as close as I was to that social studies textbook in elementary school.

I knew it'd be awful but the PIP assessment was really awful.

I've mostly had nice assessors in the past, which helps as much as anything can. But this one wasn't doing a good job of hiding her glee at her petty power over me. Mean-girl vibes.

When we told V we were having coffee and cake afterward, they expressed their approval and said they'd hoped I would be. I said I learned this from them the first time I had one of these fucking assessments and they went along with me: they had to buy me the cake after that because I was too poor to do it myself, so I remember it.

V replied: "They will not be allowed to take away our joy." Damn right.

The way my voice now resonates in my body feels better to me than I ever thought it could.

I was thinking of this this morning because I talked with a fellow trans dude about singing over the weekend; him dealing with changes to his range made me ponder how I've been kinda avoiding trying to find what my singing might be like?

I know voice training and documenting changes, in speaking and singing, is a Thing for a lot of trans people but the notion gave me big anxiety so I've stayed away from it.

Today I am carefully singing along with the radio (in the sense that I am doing it with care, rather than just finding myself doing so while I am working or whatever) and I don't really care how I sound but I love how it feels.

I said this on fedi and was charmed to have one of my dadliest friends (who we call Other Erik because he's another Erik) say

I hope you never lose that joy! For my part, I still love the feeling and I’ve had a mature low “adult” voice for over 30 years. I find myself humming low-range tunes to myself rather frequently just for the feeling of it in my chest.

It's nice to know it can stay fun for that long!