A manifesto of sorts

Please bear this in mind when you are conversing with me:
1) I do not "like" men.  In truth I can barely tolerate them.  I spent fifty years and a lot of money trying to escape having to see a penis every day.  The last thing I want is to bring another one into the picture.  So guys (cis-men, trans-men, pseudo-men, demi-pseudo-trans men, and everything in between,) fucking give up.  I'm not going to date you no matter how attractive you think I am.
2) I am not your damned therapist.  My life is not "all together."  When you come to me out of the blue and detail just how badly your life sucks, all you are going to do is push me into the corner weeping piteously as I remember just how badly MY life sucks.  So much loss.  So much loss.
3) Do not give me helpful advice on what I COULD do to be a better producer/capitalist.  My brain is hard-wired to screen out any talk about money matters.  *I* can't do anything and your comments on "why can't you see this?  It's so easy." feel like you're whipping me.  Don't fucking whip me. I will cut you.
4) No, I probably do not know your friend who also a) is gay b) is trans c) lives in Arizona.
5) Yes, I am a liberal, a Socialist, anti-gun, and (as far as Christians can see) an atheist.  Fucking stop trying to convince me to be otherwise.   And if you feed me a line of conservative, plutocratic, pro-gun, and Christian shit, expect that I will call you on it as surely as I make the Jehovah's Witnesses sorry they ever walked up to my door and tried to convert me.  Let's make a deal.  You don't try to convince me to believe any of your crap, and I will do likewise. 
6) I am not an elitist just because you can't understand half the words I say.  I'm not going to debase my lexicon.  Fucking find out what those words mean yourselves.  You don't even have to crack open a book.  Just fucking google it.
7) I am not going to fucking clean up my language.  As Mark Twain said, "There is some comfort to swearing ...a comfort denied even to prayer."

είμαι Θεα

Back when I was male...  (I say it that way because even my kids say that I was never really a man) ....but back when I was male, every other day I would have a nightmare in which I was either being fired or was about to be fired.  I usually wound up 87549//////////////////////////////////////////////////////nhbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb (damn it, Dog.  Get off that freaking keyboard!)  by co-workers who tormented me that I was a terrible programmer, a horribly ineffectual human being, and an idiot.  This nightmare became so regular that as we went off the bed, I would kiss my dear wife good night and ask, "I wonder what horrors await me in dream time tonight."

These night horrors tapered off when I started transitioning and disappeared completely after my surgery.   My semi-nightly demonic taunting have been replaced by dreams with varying degrees of lucidity.   When the dream is completely lucid, I am essentially God.  But I am not a jealous god.    After one nocturnal apotheosis, I spend the bulk of the night fulfilling the wishes of everyone I met.  And they didn't even have to tell me they loved me or even believe that I was God.   (It's good to be de god.)

Last night's transfiguration was particularly gratifying.  After hanging out with Xena for a time  (she's a pillow princess, who knew?) I found myself at a combination summer school/summer camp.   After enjoying the double-occupant showers and the mandatory sex with other denizens of the girls' dormitory, I decided to continue exploring the rest of the camp au naturale.  There was none of the "Oh my God, I'm naked!" panic of other dreams.  I knew I was gorgeous and was treating the other campers/students to a beatific vision.  No need for false modesty. 

I wandered into the wrestling class.  It was disappointing that I had to wrestle guys,  but they were distracted enough by my nudity to attempt to use their flame throwers on me.  A simple wave of my divine finger took care of that nonsense and sent them flying against the wall.  Utterly bored, I started back for the dormitory, but couldn't remember exactly where it was.  No problem, I thought.  That's the way things go in dreams.  You can never be sure that something will be in the same place when you go back to it.  So, if Jimmye couldn't go to the dormitory, the dormitory must come to Jimmye.  The entire world warped until the entrance to my inner sanctum approached me like a supplicant. 

I woke up with the stupidest of grins on my face.