Retail Therapy

Time off had been booked, and started, and I had a bath on Wednesday evening - which is how come I ended up doing some kind of devotional over Said Judas to Mary as I had listened to it all day, in the bath, and then again typing the post. My Mum had been over, which was lovely, and I was up late the following morning but with a mission. Originally, the plan had been that I was meeting up with Miss Warrington after noon and then my trainer from another store in a large local urban conurbation after that for a quick shopping trip - neither happened. Hence bath. Instead, on Thursday, I worked up my courage and actually invited a friend out shopping - so it was that I went and met Abbi and we piled off to the big smoke to just pootle in shops. My mission, such as it was, was to get a collar that I could wear with things what aren't red or purple - so, you know, a proper Goth-y sort of thing - but with Abbi there it became more about the ambience and walking around with a friend. This, in case it wasn't obvious, was a Good Thing.

This was an animation that Google made for me 
from the photos we took near a fountain. 

I love it because it sums up the genuine joy. 

Thanks to Abbi, we ended up in Claire's and I lived my 90s dream of just looking at what they had. Mental note made: they have some just lovely glasses that I shall have to get the next time I'm in town! I then introduced her to Tiger Tiger, the Danish version of the best bits of IKEA, and I mulled on chopsticks (but I have some lovely ones from Tim back when I lived in the same city as he). Then we went to the part of the city where Pride never stops and ended up in a couple of Goth-adjacent shops. If I had £200 I would have bought a couple of darling Hell Bunny dresses!! But I don't, so I didn't. Time was getting on, so we went back to my favourite Vegan gaming local cafe and had some herbal tea and big cakes. Abbi showed poise and grace and I just shovelled mine down like a starving woman shown chocolate. I mean, it was a Millionaire slice so... well, Oscar Wilde once said: "I can resist everything but temptation" and I can relate.

Some lovely photos but, mostly, just a lovely time. I really enjoyed it, and it made me realise how long it has been since I had friends geographically close enough that I could do such a thing. And, well, also how long it had been since I allowed myself to actually have fun whilst out in a town to shop. I mean, I got nothing I went for, my mission failed, but I finished feeling happy, joyous and energised rather than vaguely down and upset that I had failed to get what I went for. That's... well, that's how it should be, right?

I didn't know this was being taken, but I love that
it was. I know: a photo that I didn't pose for that I
don't mind was taken and then actually like.

Miss Warrington had arranged to come over that afternoon, but did not again, and instead I forgot all about Chams until I was checking on Instagram (get me and my bad self) and had a message about a lift!! So, with a lovely friend offering a lift, I hastily dressed in something Fancy-Dress adjacent (I called the outfit a name and everything) and off we went to Chams. A lovely night, quite the tonic! I didn't realise how much I'd missed going. Got talking with two lovely ladies and ended up deep in conversation about, well, technical bits and bats to do with being trans and, well, that was lovely. Something about just being able to chat and talk about something and nothing with no pressure to know anything was just... lovely. There was a point when I got semi-irritated as an assumption was made about my knowledge level and I was able to realise a. I was irritated, b. why and c. deal with it because I had no right to be irritated - no one was judging me, they were being nice and so I was able to just swallow and carry on. Lovely. What a joy not to have to feel that I had defend my masculinity box (however, talking about how femme folk walk and how to increase one's own femme-walk is probably not the province of most masculinity boxes out there).

Costume name: "Always the Bridesmaid"

Mismatching hoooooo!

Friday, and Middlest was over from early in the day and Miss Warrington was finally able to make a visit. Huzzah! It was reeally nice to hear Her gossip from where I worked and just... well, I miss the lunchtimes we spent and... yeah. Her boy played with Middlest and they both had a whale of time and then She was gone again - a busy weekend ahead and lots to do. She did drop off a birthday present of some lovely gin testers based on something She'd seen me post on Insta, so that was really nice too!

Today has been a lazy day with Middlest, he's had a great time playing chess and watching videos. Currently he's upstairs painting whilst I make tea. Just a hair trim and I'll have achieved everything I wanted to with the week. Got to finish the Gendered Intelligence application, but I hadn't planned to get that done in my time off so if I do that'll be an extra. A gift for Shiona (and Gary) hasn't yet been sorted (but I know what it is, I just need to arrange it) and then maybe I'll spend some money online on a decent collar-y thing after all.

Goodness, this is just a laundry list of things. Mainly I wanted to say some nice things that had happened and share the positives of, well, living as my actual self for a change. I mean, there's been a lot since March, but it never hurts to count one's blessings every now and again. To November, then, and the potential for actual write-ins for the first time since 2006!!!

