The exams are over at last, and I’m proud to announce that I’m alive… just. Perhaps my revision technique was designed – by an evil overlord somewhere, no doubt – to bring my mental and physical health to The Edge, but I’m always surprised by the exhaustion that marks the end of exams. How is it that reading stuff and, you know, remembering it can make you so damn tired?
I suppose it’s only fair to mention that I have developed a somewhat tiring revision style; in other words, I pace around the house/uni for (usually) seven hours a day, every day, while reading aloud to myself in as many different voices as I can, and confusing passers-by with my seemingly-random hand movements in the air (which, of course, are reaction mechanisms being imprinted into my mind… obviously).
Thankfully though, as far as I can tell, it’s paid off. I had six exams in total, most of which rendered me so nervous that I (shock horror) turned the TV off to revise for them. I know. Terrifying, isn’t it? Moving on. They went well, for the most part, and given that my grades this year have not been less than an A at any point, I’m hoping that my combined efforts throughout will have landed me a nice juicy First for this year. At UCL, everything counts towards the final grade, and me being me, I’ve been doing my Perfectionist Thing for the past two months with exactly that in mind. The official results will be out at the end of July. Crossing fingers… now.
And of course, on the day of my last exam, to celebrate being free of the compulsive walking and talking to myself… I decided to walk the longest route home. Up a wheeze-inducing hill. Of course.
Anyway. Le sigh. And on to other updates.
Medical Gendery Things
So, by the time the assessment report arrived, which would ordinarily prompt me to try and sort out a blood test, I was fully in Revision Mode. Which means there is very little else I do other than revision. My phobic tendencies didn’t help much either, admittedly, as “I’d rather avoid going to my GP surgery” is Understatement of the Millenium.
(Just for clarification, my phobic things are unrelated to the place itself and what they do there – medical stuff of any kind is fine by me – instead, it’s much more to do with the way you’re treated by the humans who work there. You know, that voice that sounds like they’re judging, even if they’re not – do they actually teach that at medical school? Seriously? And the attitude of the receptionists is awful. Not to mention the way that regardless of what you come in with, the doctors’ response does the exact opposite of what it’s meant to do, and you end up leaving with an additional mental health problem to boot. I won’t even start on how my gender stuff was dealt with when it first came up.)
I didn’t want to start on hormones just before exams, which is how it would have worked, in case of side effects and various other things. I never want anything to distract from revision, because I’m strange, so it was probably a good thing to delay it anyway. But still.
So that’s not been done yet. Basically. I’m getting to it though, now I no longer have an excuse. During my exam time, I found out that they’ve changed my name at the surgery, before I’ve done a deed poll or got it changed anywhere else. Which, I assume, was meant to be helpful, but all it’s done is confuse matters; they really should have waited until I had a bit more say in the matter.
And I don’t know if they’ve changed my gender on their system or just my name. Given that you need to input your gender when signing in (the receptionists won’t allow you to announce yourself at the desk now; you have to use a machine), it only complicates matters, and worsens my response to going in. I know they meant well, but I’ve lost control of it all again, which is frustrating as hell. But I’m staying calm, if it kills me. Which it probably will, knowing my luck.
I’m hoping to have one set up for next week, then I’m on my way to hormones. And there’s really nothing more to report, other than my impatience becoming intolerable, despite the fact that I’m the only real cause for delay.
General Gendery Things
Nothing to report with my mum; she’s been getting better and better. Less-than-brilliant news with my dad though… he’s regressed. In fact, not only is he getting worse and worse with correctly naming/pronouning me, but he’s deliberately Getting It Wrong whenever:
- He’s annoyed with me generally (whether I’ve done anything to deserve it or not).
- We’re having an argument and I’ve made a point that he can’t defend.
Admittedly, that’s still better than the more primitive methods he’s been resorting to lately in order to win an argument; at least there are words of some kind involved.
But it’s still not appreciated. He’s even taken steps backwards in his excuses as well; previously, it was “it’s difficult to change how I’ve always known you”, but now it’s “I’m not doing anything wrong”. Which is sad, but there we go. I suppose it at least means I’m winning if he’s resorted to insults and other things to make his points for him.
I expect this kind of juvenile response from The S***heads of the World, because that’s kind of their purpose in life, to try and annoy you or get in your head. And that’s… well, it’s not fine, it’s never fine, but it’s predictable, and therefore less effective. But I’m fast losing patience with people who should know better, and who should respect me enough to make the effort, as I would for them.
But then again, I’ve recently been outed without permission, presumably by someone who I trusted to respect me in the same way, but apparently I’ve judged them to be better than they are, so perhaps that’s what I’ve been doing here.
There’s no concrete answer, and therefore little point in me typing about it, but that’s what I’ve done nevertheless. Hopefully I haven’t killed anyone with boredom by this point… and with that, I will shut up at last.