Who the Hell Wired Me?

Recently I  butched it up and did some basic rewiring around Cyrsti's Condo. I accomplished what I set out to fix and destroyed my nails in the process of course.  Naturally,  electrical work is not recommended in Cyrsti's basic nail care book!

As I finally finished and had new sources of light for my dim eyeballs, I began to think of my own wiring. First things first,   of course I'm transgender or at the least gender fluid or whatever label you want to attach to me. Then let's not forget about my pesky bi-polar disorder which was actually diagnosed by a therapist I was seeing because of my gender questions. Plus, for a touch of spice, let's throw in my occasional bout with dyslexia. Yes I do start a book or magazine from the back or middle.  Doesn't everyone?

Certainly, I will never find out who was responsible for my wiring job. But dammit I want to blame someone!  Maybe I could start with Mom taking the late 1940's/ 1950's problem pregnancy meds. Some of which have been mentioned as possible links to transgender issues. I can hear her now, "Would you rather be transgender or not here at all? And by the way we can get rid of that trans trash by plugging you into a wall somewhere."

What good would it do me anyhow? Over a half century later I'm fairly sure I won't see a lawyer commercial on the Jerry Springer show screaming if your Mom took Drug XYZ during her 1949 pregnancy and you are transgender, call us now for cash!

Oh yeah, did I mention my attention span is so short I can barely read a book or the only time I am truly relaxed is when I'm asleep?

Damn! If I didn't live with me, I would have me committed!!!!

I can only say after I finally came to terms with all my wiring issues, I came to understand why my life was rarely boring!