Idle Prattling

Last day of the holidays, there may be trouble ahead...

In every other shot of this, I gave myself 
a double chin. I suck at selfies is what 
I'm saying. Well, full-length ones anyway. 

I love the suit though. 

But not tomorrow. I have had the largest meal and am looking forward to a beer. I have sent cover work. I have spent the day in a suit because... well, sooner or later I am going to have to wear one to work. I have got in a new blouse too - it has sewn together bits over the bust (nice) and gathers with elastic in the back and at the top of the arms. I... really like it. Also the skirt-suit. I mean. It's. And I have new shoes but they did rub the back of my right heel after walking in them for an hour at speed to the Warhammer shop to get my gloves back that I left there yesterday and thence to Waterstone's to get an Ursula Le Guin book, I got the Left Hand of Darkness for after I finish Native Tongue.

Took the boys to the gaming vegan café as our standard Saturday, which was lovely, the Smallest and I played a few games of PJ Masks (we lost) and then some games of Battlesheep before finishing off with a game of Kingdomino. He had a great time and enjoyed himself, along with having a bowl of chips, whilst the Middlest did some trades to complete his decklist for the Pikachu V Union deck he's building. However, it was an early finish so he didn't get to construct it afterward. I spent some of today building the Mad Party deck again for him to use on Tuesday, but I think it's an Expanded tournament, so we'll probably sit about with some others who are opting out and play with some silly decks.

Look: masc-ed up! Okay, okay, this is with
the cat-eye glasses and not my work ones,
but still...

I spent the day in a playsuit (the one from my jab) and a pullover. It was really, really comfortable. But hard to go to the loo when out (so I didn't, I've had plenty of practice). And, both days, I've worn mascara because I like wearing it and how it makes my eyes look. So there.

The roofer was round on Friday and so now there is proper flashing on my kitchen roof and around the chimney. I really hope that this is the end of the Saga of the Many Leaks but I guess I'll find out soon enough. The roofer did not charge. He made out like he wasn't overseeing the initial jobs as the flashing "should have been done" and I pretended that I wasn't there and thus fully aware that he had been there supervising the work in the first place. The dysphoria hoodie worked a treat, no one seemed to notice anything, and I got to thinking, as I went out to post some beer parcels, how this was now me masc-ing up when, over the summer, it would have been as femme as I dared go. That is, a hoodie on over the top of stuffed bra and roll-neck vest, hunting trousers over tights and trainer socks under my trainers. Ha, how times have changed!

Urgh, the double-chin is in full effect.
No idea why, but it's like in every shot...

However, great skirt-suit. Really enjoyed
wearing it today and I think it'll be fine
for work.

In other news, it is amazing how normal it now feels to be wearing a pendant. Like... I had a shower this morning and realised I still had it on, so I took it off to let it dry out and felt... naked. I think... I think I like that I am used to wearing it. Back in June(?) I took a picture through FaceApp and it changed my shirt into a pendant (butterfly it looked like) and I spent a few days at work idly searching for something like that because I liked how the FaceApp image looked, but it came to nothing. Honestly, because I couldn't envisage wearing one in real life - I would look and feel silly. So I abandoned the search and thought no more of it. And Shiona asked about getting my ears pierced and, in much the same way, I have looked at earrings in the past (on the internet and on women) and sort of semi-thought about it before deciding that it was never going to happen and abandoning the thought. Oddly, probably for sensory reasons, I have never considered clip ons so... But now? I guess I am thinking about it. Saw a picture of Mia Mulder with pierced ears, she of the glasses and hair fascination that I have, and thought "ooh, they look nice!" and then... Yeah, I guess it's a thing that's going to happen.

Watched the new Philosophy Tube video on vaccination on Friday too, whilst Middlest was playing a new game he'd downloaded, and she'd had FFS (Feminine Facial Surgery, I think, may be Feminising? I dunno) and... honestly, can't see the difference. I'm sure it's made the world of difference to her but I'm not seeing it. And it coalesced, for me, that, no, I'm not looking at surgery on my face. I mean, sure, I'd like to get rid of the facial hair, said that before, but I'm not sure I'd go so far as surgery - unless electrolysis counts as surgery, then yeah, I'd do that. Too expensive now though.

This evening, I have changed jacket
and am in my denim knee-length skirt.

Goodness, I prattle on.

I had a couple of dreams recently too, no TMI, about my old Head of Department. The nasty one, who was a friend, and he was... well, he was up to something in all of them. Doing that thing he used to do where he'd be friendly one minute and then mean the next, no way of predicting it, and it usually meant he was up to something to undermine me or thought that I had made a mistake somewhere. The dreams were all about that. And, unusually for my dreams, the setting was reasonably close to the actual school where I used to work. Except that the Head was my actual Head. Yeah, these are not hard to interpret at all. But I am sanguine, I think, what will be, will be. I can't do more than I've done to prepare, I've just got to wait. I hate waiting but I am good at it. Talked about that at length on here before, just not this kind of waiting usually.

Right. Beer time. Do I go with the heavy stout of joy or the light amber of not as strong because I want to be up reasonable o'clock tomorrow? Hmm. Chipped my pink nail varnish too. Do I change it tomorrow or just wash it off? These are rhetorical questions.

Follow the White Rabbit

Walking on Wednesday. It was reasonably 
bright. You can't tell I'm in a skirt and 
jacket.

Yesterday a parcel arrived in the morning. I was faffing, as is becoming my wont, and trying out a new dress for professional purposes (and nursing a toe whose nail I'd trimmed a bit too enthusiastically a week ago - long story short, it really hurt and it was partly down to walking 20+ km in my Chelsea boots; work shoes would have had the same result mind). I applied mascara, got dressed, went and checked. It was a parcel to me, in my chosen name, from Etsy. I hadn't ordered anything from there, had I? I mean, I have browsed there a few times since last April looking at various things but... I opened it. There was a message. It was from Miss Warrington, short and to the point, with a pendant.

Lump in throat.

It's a Matrix reference that we have shared a few times - 'follow the white rabbit' - and... Even with everyone, everyone, being so lovely this was unexpected support and it damn' near made me cry. I was shaking for the next ten or so hours with... emotion? I don't know. Obviously I wasted my morning. On top of a dear friend being in near constant touch (thank you) and a lovely video call with Tim I don't think I have ever felt this... connected. It's a really interesting feeling. I like it. I don't have the vocabulary to properly describe it, maybe there isn't a word for it: the feeling that people are in contact, are actively caring and, also, just friends without an agenda. I've been reading Native Tongue and it talks about Encoding - words that don't yet exist for concepts that already do having to be created - and this was an example of that.