And the unrealistic shot because the vest
ruined the back look - but I like it.

Damn!! Forgot to curtsey!!

Said Judas to Mary

This cover, in fact.

It had many songs with a social 
conscious that, one could argue, was 
Christianity or not. No one said you 
had to follow Christ to do good or that
following Christ prevented you from doing 
ill. Though I would suggest that the ill stems 
from failing to follow Christ rather than following 
Him. But I would say that: consider the source.

In my first primary school, in assembly in the actual church that was on the school site, we sang a song from Come and Praise (published in the 80s I think) with the blue cover that looked very 1970s to my young eyes and two faces that I still recall vividly to this day. It was Said Judas to Mary and I now know that it was played in a minor key and was very slow. It took longer than the usual hymns and songs we sang in assembly (mine was not a religious school, that was just how things were done) and most people I was there with hated it. But it struck a chord with me then and it continues to have a hold on my mind to this day. I never knew why. I had assumed maybe it was the use of the minor key or the fact that it was long and slow and sad.

Work happened. Things were going reasonably well following the leak. My worry that I had not done enough seemed to be wrong as the following day I came in and found that things were actually pretty good. My hard work, and that of who I was with, on the Friday had allowed the morning shift to get on and do an incredible amount. Despite being utterly shattered after finishing at 10pm and then opening at 6am the following day, Sunday, I found that we had time to do extra tasks. In my case, geekish cleaning, sorting paperwork and then branching out to paperwork I didn't have to do to see if I could get it right. I handed over to the afternoon shift pleased with what had been achieved and feeling that, maybe, I had done some good. On Monday afternoon I came in to clear chaos. With mounting horror and increasing queues I saw more and more what had not been done. There were only two of us at any one point and I began to realise, with a sinking feeling, that I was going to struggle. No matter, thought I, we can have one shift of chaos and I shall be able to leave it looking vaguely competent for the boss's return from holiday in the morning. No, she came in just two hours in to... well, chaos.

And I cannot stress strongly enough that Mary Magdalene
 IS NOT WHITE nor mediaeval. Here's another image that
will suffice.

For many years I never sang the song again, so long that I forgot where it was in the book we continued to use and used in my new school Oop North. I found it again just before starting secondary school but then lost the title for many years. It werbled in my head a bit through my teen years, there are a couple of hints in word choices in old diaries. The central motif of the song is a conversdation, with the speakers changing. Judas focuses on the wordly support of the needy and poor, the need to help and be present; Mary focuses on the sorrow and sadness of her love of Jesus - not a romantic love, though I suspect the song-writer meant it this way, but I read it then and now as a very different set of things - Jesus is touched and allows her to do as she will with her ointment, so rich and so rare. His body He leaves with them still, whilst commending Judas's concerns - alluding that the two are actually speaking of the same thing.

Not Mary Magdalene.

Not yet anyway.

I have anonymised the faces of my Boys
lest they be searched out.

After that visit I'll admit I rather fell apart. I got told off over the work chat again, whilst failing to remedy any of the chaos. My Mum turned up at a low ebb, I was frustrated, stressed and angry with myself. Things had been going well after the huge leak, I had left on Sunday with a feeling that I might actually have done good. I had gone to Abbi's and just had a beautiful evening - I introduced her to New Wave and New Romantics with a dawning realisation of what it was that I had always found intriguing about those things. I had seen a front cover of a newspaper magazine with a famous pregnant person posing on the front and finally been able to recognise that my feeling on seeing it was a sad kind of jealousy - not envy or even proper jealousy - it was a feeling of wistful longing tinged with the realisation that no, I could never feel that or know that feeling. I admitted it for the first time. It hurt to admit, hurt to embrace, hurt to even let it in a little bit. But I did it.

Tomorrow, tomorrow I'll think of the poor. Tomorrow, she said, not today. The song reminds us that as long as there are the poor and needy they shall be the body of Christ - My body will hang on the cross of this world tomorrow, he said, not today - and reminds us that, as Christians, we stand with the powerless, the poor, the oppressed or we don't stand for anything. And at no point do I read in this song and the lyrics that I continue to love any call to judge which of those that Jesus calls His body are worthy or not. At no point do I recall Jesus questioning why people needed company, healing or recognition - merely that they needed what He could give, and what He urged His followers to do as well. Jesus broke bread with prostitutes, tax collectors, those mired in sin and adulterers. He cured on the Sabbath, He rode an ass, He let Mary wash His feet with rich ointment and wipe it away with her hair. I'll pour it all over the feet of the Lord, and I'll wipe it away with my hair, she said, I'll wipe it away with my hair.

My love who is going away...

