Today rolled from mediocre to a wonderful climax.

Work was work. I had a meeting about money with the previous owner, which went well. My records pwn his records.

Last pizza night, possibly ever — the coffeeshop that holds the oven we use is closing, things changing. We’ll find another location, I hope. I’ll miss it. I finally un-tensed from the weekend and the past week after a couple beers and nearly a whole pizza to myself.

We hung out after everyone else left, waiting to let Christel into the radio station for her show. I didn’t realize she was still doing it, after the fight with her partner, but after the fight, the hurricane hit, and she grabbed recording equipment, pulled strings and got a press card, and got into the Astrodome and interviewed people. Most of the press was turned away.

The first part of the show was a live interview with a family from New Orleans, whose house was a block from the levee. They’re living here now, and the interview was great, and then they played forty-five minutes of interviews from Houston. Things are bad, there, folks. I’m going to get a recording tomorrow, I hope.

raijna called, and she is the most beautiful person tonight, having danced in the rain and swum in four-foot-deep floodwaters until the police chased her out. Don’t ever get sane, Jem. Not that kind of sane.

I’m grinning ear to ear, and random play has pulled up the Goo Goo Dolls.

Tonight, I ♥ life.

Please be okay, Caleb. Please.

All I can say is “Capiscum”. Yum.

When an app has only a dialog window on the screen, don’t make it skip the window list. It’s really annoying and gets stuck behind everything else. If it has another window, put that in the list as usual and raise the dialog above it.

Also, don’t raise a window if I drag from it. I know that’s a pain in the ass to implement, but it would really really help.

I woke up smiling.

When I tell most people who I am, what do I feel? Brave. Proud. Scared. Excited. Hopeful.

When I talk to my family, what do I feel? Fear. Shame. Terror. Frustrated.

I want the courage to send this.

Mom.

I think that what I just said is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say.

I don’t want to push you away like that. Of all the times I’ve wished I

had an ear to listen to what I’m thinking or feeling, it’s yours I miss

the most.

You know I’ve started taking hormones. After five months, now, I can

tell you I don’t regret it a bit. For the first time in ten years, I can

look in the mirror without wanting to cry. I’d much rather be as I am

now, and know why it was I wanted to cry than to ignore it. I don’t get

dressed and undressed as quickly as possible anymore, trying to ignore

my body entirely. I can shower without feeling ill afterward.

I’ve worked really hard on myself for the past few years to become someone who can handle this. I haven’t been seriously depressed in a

year now. Even this July, when the heat made me feel terrible, I didn’t

end up in the black cloud that I have every July and August for the past

four years. I’ve been working on my thick skin, and on not falling apart

at the slightest provocation. It’s not entirely smooth sailing, but

looking back over the past few months, I can regard it as quite a bit

happier than the year before.

This didn’t start as a shameful thing — just me acknowledging who I am.

It wasn’t until I moved back to Ridgway that there was fear or despair.

Please don’t blame this on the friends I keep. Please don’t blame this

on NBTSC. This is entirely my own thing. I don’t get a lot of support

there, even if it is the most accepting community I can think of. It was

among the most scary things I’ve ever done, coming out to them. I was

the first person among campers to come out.

Not being able to talk to you is really bothering me, but I really do

need respect that this is my choice, and respect that I’m sure it’s the

right thing for me, at least, and understanding at best. I really want

to get past this. There are things that go on in my life that I would

love to talk to you about, but they tie into who I am. I don’t want to

not talk, but I’ll keep it quiet as long as I have to.

I wish I could share the pride I feel at being able to stand up and be

who I really am with you. I’m sorry it hurts you.

I love you.

Rick. Ari. Aria.

(I sent it a couple hours later.)

I just had to tell my mother “No, I do not really want to chat about me. I need some understanding and respect. I’d love to have that talk, but that’s what I need.”

I think that might possibly be the hardest thing I’ve ever said.

I remember your handwriting better than I remember your face.

I want app startup times minimized, or moved into persistent daemons. I want to pop apps in and out quickly.

I want more transient apps for small tasks like journal-posting or sending an email where I can start a process, and when I hit okay or send, have the app close entirely.

I want the keyring entirely integrated into Epihany.

Today, I

• talked with a 62-year-old homeless woman and good friend for an hour,
• took pictures of flowers usually considered to be ugly,
• was frustrated, sad, and angry all at once,
• was frustrated by someone I love,
• helped someone record a radio show,
• drank too much coffee, and spent two hours in the coffeeshop talking to the barista since nobody else was there,
• was given the backhanded compliment that I was arrogant before, and not so much now,
• thought about poverty, power, and how the most meaningful jobs pay nothing at all,
• accepted religious tracts with grace and some serenity,
• wore tie-dye, because the bright colors bolstered a dark mood inside,
• was proud that I can stand six feet tall without slouching, and not be uncomfortable,
• invited two people twice my age to dinner,
• slacked off on cleaning the house,
• and looked for grasshoppers to feed my tarantula, and discovered that fall is progressing faster than even I want to admit.

Downs: had a lousy evening unexpectedly. Then came home and had a long talk with a friend who’s in a bad spot right now. Ups: that ended up better than I’d expected, and then I worked on the directory index script I’ve been coding for a while, which is now much prettier than it was.

Dar Williams and Ani DiFranco doing “Comfortably Numb” rock.

If I were to write a letter to every lover of mine, it would read like the lyrics to these songs.

The Colorado Department of Motor Vehicles sucks because they don’t have a separate motorcycle license anymore. I hate them. I don’t want a driver’s license.

Also, people who suck suck. So there.

I really must remember that I don’t have to follow any family patterns. It’s quite okay for me to live my life my way, and my parents to live their life their way, and for my sister to do her thing.

Apparently my queerness has been noticed about town, and I am the last to know, as I expected. C’est la vie. I suppose I need a T-shirt that says “Just ask the question” now.