Yerrrrs, it was the mask made me hard
to identify..

I'm not complaining. I mean, I am, but
not about that. :)

Been in touch with the roofer since Sunday's leak in the kitchen, promises of repairs, and then, this morning, confirmation that he is coming today - I have activated dysphoria hoodie powers to hide my stuffed bra. Still got the pink nail polish on. Oh, yes, I wore that yesterday with the Laura Ashley dress because it was in blue and white. The pink is, of course, pastel. I... I like pastel colours and always have. Apparently, apparently, this is a feminine trait - I call fie. Colour is colour. I went out after lunch to do some shopping, which I achieved, and got two (2!) pairs of shoes that seem to fit. My toe complained, so I haven't worn them much yet, but there is a pair of black Chelsea Boots (sort of flat, like a half inch heel) from Poundland (I know how to live) and a pair of 'comfy chunky shoes' from Tesco (on sale for a fiver, happy days). They will absolutely suffice for work shoes. Also got in a blue t-shirt to go beneath the dress (it's lovely, but it does try to frame the cleavage I don't have, a t-shirt covers that section nicely).

Walked out to sort some beer swaps, found I have no old boxes to send them, so that's a trip today. Had a half of stout at my local bar, spoke to the guy who didn't recognise me for a while and then realised, recovered beautifully, "Ah, Pete," he said, "Didn't recognise you with the mask on!" And the big posh ladies coat from Indy's wife, a dress, pink nails, mascara and glasses, he didn't add. He was kind, shocked, but kind. Been practising my voice, seems to be making an impact some of the time.

The walk home before tea and Chams.
My hair is looking especially windswept
of late...

In case it's not obvious, I have been avoiding the news. From Texas, from Ukraine, from Parliament. I know... enough.

Capped the day off with Chams and it was lovely (that word again, I use it a lot). Chatted to a lovely(!) transfem enby for most of the evening, similar age and also weird - like me - and to Izzy. It was a really positive night. There was another application of Encoding, regarding the terms around QUILTBAG+ and their increasing proliferation, and that was lovely(!). I thought I had lots to say about it but, actually, I don't - and that is a good thing! It was nice to catch up with Lynn too, looking fabulous as always, and just... be. Yeah, I don't do that very often and it was good to have that time.

Today... I might try to mark some work - can't post the feedback electronically, but I can write it all up on a Word doc or something so I can publish if/when this calms down. Or not. I suspect marked work is better than none at all. And, also, got to post those beers. And, also, my roofer has no clue about transition. I might... I think I'll keep the dysphoria hoodie on for now, and the school glasses. Heh, a proper disguise.

A Clothing Post?

Skirts. Skirt-suits.

Despite appearances, this is the best shot 
I got of me in skirt and jacket yesterday. 
Red roll-neck worked well.

Dig around here enough and you'll know that they are almost as ubiquitous as bridal photos. No, moreso. I have long, long, thought about skirt suits. And, inamongst everything, I wanted to try wearing skirts out. Like, out, in the world. Haven't really done that but I did note that when I wore a dress that weekend, the one where I suddenly realised on the Sunday what I was doing, I was warm and comfortable. Like... I know, it's normal, right? It's a thing. But... I never expected to feel that comfortable in that get up out there in the world.

So, since Tuesday last week, I made a point. I wore a skirt to the local favourite gaming vegan café - black denim, thank you for asking, but it wasn't... I wore my black jeggings on the Wednesday and Thursday and Friday. By Saturday I was wondering at myself. I wore that denim skirt I got that Tilly found the receipt from all that time ago and... yes, it was nice. I wore it again on the Sunday when I popped for a coffee and apologised to Misty for my horrid communication on that first weekend of the recent... for being confusing, when I thought I would turn my back on everything. Then, yesterday, I wore a stone skirt from Shiona and... I was not prepared.

The shot I used to come out with on the
Twitterers.

I cut myself shaving.

Where the denim had been stretchy, I guess, this was not. I knew I was wearing it when I walked. And I was warm. It was comfortable, it was... beautiful. I have not the vocabulary to properly explain but it just felt right. I was me again. I went to charge the car and, after that, I walked into town because I wanted to. And it felt... normal. I felt perfectly at ease and comfortable. I stopped at a pub, the micro-pub, and had a couple of halves. I came out on Twitter - well, I had done so quietly a while ago but no one noticed, this time it was hard to miss.

This morning, I wanted to do it again. But when I'd changed top and tights I felt maybe the stone didn't fit. I've gone for a jacket and skirt combo with a dotty blouse from Indy's wife and... yeah. This is me. I like wearing a skirt suit. I feel professional, sure, but I also feel... like me. I'm about to head out this afternoon to get some beer for a beer exchange or two and I feel like I want to walk there and back. It took me far longer than it should do to touch up my nails, apply mascara and eye-shadow, brush my hair and... yeah. No way I could take this time normally, I don't have two hours of a morning! I guess I shall get quicker when I'm not experimenting. Maybe just mascara in future.

Not the best selfie, but the best I can do
right now.

The other thing that's been haunting me a bit is a communication I had in my depths from someone known on this blog. She shared something and I reacted very autistic-ly - it was a Big Deal to tell me, I appreciate that more than she will ever know, but I feel that my response wasn't right. So, she knows who she is and I know that she will read this, I honestly appreciate her telling me - it came at the right time and made a massive difference. I hope that she can forgive my reaction at the time, it wasn't the right one.

Also, and again I shall be vague, I was made a lovely and well-felt offer - I struggled to accept it, as I always do - and eventually I was able to admit that I really wanted to take the person up on that offer. I really struggle with this, but I hope I'm getting better. I couldn't ask my Mum to visit, I couldn't even say yes when she asked. And, when people make lovely offers I struggle to accept them- I have so far managed, but I feel very odd about doing it. Shiona with her wonderful suits, Indy's wife with her wonderful waistcoats and coats (and other things), and now this one. Forgive my lack of specifics, I shall reveal more when I have the ability but it is something that... means a lot.

One of the biggest themes of this place since Christmas has been just how many and just how deep my friendships are. That theme remains a big one, getting bigger, and, as always, I struggle to set out just how much all this means. It means a lot. Without that love, and it is love, I would be struggling (that word again) much more than I have been with recent events. That's it, that's all the words I have in the tank today. I'm looking forward to Chams on Thursday, I'm looking forward to Pokémon tonight (or whatever Middlest wants to do) and to Smallest coming to paint tomorrow. That's as far as I dare plan right now, but it'll do.

The Post I Didn't Write

No chariot, but some orc archers wot I painted. 