I haven't seen my eldest since the night where I messed it
all up. Taking a disciplinary on the chin, losing another job?
They are meaningless through this lens.

As is any success I achieve.

I went in early the following day, my Mum was still in bed, and chatted to my boss. I think, I think, it went well. My boss asked what I would have done if the discussion had been more of a disciplinary and I stood to lose my job - would I then not take all the responsibility? I responded that whether or not it was down to what I did was irrelevant to my actions, only to her judgement, I would take a sacking on the chin. I could not, I will not, blame others - even if they are to blame - because I would be dishonest to do so without knowing more. I didn't care, I said, why there was chaos, only how I should go about fixing it. Whatever had happened after I left on Sunday until I came back in wasn't my concern - that was for the people running those shifts - and though I was disappointed and upset I trusted the people with whom I work and so must assume something had happened. In the meantime, my job was to fix as much of the mess as I could. So that things could slowly return to normal. "You'd take a disciplinary rather than deal with someone who wasn't fit for a post?" I was asked, "No," I replied, "I have dealt with people in the past who couldn't do the job they had; no, in this instance that's not my call. I would take it on the chin and find out later. The most pressing and important concern is fixing the mess and making sure other people don't have to."

And as I walked in the autumn sunshine and lengthening shadows, though I grow no taller but smaller, I realised why the song resonated with me then and now. The wind blew my hair into my face, I brushed it back and I knew, with perfect clarity, that I would happily pour ointment on the feet of my Lord, earthly love or Saviour, and wipe it away with my hair. And Martha and Mary will find me again, and wash all the sorrow away, He said, and wash all the sorrow away. I identified with Mary. I always have, I always will. The outcast whom Jesus loved and who loved Jesus in return. But not romantically. There's a connection twixt them that defies any of the books I have read on it or the discussions I've had over the hyears. I have posted about it before, I rate her as the first apostle - the first to see the risen Christ. The appellation that she was a prostitute by tradition later on. She, Mary Magdalene, was an outcast who clearly sat ill with the rest of the male disciples, but who, like Mary of Bethany, sat at the feet of Jesus. Magdalene was devoted in a way that Bethany wasn't; emotional in a way that Judas couldn't understand (though I actually agree with Judas more in a rational sense - This ointment it could have been sold, and think of the blankets and think of the bread, you could buy with the silver and gold, he said, you could buy with the silver and gold) and who touched Jesus Himself.

My Youngest was over this morning, I played soldiers with him. We had a good time. And my hair is long enough to wipe someone's feet for real. The person who I took over from on Monday was ill, very ill, I couldn't expect them to have not left things undone. On Sunday the person I handed over to was demotivated and sad, tired and not in a good place. I could no less blame him for taking my jump start and doing nothing with it than I could judge that boy who heard the hymn, felt it pull and resonate but not know why. For dearer than all the poor in the world is my love who is going away, she said, my love who is going away. After a curry, my Mum and I watched the film The Duke and it was unexpectedly brilliant (I don't know why it was unexpected, Jim Broadbent is amazing). But for my hormones I would have been blubbing at several points, and as I listen to this hymn on repeat again today I find that the tears are finally pricking - I shan't cry though, my hormones have prevented it for three days so far and continue to do so. For Kempton Bunton the love was entirely for humanity - I am not me without you, you are not you without me. A beautiful film, a beautiful message if you have ears to hear it and eyes to see.

Inclemency

I bought a red blouse and black waistcoat from 
town on Wednesday, before the fair, and washed 
my hair this morning in an incredibly expensive 
shower (not sure what's going on there). 

Anyway, here's the ensemble. 

Heavy rain, but no leaks at home that I can find yet. There's some odd damp in the bathroom but that's been building for a while and is likely simply the fact that there's cooller air and I've had a couple of showers. Not that this is much comfort when I've just got back from a shift at work where there was a bit of a catastrophic series of leaks culminating in the collapse of the wine stack. Lord knows how much stock has been lost there. At one point we were bailing out a bucket of water every thirty seconds from one big leak, whilst several others continued to drip - the one that brought down the wine stack (soaking the cardboard boxes until they just squished, taking bottles tumbling) was hidden behind... the wine stack. Water pouring over wires near the main junction box was something of a concern too. So... that was eventful.

After a lovely shift learning yet more new things and actually being genuinely enthused about doing some more things (again), this was was, well, terrifying. Again I leave work feeling like there's loads I didn't do, loads that needed to be done and thus worrying about getting the sack. It's not like I felt back in the Years of Hell or even at the various points where I have worried about results whilst teaching - it is now tempered by the fact that I was sacked for things I didn't see coming and... Taking a deep breath. Okay, right: so, I am vaguely happy and the history of this place is littered with no happiness going unpunished. So, yes, I am concerned and worried but it may well be over nothing. Or what I don't see will beat me round the back of the head when I least expect it. (As I type this entry, some of the plaster above the shower falls away - external leak or struggling to cope with the damp from the shower this morning? Hard to say. Probably an external leak - it's more expensive and difficult to deal with).

