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Silence Exile and Crumpets
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Tuesday, June 22nd, 2004

Time Event
Less good news about Selena
Yesterday evening, after I'd posted about our phone conversation of the previous day, I rang Selena as I'd promised and was told she was back in Intensive Care. I waited until I could talk to her parents and got an update.

Essentially, the lung infection came back and she had to go back on the ventilator - she just wasn't getting enough oxygen and it wasn't the panic attacks. They aspirated fluid from one lung that had gone semi-solid and that improved things.

There are one or two other causes for concern - her blood count is very low in spite of transfusions, for example.

She had a crisis yesterday afternoon, but pulled out of it - part of the problem is, of course, that she is weak from the chemo.

I spoke to her parents this morning - she had a comfortable night and is in no immediate danger. She is sedated, but not heavily - they can wake her up and she knows her name.

More later - I am going out this pm and won't be back until late, so I will probably post with a Wednesday morning bulletin.
Realizing what everyone else always knew
I went to see 'Mean Girls' this evening with new Hopelessly Straight Crush; obviously everyone who knows me has always realized that my fascination with teen movies is partly my middle-aged trans nostalgia for the female adolescence I didn't get to have and partly my combination of fetish and bitterness for what I got to have instead in my thirties, just after I finished the complicated drawn out for years mess that was my surgery and the sudden realization that I was not terribly into boys any more.

I got to hang out with a lot of twentysomething women who were running lesbianism like an American high school and I was the weird exchange student that was alternately hotter than a hot thing, cooler than cool to hang out with and totally the object of hate. Is it any wonder I am writing this book and breaking all these damn films down into tropes as a way of procrastinating about writing that chapter of my memoirs. I am kind of dense sometimes. (The Plain People of Hackney say 'Most of the time'.)

HSC is perfect crush material, witty, busty, unavailable, painted and fascinated that I knew all sorts of dead people that tie up with the people she is writing her PhD on. Specifically, I used to hang with Robert Lowell's widow Caro - but I spent so much time drinking vodka with Caro that my memory of that period, already compromised by 25 general anaesthatics, is impressionistic...But HSC is working on Lowell and goes 'Omigod, YOU KNEW CAROLINE!!!!'

I am a terrible old name-dropper and a constant social embarrassment.

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