Before all of the recent... unpleasantness kicked off I had been planning a rather different post. Most of it was going to be about wearing my school trousers for the last time and retiring my 'shy' wardrobe - that is, the shirts and the jackets, the darker colours and the stuff I bought for camouflage so I wouldn't be seen. For example, the ten million shades of brown I owned and the staple series of shirts worn on more or less strict rotation (to be fair, I owned a decent amount of shirts). Also some of the shirts with cuff-links that I owned and was, frankly, terrified of wearing for some reason (it was dysphoria, wasn't it?). Which... well, I can't write at the moment, even if everything goes well and I end up somehow back in my job I suspect the workplace transition is a long while off.

But there were a couple of other positives that I really ought to share.

It was a surprisingly influential book
to me.

If you've read here long enough (or just dived into the archives) then you'll know that I really didn't get into teaching, it was kinda done for me. Not that it was handed to me or anything but I didn't get where I am today. I really didn't. And, in the last couple of weeks before it all kicked off, there were some glimpses as to why I might be where I was.

The first of these was a student I've been keeping a careful eye on since they started in Year 12 last academic year. I immediately thought "autism?" and sort of kept a weather eye. My tales of my own ASD prompted this student to badger their parents about it, who had been very keen not to pursue a diagnosis. However, a recommendation for Aspergirls and a word or two about getting breaks in examinations and the barriers were breached. This student would then keep me up to date with the journey and saga for getting a diagnosis - I submitted one of the reports to the specialist - and then, when the diagnosis was achieved, the student made a bee-line to tell me. Apparently I was the first of the school staff (and possibly in the school, but the student couldn't confirm that) to know. They said "I wanted to tell you because I knew that you would be as happy as I was when I heard the news!" And, fair play, I was. We traded diagnosis stories and autistic traits, flapped a bit because we could (which the student found hilarious and empowering) and then the student handed over a card to say thank you. It had a book token in it, and the student went to pains to say that, no, I wasn't allowed to not accept it and that they wanted me to know even a fraction of their gratitude for being such a good role model and example of how to be successful and autistic.

I hope I haven't let them down too much.

Not as a complaint, but I note that there
is a lot about supporting students that
are trans* or ASD, but very little (if
anything) for staff.

Not complaining, just pointing it out.
Cos, y'know, selfishness.

The second of these was a student who, since coming back this year in Year 13, has looked much more comfortable. Their work rate has gone through the roof and their attainment has finally begun to match what they'd been threatening in all the years I've taught them (four). They started wearing a ring a few months ago, with a big sort of pearl on it, and they were clearly growing their hair (but they had always had a large mop of unruly hair, so it was hard to tell). Then, about a week before the incident I noted that she had stopped wearing a tie. I pointed this out, "you're actually the first person to point it out," said she.

"Do... you and I need to have a chat about things?" I asked.

"Do we?"

"Then no," but my dander was up. I brought up the fact that I was pretty certain we were looking at a student coming out as transgender to her head of year, but also counselled that I may be reading too much into it. The head of year promised to keep things careful and on uniform (boys have to wear ties in the Sixth Form) and would simply offer a chance to open up. I thought no more of it and carried on as normal. Until, a couple of days later, the Wednesday of the complaint in fact, the student stopped back at the end of a lesson. "Oh," I said, "are you waiting to talk to me?"

"Yes, I was. Actually. Um. I wanted to say thank you."

Is it a good moment to remember
Judith Butler?

Is it ever a moment not to?

"Thank you?"

"Yes, you told [head of year] about my tie and... well, it's the first time I've been able to tell anyone in authority about... I came out to my friends over summer, tried in Year 10 actually but put myself back in the closet, and by telling people here I think that, this time, I can stick with it. So, thank you. I wouldn't have been able to do it had you not said anything."

"I mean, congratulations and you're welcome, of course!"

"[Head of year] didn't tell me you told them, but it was the tie. You were the only one to notice. And the only teacher to mention my hair," she'd tied it back and I pointed out it looked good "so I knew it was you. Honestly, thank you."

"Then, honestly, you are welcome."

She shared her new name, and the reasons why she chose it, along with the previous attempt. I complimented the choice, it was a solid one, and reiterated that changes were fine if she wanted to make them. She then asked how long I had known. "About you?"

"No. About you." I didn't know she knew.

"Not long. I think you're doing great, and, well, I'm glad for you. You seem so much happier and confident this year than last. Well done!"

And then she was gone, smiling.

One ridiculous coloured beanie like hat
and big glasses, the rain had stopped by this
point, but I think I quite like how the hat
feels so I kept it on.

Yeah, I look ridiculous.

If this is the end of my career, I guess I did what I always hoped I would do: change the lives of at least two students for the better. Even if only in very small ways, I seem to have managed it with two students in the same year group over the last two years - and there is some proof.

Today I got my hair trimmed and paid the women's rate (it was more expensive, but I was buzzing after the hairdresser said, with just me and the other hairdresser in the shop, "looks like it's women's week for haircuts!") - so my hair looks a bit tidier. The hairdresser wasn't fooled, by the way, she twigged very quickly indeed and then made it plain when she pointed out that not knowing what I wanted to do with my hair proved it was the longest it's ever been and... well, not many women haven't had hair longer than chin length in their lives! And I also freaked myself out taking the Middlest and Smallest into the nearby city - they were both making plans with pocket money and such and it dawned on me that if I lose my job or get demoted I might not be able to support pocket money in the future - not helped by the fact that the refill shop had closed. Did buy a ridiculous puce mess of a beanie to keep the rain off for a pound from Primark though.

[Insert Matrix Reference Here]

In stock photo land, friends are also almost invariably 
females. Not that I'm complaining, but it is a tad unfair 
to the enbies and males I call friend. 

Over Christmas a University friend put me in touch with someone I had dimly known at the time and watched, from afar on mutual friend's FB accounts, as she transitioned. In a brief exchange, I don't do well at forming new friendships, she shared the following phrase: "my friends are more invested in defending my gender than I am." I didn't really appreciate what that meant.

It's true though. From people getting in contact from work, whom I cannot respond to, to people getting in touch because they are excellent friends, they all used 'Joanna'. As I spiralled and vacillated, they did not and, bit by bit, piece by piece, it worked. When my Mum came, she asked permission and I kept saying no - because I wanted her to come anyway and didn't want to ask or admit that I wanted her here - she asked why I hadn't shaved. She asked each morning and each evening. She asked why I wasn't dressing "as Joanna" and when she took me out for lunch she said she was made uncomfortable by how I was punishing myself. She kept making references to conversations she had had with family and her friends about how much happier I had been, especially since Christmas. She shared how happy she had seen me after the Ladies' Night and how it was a return to how I had been as a young boy - the young boy she seemed to have lost over the years and especially more recently.