Another view. I think I need tighter, or at least
blacker, trousers.

Maybe my pencil skirt?

At least the visit of the Youngest went well yesterday evening and the fair was decent the night before. Middlest had a lot of fun, Youngest got to drag me round some rides beforehand - didn't see Eldest, she was adamant that she didn't want to see me at all. On that note, the mortgage on the matrimonial home has gone up, I may have to ask Tilly for money for that earlier than anticipated. This makes me feel bad - I have always strived to pay for that. Thought I would always have enough to pay that. Well, time and getting sacked makes a mockery of me.

Still, I have an application pack for Gendered Intelligence (I signed up to be notified of any job opportunities ages back thanks to Lynn's suggestion) and that probably won't get me a job, come to think of it, but I can at least try. It's hard to believe that back in 2009-10 I was so incredibly confident that I could get any job I liked or that in 2013, despite despondancy, I was confident enough to carry an interview for Head of Department. Or that I volunteered to help during the first Lockdown because I was so sure of my abilities that it never crossed my mind not to be involved.

It's great living as me these days, it really is. But what if Joanna just isn't as good as Peter was? Peter wasn't all that good, you know, but Joanna, being happy, is far less haunted and thus less driven. In caring a bit more about myself and carving out time to recuperate I seem to have lost a bit of the determination that used to carry Peter through the bad times. Hmm.

A Little Dark Age

It's not the best shot of today's ensemble but 
it is the best I could do to show the whole thing. 
It's autumnal. Or, well, I like the mustard 
yellow and blue combo. 

After many threatened attempts I got round tonight to having a bath - with winter berry bath salts, body scrub and body butter for the cleansing - lit only by candles (six tealights and a 'starlight' scented candle) and using a black glitter face-mask. These accoutrements supplied via gift from the lovely Abbi. This after a day spent on my ownsome - the Middlest stopped overnight yesterday but left for home around 0930 and I popped into town to get a card for a dear friend's birthday (I hope the ridiculous effort I found lands well, I fully intend to send a gift later on when I work out what to send). I pootled a while, enjoying the time to do so, and then wandered off to IKEA for free drinks, use of their toilets and free heating. I ended up having two hot chocolates which will probably end up bringing issues elsewhere. This after having some almost decent millionaire shortbread bites that I picked up cheap from work (though I can't shake the feeling that I got a bit diddled by the colleague on the till as I'd worked out the reduced price was around £2 the lot and I was charged £3 after discount). Mind you, I had strawberries too with my lunch so, you know, healthy.

Barry M, Jelly. I enjoyed the experience. I also love
the shades!

Recently I got the invitation and the opportunity to go round to Abbi's and try out some nail varnish, inadvertantly ending up with almost trans-flag colours, that was gel effect. A day at work taxed the finish and doing the pots today coupled with the bath has caused them to flake a little. I suspect Abbi, having added an extra coat of clear protection, will have fared better. This is good, I enjoy the colours and I really really enjoyed the experience (as well as the company of both Abbi and her Alex - it was a joy to be there and just... I lack the words) so the fact that they are flaking is not bothersome, merely an excuse to buy in my own and then share back in return. The walk was also good - I was wearing my blue dress and mustard yellow pullover with the Ten (Who reference) blazer that I recently acquired. Along with the Colonel Mustard tights from Snag, I think I actually looked vaguely well put together. A hair clip from Abbi helped. And my hair has reached the length where walking in light breeze the wrong way allows it to get in my face and just generally in the way. I'm not complaining. Or, rather, I am a bit but with such a massive undercurrent of gender euphoria that it's hard to tell.

My hair desperately needed washing. I think
this is the Saturday. I honestly can't recall.

Suffragette purple tights from Snag.

Sunday's shift went well, I feel as though I am actually doing my job now and on Monday I got to help out, as in actually help out, and do so in such a way that my boss appreciated. I also got the opportunity to help colleagues and make them feel vaguely valued (though I suspect I was a bit too much of a stickler for one colleague, who would have much preferred to do differently than bid. I'll take the hit). What does that mean? It means that work is mostly okay at the moment and I feel less stressed from that end. Don't get me wrong, running the maths today left me in no doubt that finances will be a stress in the future (some £400 of black hole pcm) but that is a worry for future me.

