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Leslie had a talk with her mum about how she was feeling, and her mum showed empathy and gave some pointers. Leslie feels a lot better and less isolated. She feels like she has some paths to resolving her issue.

Leslie has been working things out with her uncle, and asked for help getting a job at the company her uncle works at, which covers surgery in its health plan. He said he would get back to her. Now Leslie has nothing to do but to live with her burning stomach.

"What do I do if the unisex bathroom is unavailable?" asked Leslie to her HR rep.

"Then you will use the men's restroom," replied the HR rep.

"Then you are to use the men's restroom! Oh my God! I can't believe you don't understand something so simple as the company's policy."

Leslie remains in the eternal present, waiting at last for the bureaucrats' permission to strike out toward better lands. She is wondering, When is my ship going to get here? Waiting for the eternal present. Oh, how wonderful it would be to finally leave to go to live with my uncle in California. How wonderful it would be to have a job with a company that actually provides coverage for sex reassignment surgery. How wonderful it would be to actually get the surgery.

How much longer must I wait for this stuff? Why doesn't it move faster? What can I do other than run in place and become ancy?

The pain is nigh unbearable. Doubts, plots, negativity all swirl around. Interlocutors enter the area, talk. Tingling and dizziness enter the head: the clarity of consciousness is reduced. Leslie leaves.

Leslie is still in pain, but she is silenced. She has no one with whom to talk. Her uncle didn't get back to her, and her mum has already indicated annoyance, so she sits and ruminates. She feels incredibly alone, paralyzed, and hopeless.

Leslie wanted to go to a career transition group. She put on her business suit and saw her somewhat wider shoulders, but it was doable she thought. She then put on the shoes, and they were too tight around the toes. She tried on other shoes, size 11, but they were too small.

"...and try to squeeze their feet into size 13 shoes," says the trans critical radical feminist.

She can't go to the group today and would have to shop for new shoes, sometime, somewhere. She feels sleepy and her sense of urgency melts away.

Leslie sits in her bed, she thinks of going to get her nails and hair done before her appointment today so she can be ready for the next career transition group and feels a strong need to do so, but she feels half-asleep and she feels like she is floating on the cloud. She does nothing.

Leslie fills out the job application for a job, which her uncle says she's a perfect fit for. The listing asks about skills and she's never heard of those skills before. Leslie is immediately discouraged, her stomach burns, and her head fills with fog. She just fills out the application as best as she can. She feels her attachment to this project waning and lowers her already low expectations.