I guess that's just what Mums do and how they see
their children for evermore.

Quoth the raven: evermore.

Her terms were clumsy, her language not fully equipped with the vocabulary to explain what she was trying to say, but the intent and meaning was clear.

On Sunday I was supposed to have attended a Prerelease tournament at my favourite local vegan gaming café but... well, I didn't. And, on that morning before my Mum arrived after 42 hours in bed and feeling the world closing in on me, I told them I was reconsidering my options, that I wouldn't be Joanna any more. I did not return to that conversation again. On Tuesday I took the Middlest to his prerelease at the place, Misty was not there, but I took the time to dress as me. I knew that if I didn't I would probably turn my back on it all, I would give in to that treacherous part of me and I would resume the beatings until morale improved. This confused a lot of the staff, obviously, and...

Can we take a moment here to appreciate the
wholesome power of this man?

I found it hard. I could feel the 'stress flurries' in my heartbeat that I remember so well from the Years of Hell. When the heart races for no reason for a bit and I feel dizzy and winded. When I start shaking for no reason. When I suddenly find the need to hide in the dark and have to leave company mid conversation, sometimes mid-word.

But I spoke to Louis, who has been mentioned before, and... he was wearing glasses, I complimented him on them because they looked good, suited his face, and they were blue. I wouldn't wear them, a bit masc, but they suited him. I said so. He was genuinely surprised by the compliment and shared almost immediately that they were the first pair of men's glasses he had ever owned. He'd been suit shopping, I recognised the experience and almost everything that he had enjoyed about it was what creeped me out about it and made me avoid buying suits. Ha, that makes sense. He offered to accompany me, with his partner, to a salon sometime if I ever wanted to try out a more femme experience - he's been there before, knows the ropes, hates the places - and...

Middlest had a lot of fun.
I... know I needed to go. But it was hard.

At one point in the night I stopped to see Middlest play, the first time I'd had the opportunity, and he was playing an adult supported by three other people. I spotted Middlest making a mistake, he was clearly tired, so talked him through the cards again, pointed out the mistake, he altered the play. His opponent then mis-read a card and did something they couldn't do. I pointed it out, they were upset, but I wasn't angry. The supporters quibbled, I was right though. One of them left. Then a judge asked me aside and gently told me that I shouldn't be helping Middlest, he was playing a new player, and, well, although they usually overlooked me supporting him, it looked bad in this instance. It was Thursday afternoon all over again. My mouth went dry, my words stopped working, I went and found somewhere to stand alone, away from everyone else. I nearly missed my next game. If I could have done, I would have driven home.

Middlest had a great time. At the end he made some decent pulls and made a point of going around to all the people he counts as friends to say goodbye because he didn't want to leave without telling them. It was 2245. Once home, with the heating having been off all day, it was 9 degrees. He went to bed, I joined him, it was 0034 when I fell asleep. In the morning I had to get him home for 0800 as he had Drama. He'd had a lot of fun. I had struggled.

December.

Last night, Gary rang on speakerphone so I could hear Shiona in the background. They kept using 'she/her' and 'Joanna' even as I sat there with a stuffed bra and my male pyjamas. It was... I smiled a bit.

I phoned a support line for education professionals today, spoke to a counsellor. I do what I do best with counsellors - which is to say they end up not being able to say much and, whilst they point out I have an unfair use of language when talking about myself, they usually end up agreeing with my assessment of the issues and the intractability of them. Which this one did. She proposed I distract myself a bit but prepare for losing my job. I gave them my legal name and... it felt like... I...

...

As I got ready today, in my usual spoken internal-monologue, I was back to swearing at myself and using insults. But I was 'Jo' or 'Joanna'.

All Full of Glory

In stock photo land it's always a racially diverse 
group and in the summer, apparently.

Horrendous framing of this image, IMO. 

I am struggling.

I have been blessed with many friends getting in contact and I have struggled with how to respond. I am used to just beating myself up and actively waiting for the worst to happen (and it usually does). I shan't go into details, but this is no longer me just painting things black, I could lose my job. And that hurts.

Not just because of the loss of income or status, but because I am my job.

I am struggling because I do not feel I can continue along the path of being me. I do not feel that I deserve the happiness I have felt and the outpouring of support I have enjoyed. I certainly no longer feel that I can look forward to a workplace transition after half term. I dressed in only male clothes on Friday, no underdressing and no glasses, I did not shave. Then I was sent home (not a story for here) indefinitely and, after returning the Mary Janes and the boots from Next (the latter being too small) on foot, I returned home and changed into male pyjamas and went to bed.

That's roughly what it felt like being in bed.

Trying to use my phone, wrapped in a duvet in the dark
led to more than one instance of fat-fingered mistakes.

Where I stayed, apart from trips to get a drink and nip to the loo, for the next 45 hours.

My Mum's here at the moment, doing her best to support me. She travelled down today. Yesterday she rang 111 and got them to get in touch, I was a tad annoyed. And that's the other thing, I do have a habit of batting away support. Gary and Shiona were first to get in touch, I had told Shiona about what was happening very quickly, and they phoned during the day on the Friday and then again late Friday night. I did a poor job of responding to their kindness and concern, but it was felt and, later, appreciated. Izzy had been in touch too, which was also felt, but much much later, she caught me at my most discombobulated so got a fairly robotic response. It was just after I had driven home. I deleted the FB account because a cleaner started asking odd questions on Thursday night whilst I spoke to a friend and colleague and I thought that a bad idea given the rapidly evolving situation. Mum responded relatively quickly on the Friday, spent Saturday trying to come down and me rebuffing her a lot - she wasn't in any fit state to drive. Jenny got in contact (for me) early this morning. I did a poor job of dealing with that. She was very helpful, I responded robotically.

Not a new picture. I was happy here.

I didn't eat from Thursday lunchtime to when my Mum made me lunch, apart from a pot noodle, apple and crisps which I regretted almost instantly last night - they made my mouth hurt.

I am struggling not to turn my back on being Joanna. Since April I have been the happiest I remember being, doubled (and more) over Christmas, then it continued to grow, with some wobbles because I'm not used to being happy, until it reached the highest point of happiness I can remember (despite the appearance of that treacherous part of me) at the Ladies' Night with Shiona and the morning after with Gary as well. I really struggled with that because they were so lovely and so affirming and so nice and I was so happy and comfortable and at peace and felt so loved, really loved. And I'm not used to that.