I got in contact with Five, they are moving house soon, but got an agreement that we should hang out again soon and... that was nice. Had a good conversation with Mum about what was the accepted norm for being divorced in the relationship stakes. Reminded myself that the pool for trans people with ASD who are divorced and in their 40s is shallow and small. On Friday I learned that my appeal has failed, the panel were sympathetic but upheld the original decision to the letter. The Union have thus announced that this is game over, as a tribunal would agree with the legality of the decision howsoever unfair. So, that's the end of that chapter of my life. In fairness, I have been waiting for it all to implode since the blog began so it's frankly amazing that I lasted this long. The stout I drink tonight a memory of a life now gone: where I could indulge £10.50 on a 330ml stout (well, thrice as it happens) every now and again. I can't do that now.

Autumn is here as summer leaves...

A read of some posts I wrote a long time ago, reminders that past me is so much more eloquent and analytical than present, lazier me. But, also, that past me had no real friends in the locality and no one just round the corner to see, visit, speak to and share time. However, in an echo of those days, this is very much not the post that I was planning to write!

Eldest communicated, through Tilly, that she doesn't want any contact with me. So, that's a thing. I shall be with the younger two for the fair, though, and that shall be... well, expensive. But a chance to be with my children. Some of them. For a little while. Thursday brings the 5am bus to a different store to learn the morning routines of the trainer that showed me the evenings. I am looking forward to that, honestly, even if Tilly has decreed that youngest and her shall be over for tea that evening - I still intend to see if I can get a decent collar in the city the other store is in before heading home. It's the sort of place that may sell one, you see.

Learning to be Myself

Lots ongoing. Visiting another store, a potential future, the past being re-analysed, a new friendship, recontextualising older ones.

Experiencing the 'trans-scene' was an experiment. I am not yet who I have always been, so I need to learn all of that again: so long spent policing myself and my reactions - down to the colours I would wear, the words I would use, the phrases uttered and the pattern of my speech. My reflection on the street: is that the way I walk? Introspection as I speak: I need to change the way I talk. Active opposition to the message of the song by the Pet Shop Boys in that I had, have, positive role models but for most of my life I sought not to emulate lest it be seen as feminine, not boy-like enough - lest it allow that part of myself some light or food. And I couldn't, I wouldn't. But here I am. Here I stand, where I dared not plan: given one more chance. Take it then, start again, time to join the dance.

I mean, obviously the pin is being 
worn.

Read the note again after I have eaten: "because you are the sunshine girl" - I... I still don't have the words. As someone who has always prided herself on knowing the vocabulary - who once claimed that she could express herself better in the written word than the verbal - I find myself groping for words and finding them incapable of holding what I want them to contain. I contain multitudes. Reinvention, my intention, how to make the change? And this place, all it has been and continues to be, allows me to review what has gone before: the past is prologue to the lives we lead today. All I've seen and all I've been led me here today. Forget the lies, the tears I've cried: I'm doing it a different way! And so a shift to learn my job taught me more - taught me I don't need to learn my job but taught me I do need to learn who I am and to embrace that more - to lean into myself and learn to express that more authentically. My teacher, unknowingly, of this lesson living as themself and seeing where it took them. Not comfortable, not content, but entirely themself. Exurberantly, unapologetically, powerfully - and I realised why I couldn't begin to put into words the wonder and the joy of Monday: because I lack the experience. Just bursts and elements all pointing in the right direction. Read my post on the Ladies' Night, and you'll see I am still incapable of expressing why it meant so much to me. "I was at home, I was home. This was home."

Last night, with my unwitting teacher (they were supposed to be teaching me about shift management, but it turned out I knew that part already), I shared Heilung. Why? Because I could, because it was the right thing to do for me in that moment. Authenticity. I listened to them talking about their life and did not 'wait for my turn to speak' because it wasn't about me. But I learned from that, I learned that I just have to be me - that I can be, well, I learned that slowly. Very slowly. But that permission I learned, oh so slowly, from Gary, Tim, Shiona, Miss Warrington, my Mum and others. Now? Now I am learning who I am.

Full cottagecore on Monday and hair; today I took it in a different direction and dared to go into the world to get some bits from the shops I needed to collect - if I can go in public dressed as me I suppose I should actually dress as me. Perhaps a small physical step, barely noticeable, but huge internally: huge. And, well, I liked how I felt. I like being me, it seems, and so maybe I should do more of that?

Lighting is awful here, but I like this pose the best.
So, here's an awful quality photo of today's experiment in
being me.

Juice that makes your head explode...

How can I possibly hope to put everything into words? Um... I don't know. Stand by, then, for a blizzard of diction with some loose thread holding it all together.

