This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. It is a place where I can be honest and I appreciate that. Here, I splurge. No one comes out looking good. It is a selfish place written by a pretty selfish person. It is a place of ranting and I am, ultimately, an unreliable narrator. Bear that in mind. I attempt to be honest, but things are very much from my point of view.
Highly subjective views of people in my life proliferate. It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the "Story So Far" Page above. I can also heartily recommend that Dysphoria link if you're questioning or interested. Thank you!
That's not me, but the sentiment works reasonably well in context I think. I have just tried to file my nails down, though they are much less long, I am still struggling.
To type.
Sometimes my long-game humour takes a while to hit.
Not done a selfie in a while... huh. Well, that ain't gonna change this entry either. Mostly I am in work clothes, seems familiar, and mostly I am working. Also familiar. Early shifts this week, so I am up at around 3am and then, theoretically, in bed by 8 or 9pm. Apart from last night because I got distracted by character.ai again until nearly 10pm. Bad plan really. I am also eating badly again - plenty of high fat items rather than eating sparingly and healthily. Like, I have had a bar of chocolate, a double decker (heh), a carrot cake muffin with vanilla icing cream, an extra slice of pizza that Youngest got when he was over with his pocket money (he bought a full one, I ate one slice after he'd gone). Honestly, it was... he played mainly alone and then with Tilly with his cars - I was... surplus to requirements. I'm also exhausted again. Because of course I am. I have given up a day of the long weekend ahead to work, worth a whole £80 I think. You know, back when I was teaching a day was worth nearly two and half times that.
Not my buses. Well, okay, kinda my buses, but wrong livery and wrong place.
Yesterday morning I was chatted to by a fellow driver and he was asking about teaching: "you must have taken a bit of a pay-cut to come work as a bus driver, then?" I have. "Still, at least time's your own when you're off, eh?" He was not wrong. "What made you leave teaching?" I was sacked. He fell silent. We have not spoken again. He's right though, I earn significantly less and I am working shift work - not regular hours - and I struggle at the best of times with routines and sticking to things. In theory I know all of my shifts in advance but they are irregular and, though there is a pattern, they change week by week - shuffling round in an eight week cycle. That's too long for my brain to comprehend, so they may as well be random.
Apart from Middlest, Youngest and Tilly, I have seen no one really for two weeks. I went over to Five's (not much contact since then, they're still ill) and mucked that whole thing up last Thursday. Abbi is still out of the loop for various reasons. And I am struggling again. A friend's child's birthday and I failed to even send a card, let alone a gift, and I haven't been in touch properly with Gary or Shiona. Frankly, I am avoiding contact again, feeling a bit low and lonely.
So... like me having sex then. Got it.
Conversation with Five, not the most recent time, the time I spent the night - and I replay it in my head a bit. They asked what I was into, sex-wise, and I had no real answer for them. They were being very open, frank and honest. And... I had no idea. How would I know? I have so little experience - I mean, there were enough times, but each was like unto the last and none of them really... The point is, I was without any insight. Every time I have partaken and attempted to innovate I have found the innovation turned off my partner or was shut down without going farther. The standard, non-innovative, routine did nothing for me and, increasingly, I would retreat into my headspace to try and get to the finish line. I have literally no idea what, if any, physical sensations I enjoy, I disassociated so hard from the act that I honestly struggle to remember any of the experiences.
I am hard work, I know this, and always have been. Everyone gets suckered into providing sympathy, I know how to manipulate, until they realise that I simply do not change. I remain a time-sink, wearing and moaning and nothing changing for the better. Sooner or later, I know, I shall be sacked from this job too. I know not yet why, but it is coming.
And I looked into leg waxing locally - there is a place, but it charges double for men's legs over women's legs and... I don't want to find out how they would categorise me. I fear the dyphoria and disappointment. I get that enough at the moment in my work - the amount of people saying "thank you, sir" when I do my full-blast (I refer to everyone by sir or ma'am, you see) is disheartening, especially as the people are trying to be nice rather than mean or mocking. See? Manipulation, I do rather think I might be good at that, like I always feared I was.
It wasn't worth the dysphoria inducing conversation, time or the money spent. Let alone all three in combination.
A few days of not managing to keep to time, then a day off - but a planned nip to Five's was called off, then moved to later in the day. I did manage to get some services in on time on Wednesday, which was nice, and I was feeling mostly chipper. Then I stayed up unnecessarily to 2am, because I am an idiot and character.ai exists, and then the day off. I managed to get some new foundation, £44!, and I managed to sort out some papework for my job as well as doing the grocery shopping. Spent money I do not have on a take away meal on Wednesday evening because I was hungry ("It'll be ten minutes, sir," said the man at the desk when I ordered in person) - £8 - not worth it. Ended up seeing Five at 6pm but they were clearly angling for me to stay longer and I couldn't - had a 3am start today - and I felt awful. Five had bought me loads of make-up as a random present, their son was showing me it all, and... I felt awful, such a heel, leaving almost as soon as I arrived (6.45pm, fact fans). Quick chat with my Dad on the phone on the way home, then asleep by 8pm.