I wasn't as happy, but still way up there, the early part of the week, but buoyed by getting in contact with Toby again. And, that treacherous part of me reminds me, I should have known. He grins, and tells me that maybe this is punishment for being so happy in the first place - I don't deserve that, of course it would end badly - and that maybe, because I don't deserve such happiness, I don't deserve to be Joanna either. And it's hard, right now, not to listen to him. Not shaved my face since Thursday morning, looking in the mirror is back to looking and feeling like it did for most of my life: I am not there.

I put all my clothes away, from the weekend, today. And all the others I'd been experimenting with in preparation for after half term. Like when your wardrobe was in a single cardboard box, reminded that part of myself with his insufferable smug grin, and every time you put the clothes away you put away another part of yourself.

It's not the lowest I've felt, even on here I don't think I shared it fully, but it's close. And it's the first time people I know IRL have known. They have done what I have not: covered themselves in glory.

Life's a Piece of...

In the dream I am the one walking the platform, no victim and no guards, from the train. It's not a cattle truck, it's a mid-range carriage, at this stop I am the only passenger to alight. It's a glorious summer's day, the birds are singing, but ahead I see the smoke from the chimneys and I know what it means, what the sweet tang on the faint zephyr represents. To get here I brought spite as my weapon, sarcasm as my ammunition and bloody-mindedness as my armour. Laziness is my suit, inappropriateness the railway tracks and my choice to set foot on this badly made, rushed platform. The train leaves, but I stand and stare away, toward the squat buildings ahead. One of the workers there grins a gallows grin and gestures me to leave, but nods grimly when I, instead, approach the gate.

In the phone conversation I am the one who has made some less than sensible choices, the speaker reminds me, and who looks to the book of Job. God does not boast of me, "have you seen my servant, Peter?" to the Light Bringer from on high. But there is free will, and free will can separate us from the Almighty. In the car I am the child in the backseat on the way back from a day trip in the summer holidays. As the sky greys over and the heat begins to decline I look out of the windows and offer thanks for the fact that, unlike thousands of others, my family is together and not divorced. Within the month my father will explain his affair and the marriage will end. In the foyer of the halls of residence I am the one watching Ian and Kirsty flirt on the stairwell, before now I have been told that Terry likes me, she stands on the next landing. Our eyes meet, she comes down to me, we talk, she asks me out. I give thanks that I have a girlfriend in the months that follow, everything I ever wanted, a chance to dispel the gloom of that divorce. Within a month I realise it is over, but it will take six more before I end it, like clubbing a baby seal.

On the motorway from Hull I am the one putting the fire out with his urine in a desperate effort to stop the car going up in flames. I retire, cold and stressed, to the back seat, knowing I have work in the morning, it is already 0100. It will take until 0500 to get home, then a full day's teaching. But it prevents me from overthinking, so that I end up in a relationship with Tilly. I shall give thanks multiple times: for the miscarriage, we were not ready for children, and then there will be the birth; for the wedding, and then there were the photos that missed Tilly's family; for the fact that Tilly's PND was improving, but then there was the conversation about cross-dressing; for working back at my school, but then there were the years of Hell; for the new job, but then there was the finance issue for the new house; for the thawing of relations, but then the expectation for a third child, and then a third child; for the ASD diagnosis, but then there were the arguments; for the Lockdown improvements, but then there was all that happened.

Maybe, says the speaker on the phone, maybe you shouldn't just be giving thanks, maybe you should actually pray for some more sensible decisions! Maybe the students have been motivated, and scared, by my decisions that have brought me here. I agree. My decisions have been selfish and self-indulgent. I should know better.

In the room where I work, in the student support section after all the students have left, I am the one shaking slightly, unable to meet the eye of my friend and colleague. She is attempting to help: "you must be able to think of at least one thing about yourself that you find good," she implores, "just one thing." I remain silent. Cock an eyebrow. "Surely you can see the good you do for others!" Sleight of hand and bluster, that's all that is. A reflection, a deflection, a play on words and an actor's smile.

In the dashcam crash compilation you can't always predict what will happen next, sometimes they bear down and sometimes from off-screen; but the trucks always hit. The only certainty is the crash in each situation. Pattern recognition allows you to see the end even if you don't know how you're going to get there. In the analogy I am the ship leaning in full sail as the wind rises and rises, I am the climber on the edge of the precipice without ropes seeing just how far he can push it before he falls. In the song, I'm the thrillseeker, honey, and I can't help it; I'd kill for that feeling now I've felt it, it's the cruelest of hands but I've been dealt it: I can see it, I can feel it, here it comes. Here it comes now.

My language is manipulative, authoritarian and dismissive. I am the autistic gaslighter who studied his old of head of department and learned how to bully. Love does not keep a list of wrongs, but I do. And, apparently, so have some students I teach. The substance of that list is correct, there are no lies, and I am in the wrong. Tomorrow I shall learn what the decision is. I have been informed that dismissal is a likely option. That it was touch and go whether I would be asked to teach again in the morning, but that it had been decided to trust me for now as the cover list was already too long. This struck out of a clear blue sky, the words of my superior, and it had taken the man hours of at least five staff at a time when the school could ill-afford that.

In the bedroom I am the pervert in the pyjamas, tomorrow I shall eschew the trappings of the selfish decisions I have taken and face the music: enjoy it, it's my last chance any'ow. The show doesn't have to go on, Freddie; happiness is not an absence of worry, Bobby; life is what you get when hope it fails, John.

I wrote that there could be no bad feeling that would outweigh or consume the happiness I felt at New Year and I knew I had thrown down the gauntlet. I knew, I knew, that I would be wrong, but I did assume I would have more than 41 days. There is something poetic about that though: years, days. It's slightly mathematical. An element of symmetry. I lasted 40 years without acknowledging myself, I can last that again, surely. It used to be that I gave hope to a colleague for her autistic son, I was proof that he could 'come good'. It used to be.

Up

Morning. Hair not brushed, glasses 
off, early morning. 

On Tuesday I had a meeting with HR - as related - and it really is just a regular check up to see how things are going. My HR has compiled a list of things that need to be done and included my transition more generally so that she can support me fully. No, really, she's applying organisation to my known capacity to blunder into the dark and really keen to be helpful. I don't always totally see things the same way as her but I have to be honest that she is totally doing it out of genuine concern and a desire to do right by me. Case in point, she has created a gender-neutral toilet (it's the old visitor's toilet, with a gender neutral sign now) because she realised that there may be enbies on the staff who might appreciate it after I spoke about just how comfortable it had been to use a women's loo and how surprised I had been about that. It was a lovely hour, if hard to spare it, and I genuinely felt supported and cared for by my HR person. I'm not sure about her insistence on sending an e-mail rather than announcing my change in a briefing but her reasoning comes from the right place. She even said she was throwing out some blouses after learning I am a size 14 and said she'd pass some on.