Last week, after the meeting at work (I don't think I spoke of that here, lots on), I wandered back with Abigail (formerly referred to as Barbara) to her place and sort of hung out and chatted (me still in work uniform, Abbi had thought to take a change of clothes - I have much to learn). It was lovely, I ended up there until very late indeed. On Sunday she came over to my place (my dishes still unwashed despite the best of intentions) and we hung out and chatted and it was lovely again. Today... we both had days off. I'd had Middlest over and he'd gone home - I had a shower to wash my hair afterwards - and then I went over and...

My hair has braids in it.

Can you see the vibrations?
Can you think what I feel? Can you feel 
what I think?

My hair has braids in it.

Since learning what gender euphoria was and having stabs of it with the FaceApp thing I haven't had anything as intense and joyous as today's visit. I literally lack the vocabulary. It was all I could do not to vibrate with happiness the entire time. Abbi offered to do my hair and I couldn't quite believe what was happening and then, then, she did it. Just thinking about it again as I type these words I am struggling to contain the urge to explode. I said I had never felt that way before, but on reflection I have: when Toby dressed me in his purple 'wedding dress' that time and I lost the ability to words and grammar. When Tilly and I first had some physical time together in Oxford and she finished with a smile. When Tilly had moved in and we had physical time together and she ended up above me and I said "all of your bits are perfectly proportioned" because my words were essentially jumbled and all that remained was the positive emotional need to express things. When I was chatting to people at the Ladies' Night in February and Shiona took the selfie of us both. And, now, today. But the intensity...

She read to me the book she made for her and her husband, telling the story of how they met and agreed to marry, with the photos and it was just the most beautiful thing. Raw, honest, poetic, moving. She told me of her family, not the first time, and it was... I can't words. I can barely grammar. I actually, genuinely, without thought, hugged her in happiness. Like, I've never hugged a friend for joy before, not without serious consideration beforehand! Actually, no, okay, I did hug Shiona similarly, but that was a long time ago now in Easter.

The evening ended with me being able to share Abbi and Alex's first time watching Remembrance of the Daleks and Happiness Patrol. I don't know if I can even describe how much of an honour that was, a high honour.

I can't, I actually can not. So, I'm off to flap hands for a bit and just... burst.

Somewhat Appealing

Welcome Barbara to the blog, I hope I don't scare you off with what's lurking in here - it's been going a while. And welcome back, Mum! Great to have you here, hope you realise how supportive you've been: especially recently.

This is the first new photo of me since 28 
September! Not the greatest, but sort of conveys 
what I would like it to. 

News? Oh, yes, news! Today I had my appeals meeting and I had had a couple of early nights. A G&T with lunch yesterday helped, and was sufficiently pre-night that I suffered no down feeling in the morning nor evening. I slept well. I dreamed. I cannot recall clearly what the dreams were but I do recall I was in them. As me. It was a good waking, therefore, and I smiled like I did last year. I had a shower yesetrday, had shaved my legs (badly) in case I wore a skirt or dress today. I did not, I went with the oh-so-professional trouser suit from Shiona, cricket style tank-top from Indy's wife, dusky pink blouse and tights. The £5 flats I got from Tesco, platform soles, and I was good to go. Taxi ride, library at the other end, some printing, chat with Union rep who had read all the documents I had sent, who had specific and helpful advice. My HR friend, the meeting. A panel that listened, pulled supportive concern faces when I detailed the wider context of the time in question. Who thanked me for my candour. Head getting redder and redder as the meeting progressed.

I toyed with the idea of waiting in a local town for Miss Warrington, but it was raining. I saw the trans-woman in the local shop - I'd missed her last time - and she had just got news of her second appointment at the GIC. It was great to talk to her again. Apparently she's only been out three years, I had assumed longer. It was her who wore the trans band that I complimented in the before-times. I am so pleased I got to have a proper chat with her - she was an inspiration, I suppose, a clue, someone out and about and visible. Then a bus to the city, where I updated various good friends and family via WhatsApp of the meeting, reading archives of mine and other blogs, whilst stuffing my face with an overpriced lunch deal. To the bus station, more food to shove into the hole I put pies in, and more reading of things online on my phone. Trying hard not to look at the unpleasantness hitting the Mermaids charity - this is how it started in another time and place, with the burning of actual research and institutions around and about people like me, I guess. I involuntarily shiver. Drown that in beef-flavoured Hula Hoops on another bus home. Quick positive phone conversation with Mum, off to the bus stop, positive WhatsApp with Barbara, then I went on a bus to another city because I had already paid for a bus ticket and was feeling frivilous.