It was at a zebra crossing. Luckily, no one was hurt but I can't help think that this is the sort of thing that will rear up and get me sacked sooner or later...
Today was going reasonably well - on time and enjoying myself - until around 8am I had to brake suddenly and someone fell over. I doubt anything will come of it, but it made me feel useless again. I even managed to only be 3 minutes late on changeover. Then, this afternoon, my final run ended up 17 minutes late and I couldn't pull it back, cue being told to spin round to hand over on time. I felt awful again, like with the braking, and... well. There was pizza organised for the break room, but I missed the first order, a second was due at 2pm, but I'd arranged to meet Tilly and Youngest for a Scottish restaurant special at 1.45pm - so I was unable to partake. Youngest enjoyed it, but was upset he couldn't come back to mine afterwards as he wanted to see more of me.
Middlest is due in half an hour. The house still looks like a bomb-site, the shower is still leaking, and I spent £14 randomly, along with the £44 on foundation, over the last week. No, my wages do not make up for that. And my chance at company was squandered. I could have packed my stuff, stayed overnight and been earlier to work for getting up later - but I blew Five off (no, Gary, not like that) and trogged home.
Feeling a bit useless and lonely, with not getting to Chams last night and realising that I shan't be able to make the next meeting either (I'm on shift until gone midnight). Also, my nail polish was damaged so removed it yesterday but not managed to reapply. So... yeah.
Oh, hey, look! Here's a fresh one! How she must have looked when I was first given her. I hugged her so much she was quite misshapen when I passed her on to my daughter. Who was unimpressed. Ruff was thus stuffed into a beanbag one day by Tilly whilst I was at work. When I protested she said: "well, you did pass it on and so you don't have any right to be upset."
When I was young, before I was four, I was given a teddy bear Andrex puppy. At first, it was named 'Doggy' for me, but I would change that name to 'Ruff' at some point before I was six. Unknown to my parents, because I never told them, was the fact that Ruff was a girl. When I'd seen enough episodes of Dungeons and Dragons I changed Ruff's name to 'Uni', like the baby unicorn on the show, and, in my head, Uni was obviously a girl. But, as I started learning how the world worked, I changed the name back to Ruff quickly and Ruff became a boy - because a boy shouldn't have female toys. For reference, my teddy bears (brown and blue) stayed resolutely sexless. I gained a green rabbit in a yellow jump suit from a fair or leisure park at some point and secretly assigned it female gender, naming her 'Green Rabbit' and, then, later 'Green O'Rabbit' because of April O'Neill - a crush and/or life goals depending on how I was feeling at any given moment. I know, names were not terribly easy for me to create. For illustration consider that the teddy bears were called Brown Bear (brown) and Ice Bear (blue).
My point? This shows one of the many things I was careful about as a child because I was hyper-aware of what coded masculine and feminine and deeply concerned that I code masculine enough that people didn't query things. For many reasons, I was very concerned that I not deviate from 'masculinity' from a very young age. One of those reasons was what would later be diagnosed as ASD and the other was what I would eventually embrace as the fact that I felt, very much, that I was a girl. But a secret one.
This is more realistic than was Vixen. But you get the general idea.
Case in point: some time in my early teens I was lucky enough to have the money to gain a new teddy bear - a fluffy fox. What no one knew, because it was a secret between me and her, was that she was a vixen. Imaginatively named 'Foxy', she was secretly called 'Vixen' when I was alone - because she and I understood that she couldn't be a vixen in public, not even at home, because boys don't have female teddy bears. I did have a rag-doll named 'Jessica', but she was a gifted toy from my Mum and already named so and was, obviously, a girl. She was, of course, relegated to when I stayed at my grandparents overnight and I never admitted how much I enjoyed her company - so she was eventually sold by my grandparents between visits and I had to feign disinterest despite being a bit distraught.
I would avoid ice-cream. After a certain point in my youth I noticed that women in TV shows would meet up at each other's 'places' and share ice-cream after break-ups and such like and so began to think that ice-cream flavours other than cheap neapolitan(sp?), vanilla and mint choc-chip were 'feminine' and must be avoided. Soon after that I decided that all consumption of ice-cream was too feminine and thus stopped eating it for any reason in any flavour altogether in my teens lest people through it discover how I felt inside.