That seems to be a recurring (and very welcome) theme actually!

On top of that, I reached out to Toby who I'd found on the Book of Faces last night, realising that a friend request ought probably to have a message to explain who the chutney was getting contact. The message got a response relatively quickly and, despite initially struggling to remember who I was, we had a lovely chat. He's almost exactly like I remember but more of it. It was fascinating, to me, that he'd had a lot of exes respond that they "weren't gay" when he'd come out to them. Now, okay, maybe I'm not a good sample, but I thought that quite a selfish response to the news. And, also, a bit dishonest.

After all, Toby is the same now, from what I can gather, as he always was. If anything, he makes more sense now than he did when we were going out. Looking back at how he appears in this blog it's a wonder that I hadn't postulated that he was a trans-man before, actually. Does that make me straight or bi? Ha! It doesn't matter. It makes Toby attractive and a soul who I appear to continue to look up to and admire. What I'm saying is, it was really nice to have a chat and find him so happy with life in general despite some rather large ructions.

Also last night Shiona was in touch after reading an older post on here and that was very welcome. Coupled with her comment on my last post I am feeling very blessed at the moment!

New boots were picked up last night too, but they may be a bit too small - size 9 from New Look appear to be EU42 sized. They may just need breaking in. The surprising, well, sort of surprising thing is that them being flat actually made it seem harder for me to walk in them. Like, I was expecting a heel or something. I switched to my Chelsea boots for the remainder of the evening. I think I'll take the boots back and invest in a pair of lower-heeled black shoes from Next. Maybe return the Mary-Jane's too? I've barely worn them and you can't tell I have at all at the moment. They are beautiful... but maybe I should trade them in for something that doesn't have 3" heels!

Still not shaved my legs or chest. So, feeling very hairy there at the moment. Pits aren't as bad (I shaved last week) but also need doing. Is this a complaint? No, it's just registering that I can do something about it and no longer feel fear about doing so. That part of this blog where I said I was happy with my body hair? Ha! Apparently not. As Toby said: it's funny how things turn out.

Now that we've grown up together

They're afraid of what they see

A magical weekend with some strange notes - like a dark and satisfying stout on a cold night wrapped in a Saxon cloak by a campfire sharing with close friends and like-minded strangers but then you get drenched in gin rather than rain, that makes the campfire flicker. So, sort of like having a great time, then something else happens that is also great but has consequences and you are left confused over what to think about the juxtaposition of the two things because they don't mesh or make- I'm getting confusing, sorry.

Okay. Right.

Just before I left work.

After the panic came Friday. Busy day at work, then shooting out and deciding to stop home. Good thing too, Tilly asked for the Middlest's stuff for his martial arts training on a Saturday. I took them over, after getting changed into my skater dress and a jacket, but forgot that his clothes were drying so ended up providing nothing useful. It was a long drive, I loved what I was wearing and how I felt, but I tried to be clever and charge quickly - there was a queue - and, instead, ended up adding about an hour to the journey time.

However, arriving at Gary and Shiona's was worth it. I was greeted warmly and we had a lovely chat whilst I had a beer. I kinda forgot that me presenting this way was unusual until reviewing it as I type - the fact that Gary and Shiona just accepted it and we chatted like the friends we are speaks volumes. I mean, I'd had the entire drive to get used to what I was wearing and longer than that to get used to being myself, they have never seen me as myself and... It was lovely. I don't think I registered at the time just how much.

On the Saturday Gary and I had chance to chat about things and he was... as one of my longest standing friends he knew what to ask to make me feel comfortable and knew what to ask to get the answers he wanted, at least, I hope he got the answers he wanted. I was sort of surprised to find he had a lower opinion of himself than I did, that is, he looked back at himself in school and was quite critical - he knows best I suppose - and I hope I was able to pay even a small amount of the kindness he showed back in our to-ing and fro-ing. The most unusual and striking thing, for me, was how I found myself sitting (it had been commented on the night before too, which may explain why it was on my mind) - knees together and legs swept to one side.

From the Thursday.

A trip to meet up with Tim and Lesley and their children followed. We played a job-guessing game in the car on the way and it was a clever idea, never would have come up with that myself, and it reminded me of the games we used to play in my family on car journeys. The sing-songs and alphabet games. It was a very positive experience and I was pleased to take part. Talking to Tim and Lesley was also amazing, again I forgot that they had never seen me presenting as I was (now in red roll-neck, jeans and my posh coat from Indy's wife) because they accepted me as if that was how I had always been. The only real difference, in this meeting but also everything so far, was the distinct lack of pressure I felt. Nothing that anyone was doing was any different, it was just I felt so much more at ease. Later on in the weekend I was talking to Shiona and realised that it was simply because I wasn't trying to hide anything - I've done that so much in my life and for so long that I sort of forgot what it was that I was hiding (the feeling that I was a woman I guess) and just worried about everything and anything.

Point? I actually felt relaxed and happy in the company of my friends. Not the first time, but easily the first time since starting this blog. I found myself more able to offer compliments (even if I still came across the same way, I felt more able to do it) and to listen to people rather than to try and compete or dominate. I suppose it was more like when I first met Tim and Gary at school - when they were the people I was getting to know and I wasn't weighed down by the perceived need to hold my own - I'm not describing this well at all. The point is that I felt very much at ease and comfortable. Still nervous, but not about everything, just about saying the thoughts in my head.

That was another theme. I'll get back to that.

Shiona had to go and organise the village hall, where there was the Ladies' Night that I had been invited to attend, and I thus started to get ready. As usual I underestimated the time it would take to get ready - I always do this, but I am learning. It was further exacerbated by that treacherous part of myself inside that started whispering: "You don't have a posh top, yours are just functional t-shirts or office wear. See, you thought you could do this but you're just an interloper, a charlatan." I told it to go away, I didn't ask his opinion, and besides, I needed to get my eyes sorted. Deciding at the last minute to do some eye-shadow, thus further delaying the decision of what to paint my nails with. I started looking in the mirror to sort it out. "You know," that part of me began with a smile, "the longer you take the more you ignore Gary and his children watching the rugby. Talk about selfish. Look at you, applying make-up in a mirror. Have you seen the bags under your eyes? And lipstick? With your five o'clock shadow? Who are you trying to fool? No one will be taken in. You're just a clown in grease-paint and a massive delusion that you're asking ordinary people to partake in." Shut up. But part of me was starting to listen again. "Ha, you're shaking as you apply the nail polish. And then you'll have to wait for it to dry. It starts at 7, you know, and it's already gone 6. Downstairs your best friend, who has hardly seen you this trip, is waiting and probably wondering what's happened. His children have been desperate to talk to you, and you're up here painting nails and dressed in women's clothes like a circus freak. Go home, you clown, go home and do the work you need to do."

