It helps, a little, to write. Thank goodness for this blog–whoever is reading, I don’t know. I figure I’ve lost readers by now with all this trans stuff.
Yesterday, at the end of the day, I was approved for the surgery by my insurance company, IEHP. But what does that mean, if anything? I don’t know yet because now it goes into the contracting mode. How much will they pay for? They will have to pay two separate entities–the doctor’s fees and the facility fees.
A supervisor at IEHP told me yesterday that this negotiation can take weeks. If that is the case, I can kiss my March 24th surgery date goodbye and would have to wait to reschedule. That is, unless the Gender Confirmation Center lets me proceed, knowing I will pay whatever they need me to pay out-of-pocket if IEHP doesn’t cover everything.
I can’t find that out, at least until they open. So like five more hours. I can hardly wait that long, let alone an extra few weeks.
I wake up so early in the morning, mostly because I have lost sleep over this whole ordeal. I usually get up early anyway, but lately, it’s been a lot worse.
I did manage to get a couple of drawings transferred onto some panels for two oil paintings. It was a miracle I did that because I really don’t feel like doing any art right now.
I think the watercolor transfers are going to be harder. I was going to use carbon paper for those, but you typically can’t erase the carbon transfer lines if needed. They leave fingerprints too. I might have to scribble the backs of the drawings with graphite. I usually have to do this. I don’t like a bunch of erasures on the beautiful Arches paper. I’ve drawn the composition enough times to get it right, I don’t want to keep fucking it up.
Don’t get me wrong, my work will always look a little fucked up, but I think that’s what gives them their charm, IMO.
I take a half-hour walk at 6:00 am every day. I used to do it at 6:20, but it’s been getting lighter out earlier and earlier lately. The other day I came by a pack of coyote, and they seriously spooked me. One or two are no big deal, but there were four or five gathering together nearby me. I always bring my cane, which has a heavy brass handle. I use it for going uphill, and carry it the rest of the way.
I would never want to have to use it, of course, but I would if I had to. I don’t even know if one stick would save my life against five coyote though. At least I could feel like I was in a Martial arts movie.
But recently, I’ve been so bummed out, I figure they might as well just eat me. What does it matter anymore? Maybe it’s better to be food than to be what I am now.