Sometimes it's better to light a flamethrower than curse the darkness

I went to the park with haggis and her kid this morning.

There was one point where I was pushing said kid on the swings (a lot of the morning was haggis, D and I doing as we were directed and I'd been specifically told to push her at this point) next to a nice young man doing the same with his own toddler.

He said hello by asking me "How old is she?" to which I of course panicked because I'm not sure these days. "...Four??" I said eventually. haggis came over and saved me from more of this peril by making normal parent conversation herself.

Then the guy said "Is she the only one you guys have?" and my thoughts hadn't gotten any further than what, here with us today?

haggis said the kid is hers, and her husband's but I'm not her husband, and meanwhile I was like oh shit he thinks I'm the husband! or the new dad! Oh no! So I joked about being a gay uncle.

I don't think I've ever been mistaken for a husband before! I probably would've thought it was fun, if I wasn't too confused at the time to know that it was happening...

At the gym, I spotted someone holding what looked like a guide cane. (There are different kinds of white canes.)

He was just standing around, looking kinda vague. So when I finished the exercise I was doing, I went over and asked him if he would like any help.

We didn't share much language, but I got the impression he didn't want to be bothered, so I cheerfully went on my way.

But when I was doing my next exercise, he came over and said something about "check weights."

I hopped up with a confidence I soon realized was unearned. I was at that time actually using the only machine I can read the weight numbers on...because they've been repainted by hand. I rarely use the free weights because I can't find the dumbbells I need most of the time -- everything is labeled black-on-black! Why?!

Anyway, he didn't actually want help setting the weights for a machine or finding free weights. He wanted me to read his weight, from a scale that I hadn't even known was in the gym.

The numbers on the scale were so tiny.

Oops: I quickly realized I'm the worst person in the gym for him to ask!

Luckily I had my phone on me, so I could do what I usually do when I'm out and about and something is too small for me to read: took a photo on my phone and zoomed in.

I read out the number to him, and he seemed dismayed. He actually handed me his cane and asked me to read his weight again.

Guide canes are only a meter long, they're hollow, and they're very light. White canes working properly depends on them being very light! Sorry my friend: the number was the same the second time.

Anyway, moral of the story is: sighted people should offer help to a blind person, because if you don't another blind person is gonna recognize their cane and be excited about it and offer help that it turns out I'm shit at actually providing.

Gym was good yesterday morning, but my mental health crashed pretty drastically soon after.

It wasn't much better today, until D and I dragged ourselves out on our bikes for beer in the sunshine and meeting cool people (in ways both arranged and fortuitous).

Had to talk to my parents immediately when we got home at dinnertime, and I've been headachy and tired ever since.

Can't believe I have to go back to work tomorrow after only two days off! But it makes me all the more grateful to have gotten a little rest from the bad brain this afternoon.

I emailed a baseball podcast about a linguistics thing and they read out my email!

I mean they read it on one of the mailbag episodes where all they do is read out emails. But still! I wrote it a while ago and had forgotten about it since, so it was fun.

At the end, one of the hosts said "whatever degree you got, hang that sucker on the wall with pride, man, because that makes a lot of sense." Super cute.

The next email was from a woodworker, who wants to make them an official piece of wood to knock on, because one of the hosts is someone who's always saying "knock on wood."

And this juxtaposition meant that they commented on how impressively diverse their patreons are, anything that comes up they can get an expert opinion on or "find someone that has devoted their life to this topic."

This afternoon I met a Scottish lady who told me that she knows one other Erik with a k and he's Canadian, which I said didn't surprise me and explained about the part of the continent we're from being settled by Scandinavian/German white people. "I bet he has a big beard," I joked.

"He doesn't," she said, "but he wears shorts all year round, and he's obsessed with ice hockey."

I laughed so much I think that itself assured her that this is very Erik-with-a-k.

She also said, when offered a cup of tea, "Oh, no, I'm proper Scottish" and then before I could mentally wonder too much what that meant she explained: "I only drink vodka and diet Coke."

I was tethered to my computer in a meeting I couldn't pay attention to when I heard V come back in with the dog.

I heard them clip his leash off his harness and say "There you go! Go tell your papa about your adventure!"

So far so normal. We don't always say adventure but this is an old dog; if he gets past our half of our street this is a remarkable occurrence to be shared with all the humans. (His walks going from the usual two, morning and night, of ordinary length for a dog of his kind to much shorter ones that he'll demand at random (especially now that he prefers to go outside with his humans to going out into the backyard on his own means we have to chauffeur him to most of his toilet breaks) has actually made it possible for V to accompany Gary on the walks much more often, because this is also about as much unsupported time and distance as they can spend outside too! More inclusive walks, good job Gary.)

"You guys were out a long time!" I called (blessedly on mute, and with my camera off).

"There's a reason for that," V said. "We were visiting."

Oh nice, I thought. I wonder who they ran in to. Were on friendly enough terms with many of the neighbors on this street, and we get other dog-walkers and people just walking by sometimes.

But V continued: "We were in a house!" That baffled me.

She explained that one of our neighbors, whose surname we know but not his first name, now had a first name (M). And a wife. She has a name too (J). And quite severe dementia. She had frantically flagged V down -- actually waving a scarf at one point, apparently -- and insisted that they and Gary come inside. J was not able to communicate terribly effectively but V told me it was clear she was trying to tell them something about another little dog and it turns out M & J used to have spaniels and are getting a puppy tomorrow.

V and Gary had a very nice brief visit, apparently Gary was an angel and he even got to eat little bits of a malted milk biscuit that M fed him. M seemed relieved that V was cheerfully conversing with his wife, nodding along to things they could not understand and matching J's energy. V has personal and professional experience of supporting people with dementia and is probably one of the better people to randomly be invited in by such a person, so it worked out beautifully from that perspective.