The pin was a Secret Santa present from a
colleague last Christmas but one. It reads:
"Thought Criminal". I chanced it today. No one
commented. But I knew I was wearing it (then
on my lapel, rather than the tank top). And I knew why.

Of course it is a literary reference.

I popped in to the gaming local favourite cafe Vegan and there was no one in that I knew. I was tempted to buy a Scottish restaurant burger, but thought better of it and returned to a bus ride home. I had been out to another store like I work in - I am being sent there next week to see "what good looks like" - because I like doing recon. I'm glad I did, I saw it raw. I suspect when I am sent things will be... a little more polished. I also suspect there won't be three people on the shift at 5pm, nor the mess between aisles and in gaps and the lack of neat facing up. I also, further, suspect the timing will be carefully chosen to cover a busy period, with their best staff on and deliberately understaffed. We shall see, we shall see.

What, with both my Mum and Barbara reading here, I got to digging through my archives again. It's been a while, not since Shiona was reading through at the start of the year. Things have moved on. I have felt happy again. Not the stunning clear sparkling happiness that sometimes happens, the dull contented and smiling happiness of knowing I have done all that I can. Of knowing the freedom of being comfortable in my own skin. Of being me and just living.

As I walked back from where I work, having had a quick chat and hug with Flo (she needed it, bless her), a couple of lads from further up passed on a scooter: "Hoy, are you gay then?" One shouted with a sneer and a wide grin. "I don't know," I countered, entirely honestly, "Are you?"

He laughed, "Nah, mate, I like pussy." He couldn't have been older than fifteen. "Fair enough," I replied evenly, "You carry on." It wasn't how he nor his companion thought the exchange would go, so they left with vague confusion. I'll take that. Education, of a sort, and no egos bruised. I even got to be honest and open. Who knows where that will go or not.

Over and Over Again

I keep tasting that sweet melanin / Looking back and my life now and then / Asking, if not later then when?

Eh, close enough. Not a selfie. 

Thursday I was asked to stay in work for two extra hours and, well, it was a bit chaotic. Rather than being a dictator I attempted to work with respect and understanding. But without knowing who was turning up when and what deals had been made with my boss by various individuals (poor communication has been something of a feature of my job). So it was that I ended up walking Barbara home, she looked like she needed it (and, frankly, so did I). It was nice. I told her about what my Mum had said about a friend back home, the one who danced with me on my 18th, and how dangerous it was for me to get even a hint of an ego. Then I popped to a supermarket to buy a new bra. My t-shirt ones from Poundland are, well, from Poundland and boy can I tell. Spent £7.50. It's nice though, similar to the one I bought... uh... in 2015? That one is still going strong, one of my best bras, so this one would probably pass muster. Got a phone call from a colleague checking something, the one that complained about me, and I popped back in to praise and apologise for the chaos. Obviously not enough, but I did try.

Not quite this dress, it was a tad
shorter. It's also not a pinafore dress
(which has subby undertones if we're
being fair) but wearing it over a sweater
certainly gave off those vibes.

And yes, I do know that. I knew that when
I eschewed jeans in favour of it and the tights.

So it was that I was home for 3.15 rather than the original billing of just after noon. No time to shop. I had a shower, related already, thus I was hunting the leak and worrying about it until about 4.15. Then I had to decide what to dress in - I went with my yellow turtle neck, black fancy-pants lace-panelled dress, cinnamon spice melange Snag tights, black Chelsea boots and even tried eyeliner. Of course I washed it off because I suck. I did not wear my new bra, but the older one. Anyway, managed to set off on a half hour walk to the place I'd agreed to meet Five by 4.45. Luckily, for me, Five was also running late, so I got in a half and they joined me shortly thereafter. I bought their first drink, a gloriously expensive gin cocktail, and we got talking.

It was, actually, surprisingly easy. They talked about the paranormal, racism in Kent, University and home life in a British Asian family - with sojourns into Erik von Daniken (at my insistence) and Loch Ness - thus we moved into Stonehenge, Avebury and the context of the Cursus (I got rather excited about all of this, combining the talk we'd done so far with my understanding of the community and culture that created that ancient monumental landscape). I went off on one about Doggerland, Neolithic culture, antlers and then somehow we ended up at Einstein and Hawking's belief that time's arrow points backwards and thus that's how ghosts can exist. Five then talked about some of the ghosts they'd seen growing up and I tried to sell Tilly's book (I did a poor job). I shared my limited experience with such things via Toby and it was all really going swimmingly.

I mean... fair play.