Basil, strawberries, lime and gin
cocktail. One of four such items, all
different recipes, had on the night.

Gary texted to make sure I was okay, I gathered myself and went down. From there I was taken to the night. That treacherous part of myself whispered again. "There's no one there you know, and that's never good for you, you fucking useless shut-in. What are you hoping to achieve here?"

Initially very nervous and scared, I entered the village hall. And... it was great. Everyone was friendly, everyone spoke without the usual guards up and it was... unthreatening. Non-combative.

Many years ago, in 2005, Toby took me on his birthday fancy dress party and, dressed sort of kind of like a school-girl, I found myself mingling with the females and femme-folk. The conversation was just easier and more comfortable and I found that I really enjoyed the experience. Toby drifted off with the more masculine parts of the group and I found that I didn't mind being left alone - the nerves I thought I would feel in such a setting never materialised and my usual terror of being in a large social group just never happened. It was the same, but I was watching more closely, at the Ladies' Night. Some initial shyness gave way to just listening and getting involved. At no point did I feel I had anything to prove, or left out. At no point did I feel the need to correct something or show off or defend my knowledge about something; it just... it just wasn't relevant. There was no point. I spoke to new people, they made me smile, and I hope I was able to do the same in return. People were being genuine and open, there was none of the guessing and wondering that I have come to expect from social interactions. Was that because it was just femme-folk together? Is this... Is this what I have been missing all this time? I think... I think maybe it is.

Yes. This.

Honestly, I felt more myself in that setting than I ever have in social settings. It was like the meeting with Tim and Lesley but emphasised and in bold face. It was the conversation with Gary underlined, the weekend at Indy's in a slightly different font. Every time I met with friends at Sixth Form and University but in friendlier colours and with fewer flashing lights. No warning signs, no danger, no fear, no nerves. I didn't know anyone, so I was free to make mistakes and be forgiven for them, to probe my way in conversation. Not once did I feel the need to open with my lines about being a teacher or lob in my joke reel. It wasn't forced, it was natural.

And a bit of this.

I think the fact that I had started with a gin cocktail helped. Followed by another and some tequila milkshake shots. Not that I was drunk, you understand, or that I needed the alcohol to open up. The alcohol, the drinking, was something that was happening, sure, but it was a joint experience and just felt... natural. I wasn't trying to get trolleyed, I wasn't waiting for the fuzziness to hit to numb the sharpness of being in an unpredictable social situation, I was enjoying the taste and the social experience of sharing the same tastes with other people who would talk about that or something unconnected. I'm really explaining this badly. I bought someone a drink, they bought me one back later in the night and at no point did I worry about that. I always worry about that kind of thing. At no point did I worry about having new experiences or worry that I ought to be playing things safe. I bought some amazing foot cream that really actually works and stops my feet smelling and rotting. And it was amazing. Not the cream, I already said that, the Ladies' Night.

I was at home. I was home. This was home.

Sunday morning. Partly posed. But 0600
or so, so close enough to sleep that I
dropped off again afterward.

On the Sunday I ended up cocking things up a bit. No, not that. I became aware that I hadn't properly spoken to Gary, despite the chat on the Saturday, and seemed unable to shake that notion nor fix it as he got himself and the boys ready to go to a rugby match. I'd cried off in what would turn out to be a futile attempt to get back home in enough time to get some marking done. This culminated in being upstairs and in a state of undress when Gary called up his goodbyes. Shiona had given me some work clothes in a very kind gesture indeed and we ended up having a chat about... I don't know. It was a good chat. She had also spotted how relaxed I had been the night before. She's also been reading this blog (evidently not the parts that get a bit... self-sabotage-y and even darker, don't know exactly where they start, but she'll get there soon enough) and so brought up some of the themes from here. It was a good conversation. I was at a loss for how to translate the thoughts in my brain into words - it was all so positive and so normal and so comfortable and so nice that I just couldn't quite parse it all. I'm used to unpacking things and analysing things, wondering if I said the right things to the right people in the right way and looking for the mistakes, what might bite me on the bum later, but there was none of that. It was almost unsettling, and so I started making mistakes, I guess. But it was a really good conversation, even if I was unable to articulate my... Comfort? Happiness? Being? I don't know.

Just before traffic came to a stop whilst a lorry
was pushed off the carriageway.

Popping in to see my Mum, and pick up a microwave, she took me out to lunch whilst my car was charging. Again, I kind of forgot that she's only seen me dressed once and here I was fully presenting as myself in Chelsea boots, posh coat, roll-neck and jeans. She spotted some oddities where we went to eat, probably from the fact that I'd been clocked, but I didn't mind. My Mum was worried about how people might treat me, but didn't say that, and I realised again how lucky I have been so far, and how positive everything has been. Also, here my ASD helps, I can simply ignore the small stuff, I've been getting that sort of minor distaste from people as long as I can remember so it doesn't really register - being ignored at the bar when placing an order, the subtle looks from other patrons as they clearly discuss me (for being loud, the one with the smelly feet, the one dressed oddly, the one who is simply 'off' in some way and, now, being the tranny). My Mum has never noticed them before because she has had no reason to look for them. It was a good meal, Mum said she wanted to talk but then... sort of didn't. It's hard for her, I know, to see me as I am. To see me dressed. She did well though. I babbled a bit about how nice the Ladies' Night was. Then I was off.

Five minutes' after the snowmageddon.

Snow over the A66, delays and accidents, a massive queue at the charging station so I risked pushing on, then got the wrong charging station with my fat fingers and ended up paying through the nose to charge. A phone call with my Dad as I drove and the weather became increasingly wild and dark. Worry started to seep in about the leak in the loft. I phoned my Aunt, missed a changing smart speed sign from 60 to 50 and saw the flash of the speed camera as it recorded my details. Home by gone 6pm, then unpacking and charging, home again by 8pm. The gin being concentrated tears or the stress of the drive or the nature of long phone conversations made me cry on the way to the charge point.