V has an invitation to go around tomorrow to meet the puppy (if they have the spoons), and I have also excitedly volunteered to help puppy-wrangle if M & J would like the help.

And apparently Gary was an angel. V said they did warn M about him and his own doggy dementia, but that he was really well-behaved and charming, like I say literally eating out of their hands, being fine when M held his leash (he's never that bothered about which human is on the other end of his string; he clearly sees it as something that is there for him to keep track of his humans, certainly not the other way around!), and being sanguine about his attempts to get into M & J's kitchen being foiled by V.

V was absolutely shattered by the unexpected spoon usage, but just as charmed by the reason for it. And so was I when they told me about it. How lovely to make such connections.

I had awful dreams last night, so even though I slept a lot I woke up exhausted and struggled to get over the unsettled discomfort they left me with.

But the weather was lovely -- it hit 80°F today and the sky was perfectly blue -- and I went to the pride dog show with D. We walked around the area nearer where I used to live and rarely go to any more, stopping for lunch at a new Lebanese place that was really lovely.

It was too hot for me to bother with a binder so I wore a tiny tank top and just dealt with giving off the wrong gender signals, bit it did make my dysphoria worse which wasn't good to add to a bad-brain day. It did help a little when I told D this and he told me that the the baby queers we'd met on the bus last weekend and helped to get to trans pride, who we'd run in to just before the dog show started, had been checking out my chest and said "I think it did him some good to see you rocking that look as they sweltered in the sunshine in a baggy hoodie to obscure their body shape." That did make me feel a lot better. I benefited so much in my 20s from knowing people in their 40s who didn't give a fuck, I'd be delighted if I can pass on that gift to others.

After resting a little bit at home, D and I went back for the trans open mic night. My pal the organizer had been worried no one would sign up which is why I was committed to doing so, even though I'm not much of a performer. But when I got there it was well-attended and there was a little queue of people waiting to sign up.

On the way we'd found the other baby queer from last week, who also wanted to read his own poetry. They were fabulous, getting lots of laughs and applause, and two people who I don't think they knew came over to hug them afterward. And I have his contact details to send him the video he asked me to take of his set, so it'll be easier to keep in touch. They were saying we should go for a coffee or something too and I wholeheartedly agree.

After another singer it was my turn. I read a short thing I had recently written about second puberty in your 40s (riffing off something my friend said on Facebook, so I feel like he wrote half that one!), my old trans/disability thing (which sorely needs an update, something I realized only part way through reading it out loud on a stage, oops) and the poem for Bat. People were very nice and I felt amazing after I'd done it. I was so glad that I had.

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When I asked for nice things the other day, a local person who randomly found me on Mastodon and knew D very slightly for the most random reason sent me a photo of a sign for a local "queer club" that happens once a month.

Also it's in a community centre, not a pub/bar so it doesn't cost anything for attendees and it isn't based around alcohol like so many queer events are. And you don't even have to go In To Town! (Though it's east of my house, and east-west routes are so poorly served by public transport here that I walked to and from, which my ankle did not thank me for last night or this morning!) It wasn't even all white or all people under 35, which is a big deal for queer stuff.

There was an activity, making fabric or paper flags to save at our local pride in August, but there was no compulsion to do it: people could just chat and have tea or biscuits if they wanted.

I made a lot of flags. I can't draw and I like words (see evidence passim), which was quicker work than people painstakingly making art, working on their progress pride flags (there was only one brown and one light blue/gray sharpie, so there was some marker-stealing between the tables), and so on.

Slogans I enflagged:

• give us meds but give us roses too (stolen from a friend's report of a trans protest in London last year); I actually tried to draw some pink roses and some blue bottles of testosterone gel like mine undermeath that

• goblin pride (D calls me a goblin all the time so I feel like I did this on his behalf)

• short king himbo pride (this partly based on a recent conversation where I'd described myself as the himbo garden worker; MB has the knowledge/skills/eyesight, I literally do the heavy lifting, and suchlike chores that are too demanding for her)

• trans disability immigrant solidarity (all written inside a heart), with "no body is illegal" on the other side of that flag; this is a repeat of something I chalked on the ground while protesting a TERF event last year)

After that, a friend of my Mastodon acquaintance called my name as I was leaving, asking if I wanted to go to the pub. I didn't really; it was already late and I'd had a long day and people had been nice (someone said to me at one point, "You have an infectious laugh, has anyone ever told you that?" and I could honestly say that no one has! wild!) but I didn't really know anybody...

But then they said "I've never been to [Erik's old local] before" and I brightened right up. I absolutely wanted to go to the pub. Half a dozen of us did, and we had a very silly fun time. The landlord came out and was his usual warm, charming endearing self. When I said I used to go to the pub quiz all the time, he remembered me, which is pretty impressive considering me and the shifting group of friends I went with were never exactly regulars and weren't the most memorable people. He's getting on -- he told us they've just celebrated 18 years of running this pub. He and his wife are retirement age now but I can't imagine it without him.

Wild to think I was going to the pub quiz in the first half of their time here. It felt very weird to pay with a card there -- I don't know if I'd ever done that before! And now I never do anything else...

My three flags and I got home late enough that it disrupted Gary's routine, oops. But it was such a fun night and I'm so glad to be making a little progress on the seemingly-hopeless goal of meeting new people and replacing the queer community that ghosted me in the last four years.

My boyfriend achieved the culmination of the first six months of hard work at his job today, I'm so impressed with him and so proud of him I bought him a lot of beer to celebrate, and we had a lot of sunshine to drink it in and we had old and new friends to share it with.