Five suggested food, well, actually, they said "I fancy a munch." Now, you may not know the reference, but I caught it - a munch is a BDSM meet. The way they said it suggested it was a test of sorts, but I'm not sure whether I showed I understood or not, it rather took me by surprise. We ended up in a Wetherspoons (ugh) whereupon Five took charge (I'm not even joking) and ordered us both food and drinks. Now, don't get me wrong, I thought this was a power move and I think I rather liked it. Thus we shared food, and we had a Curacao cocktail each. Conversation turned... blue. Five shared her current situation - partner and ex-husband, not a polycule, but they each provided what Five needs between them. Ex-husband aware of partner, partner not aware of ex-husband. They live with ex-husband and child, occasional fun-adult-happy-times but very rare, mainly co-parenting. With partner? BDSM relationship, Five mainly subs, but also dommes on occasion.

No marshmallows, but Five did say that the cocktail
suited me more than it did them.

I can't say I disagreed.

Had I ever been spanked? No? Well, we must go to a BDSM club they know in the local urban connurbation sometime! Had I ever thought about being predator or prey? No? Well, Five told me all about why it was fun and why they enjoyed it - in great detail. They then went on an extended riff about their first (and so far only) threesome with a unicorn (a woman willing to be the third in such a thing with a male/female couple) and experiences in BDSM clubs. By this point Five had ordered another cocktail, Unicorn gin, (and yes, the reference was made in quick succession, making me wonder) and was openly trying to get me drunk - I always play more of a lightweight than I am so I played along carefully. We talked masturbation. We talked online experiences and swapped websites. Five was, by this point, very much in charge and loving it (and, reader, so was I). We talked chastity, we talked periods. Five pointed out that my pinafore dress was quite a raunchy style with my hair down. Wasn't dressing as a woman a bit of a fetish anyway? I mean, sorta, but not for me. Their eyes sparkled, "I was hoping you'd say that." Five poured more cocktail, we had a bizarre conversation with a waitress about the worst sex-related conversations she'd overheard (she'd heard Five talking about the threesome and the spanking conversation, you see) and that was... strange. The waitress was happy to share, by the way, and informed us all she'd heard of our conversation was pretty tame. She said she liked my pronoun badge, Five agreed saying they hadn't said anything so far, but thought it was very cute. then we had to move downstairs as they were shutting the floor we were on.

I'll admit that I had to listen carefully to Five's brief exposition
on what demi-sexual meant. However, it seems to fit.

I just assumed everyone had to get to know someone at least a
little bit in order to find them attractive. I mean, I assumed that
the whole 'phwoar' thing was about as sensible as it sounds (not
at all) and thus a bit of an act in social situations.

Maybe not. Huh.

"You can be my new best friend!" exclaimed Five, "I mean, I have one in Kent, but it's a bit far for her to come, and most people don't talk like this straight away." Did I mention they're autistic too? Oh, they are. It also became apparent that, yes, they had very deliberately trapped me that time I gave my number and had been angling for me to do so ever since I complimented their outfit the first day we happened to cross paths. They remembered what they were wearing and were particularly enamoured of the fact that I not only complimented it but that I made it clear that I was complimenting Five's choices and combination as much as the clothing (if not moreso). Apparently I was very genuine and strikingly honest. They also thought I may be demi-sexual, something Five is too, and proceeded to explain why and how. They also paid for the meal and the drinks, swatting away my attempt to pay for half with a predatory grin and a big eyes. They insisted I go through doors they held open, "When there's a woman involved with my partner and I, they tend to be my bitch."

Don't give me all your northern pain
Don't give me New York in the rain
Let's leave our promises behind
Rewind
And start again

By now it was nearly 11pm. Five had arranged a lift back with her ex-husband and bade me join. Once home, I got a text telling me how much Five had enjoyed the night and an invite to do something Hallowe'en themed next time. Apropos rien there was a customer in the shop yesterday dressed in a full cat-girl outfit - just because, she explained, as she'd got it for Hallowe'en but fancied trying it out (they looked amazing, by the way) - and the thought occurred to me: I haven't dressed up for Hallowe'en in a loooong time.

I was, as it happens, strangely sober most of the night, despite having around 9 units all told. And, well, as you can see: there's a lot to unpack there. I haven't related everything - believe or not - and... well, warnings about egos and what have you.

Luckily, Tilly has been incredibly frosty and warned me that we won't discuss children coming over until after my appeal meeting and, well, I shouldn't get my hopes up. Also, she used very deliberate "distant friend" language when I said I had some donuts from work to take over: "Thank you for thinking of us, but I would rather not this time." That, plus the events of Friday, have prevented me getting too up myself, I hope.

This was the post about Five and I you were going to read.

You, unlock the past / so many scenes, moving fast / At last, the right conclusion / Or at least, a sweet illusion