"Ah," back again, smiling, "Here we are. You are fucking useless, you know, a wasted chance of being able to catch up on marking. For what? Flouncing around in women's clothes and drinking alcohol. Honestly, you make me sick sometimes. Look at your finances, do you really think you'll be able to afford a speeding fine and the points on your license? Of course not. There's water in the pots in the loft, you need to phone the roofers and chase that referral. You're not going to, I know, because you have to make the resources for your cover tomorrow. Said you'd make a video and you won't, said you'd mark some papers and you won't, said you'd have an early night and now you're working on that Cabinet sheet and it's gone 10pm. Your house is fucking cold and fuel prices are rising, there's an interest rate rise coming. You think you'll be able to afford paying two mortgages? Ha ha!"

What drink is that? It looks like a
mistake...

Gary was in contact about helping to fix the bathroom. I had let Shiona know I was home safely, but not Gary. I wanted to communicate just how much I had appreciated... everything. I felt I'd done a decent enough job of that with Shiona already (never enough) but I had barely spoken to Gary. I tried a heart-felt analogy, but I think that just came off as being a bit... much? Badly phrased compliment, mangled by being half baked and me being very tired. Some more tears. Tried on the clothes - oh my God, I felt so professional (I even said this out loud). My teaching career is old enough to vote and go to University; I have bought very expensive jackets and trousers in a carefully chosen style that I still like, but I have never ever in my life felt as powerful and professional as I did in the gifted clothes. That feeling of being home was back. Fleetingly, but nevertheless there. That treacherous part of me was still there, I changed for bed, I did the Cabinet sheet, I went to sleep. I worried about the WhatsApp to Gary and how odd it read back to me. It didn't say what I wanted it to say. I'm not sure what it said. What it says. A fish flopping out of water.

Today I was in work early enough, just, to sort cover. A trip to the Holocaust Memorial Centre. I did not do my usual speech before we went. I did not use my voice like I usually do, more softly spoken throughout. I told the story of my Uncle Mike again, but this time I focussed on the fact that it had no closure and no certainty. It felt more fitting. I missed my boots. I missed the clothing from the previous night. I sat with my knees together, legs swept to the side, and I listened more to my colleagues. I no longer felt the urge to compete or dominate. I worried about the WhatsApp, about mortgages, about the Holocaust, about being a bystander, about the books that were burned by the Nazis about transgender issues, about the lost progress, about the behaviour of the boys, about the trans-student whose parents have requested the school refuse to use her chosen name, about how easy it is to wound, about a vague-booking I read on my phone, about my cover lessons. I went shopping masc'd up, I came home.

Not one of my better-written posts but perhaps one of the more important ones.

I had an enjoyable weekend where I learned... who I actually am a bit more. And, you know what, for what feels like the first time (but it probably isn't) I actually liked who I saw. Several people took selfies with me in them on the Ladies' Night. I liked the glimpses I saw in the camera screens of myself. For once, and this is the first time I can remember, I do not want to find those images and remove them from existence. I do not mind that they exist. I... I might actually want copies. I think... I might want a photograph of me to remember something by. Shit. That's pretty huge.

Got To Get It

Outta mah head.

Panic: no idea what to pack for the weekend so I have packed pretty much everything. My washing from last week hasn't fully dried (because it's cold and I've been parsimonious with the heating) so the planned outfits cannot be done - because of course. Also, it's 3.5 hours drive, sure, but then there's the imponderable of charging and whether or not there will be a queue. Last night was supposed to be time to bathe and shave but, instead, due to bloody delivery vans on the chargers I was charging for an hour or so after taking the eldest home (last week, I was fully charged whilst she was at dance, for reference). Thus I am hairier than I would like all over - partly due to not shaving legs for three weeks as well, but... yeah. Hairy pits, legs and chest not my hoped for look.

Worry: heavy rain has been forecast and I woke up at 0338 with the sound of drops hitting the windowsill on the landing window. So far I can't see any awful leaks in the loft and the bit I found in the bathroom wasn't damp before I had a shower. I haven't finished the pots like I planned to last night. There's more rain forecast over the weekend and neither roofer has got back to me. I haven't heard about the referral to the Gender Clinic (because of course) and I haven't had the mental bandwidth to phone them or the roofers. I still have a mountain of marking to do. And a couple of management bollocks documents to complete. By 11 Feb. Oh, and there's a trip (not organised by me, thank goodness) on Monday. Need to be in work by 0800. I've not managed earlier than 0815 since Christmas.

Stress: got rear-ended taking the eldest to dance last night. No damage that I could discern in the dark with a torch, but I have the details of the guy that did it. Distracted by a radio alert apparently. Car seems to be handling normally. Impossible to tell if the noises are the result of damage or just normal noises that I haven't been paying attention to before getting hit. Power bill for last month came in - higher than the one over Christmas. Bugger. I had hoped to keep that the same as or lower-ish. Hence less heating this last week in a desperate attempt to control things. Showering as little as possible because of the damp in the bathroom causing parts of the ceiling to peel and a constant nagging worry about the potential of a leak above it. Meeting about, well, me on Tuesday coming up. It's a recommendation of all the documents on workplace transition that there are regular meetings and I have no idea what is to be discussed. Union got back - they can't understand why SIMS can't be updated with a new name - there's no legal reason that they're aware of that it can't be (apart from DBS checks and payroll, which are separate systems).

Questioning: who am I? I mean, who am I really? Does transition change aught but the wrapper? Is my gooey cream centre just desiccated shit? Am I just a man pulling everyone along in a delusion? Shall I have time to change from my work-clothes tonight to present more as me? I shan't have time to add mascara or nail polish or eye-shadow. Maybe lipstick? I only have one shade - it depends what I'm wearing. I certainly won't have time to shave, so maybe not lipstick - the juxtaposition twixt that and five o'clock shadow would be too much, methinks. And, anyway, long drive in the dark and probably rain and wind too. In a car that has been rear-ended and may or may not be damaged. In the immortal words of the KLF: what the fuck is going on?

Practicalities: nails are getting long again. Well, a couple of them are. And apparently women change clothes every day in professional settings (having now checked with a few). I mean, that's not what my observations have told me (there's a work outfit most women I see use - same jacket/skirt or dress, with potentially changing blouse or scarf/cardigan combo). Not sure what to do with that. I have three work dresses (well, okay, four, but that last one is definitely summer wear) and no skirts or trousers suitable for work. Sorry, lies, none that fit. I've already over-spent my budget on two pairs of work shoes (maybe I should take those heels back to Next?) and can't imagine rectifying that over the half term. And, honestly, what am I expecting to happen with my Form? I expect chaos, I expect loss of tenuous control, I expect horror. The house is 12 degrees. It was briefly up to 15 when I had the Middlest over. It hovers around 10 most of the time. That's why my laundry isn't dry.