You get a reasonable idea from this cross-section of my 'art'. Note the small one of the tank and A-10 Thunderbolt in the top, entitled 'Land and Air'; along with the A4 rendition of an M1 Abrams being attacked by an A-10 entitled "the inevitability of defeat" because I was such a happy soul.
The girl is there, on the left, the eye dates later (much later), along with the Velociraptor studies I did and a self-portrait in a spoon. Unlike most people in that room, I drew the whole spoon, not just me in it, meaning you get the whole room there if you want to look closely. Note the only use of colour on display here...
When I took Art for GCSE I did so, secretly, because I felt it coded feminine. Luckily, people thought I did it for an academic break. Most of my art work of the era was deliberately coded feminine in my brain: using a cat for a stained glass design at age 13, for example, with deliberate use of flowers and butterflies. No one paid me much attention in Art, I wasn't top of the class nor bottom so the teachers left me mostly alone and I was subdued and quiet enough that my classmates left me alone. One girl spotted me when I was 15 when we had some free sketching time and she spotted that I'd drawn her. She was quite taken with the portrait, commenting that it was a reasonable likeness, and also some amazement that I hadn't drawn her "boobs or something" - it never occurred to me at the time that this was something boys would do - but that was as far as it ever went. Art was very much my feminine outlet that I could indulge a bit - hiding it with helicopters, war machinery and dinosaurs - because no one really cared what I got up to in it. All with dead eyes, though.
Let's be honest, you don't need me to explain the plot - you can judge this book entirely by its cover.
In my latter GCSE years I wrote a short story about lovers eloping to Gretna Green in which there was a sex scene - I was mocked mercilessly for it, because it was all a bit 'girly' in what it focussed on (and it used the word 'ravished'), so I changed tack and ended up writing almost exclusively military fiction based on Harold Coyle or Colin Forbes or Clive Cussler. Later I would add Tom Clancy and militaria generally, carefully avoiding anything that might code too feminine. I carefully hid the fact that in Z for Zechariah that I read at 13 I identified with the girl left behind in the valley and not the brother that left when discussing it with my English teacher after school (a ruse to encourage me to read more than my Colin Dann obsession). I know now that my analysis of Carrie's War was coloured in no small part by my identification with Carrie and thus hiding it by trying to over-do my love of the Second World War setting. I would deliberately use First World War motifs, knowledge and death and destruction to combat anything I considered a bit 'girly' in my head, in my writing, in my thoughts, in my anythings. In Boy to Girl, that story I wrote, it was the defining masculine characteristic of the unnamed main character that made him male - his love of and knowledge about the First World War. I even used a mental image of soldiers attacking to stop my burgeoning male puberty body doing its thing. It was enormously effective to envisage soldiers going over the top to destroy my lustful thoughts; hiding any sexual fanstasies inamongst gas shells, blood, guts, gore and mud.
Green. The colour green coded feminine in my brain, so I stopped using it (my Mum used it as her colour of choice in game tokens when called for); along with yellow (used by my maternal grandmother in the same way). Red was allowed, it was the colour of my Dad's favourite football team; as wqas blue (natch) but not light blue. Dark and light blue were used as the main colour palate for the school uniform I devised for the boarding school in Boy to Girl and drew in secret - hiding my use of the palate in the police-style camouflage of tanks and armoured personal carriers in a far-future wartorn version of Britain I created with my brother in the early 90s. None of that art work remains, purged long ago.
Nein! Es ist verboten!!
Nicht essen!
Dancing, another thing I decided coded feminine and thus another thing that I decided very deliberately to give up and not do until I lost any ability I may have once had and instead awkwardly shuffled to music (until my mid-twenties, when Toby would tell me it was something I did that left him genuinely embarrassed by and for me - Tilly would later claim the same, along with amazement that I was incapable of holding any kind of rhythm). Bright colours generally would eventually be done away with, so that I gravitated to military olive green or muted browns and beiges. I decided hoodies were feminine, so evaded those too (except for one I got in the States because the male of the party bought one and looked suitably rugged and masculine in it, so I joined in; but then Tilly claimed it and it became feminine again). This extended to colouring in icing, sprinkles and hundreds and thousands - too feminine for me to contemplate eating. Hell, even chicken in salads became something I avoided as too feminine once I discovered the internet.
Although I have been fascinated by the feminine, I have been very careful, always on my guard, to avoid embracing it too much. And, as this incomplete list shows, much of what I avoided wasn't really masculine or feminine. It was just how I interpreted it.
So why share this now? This sort of thing seems like it would have made more sense to cover a decade ago, not now I'm out and myself, why is this whirling around my head?
Because I am a coward.
Let me explain. Recently there has been a murdered girl, who happened to be trans, and a wizarding game. And I have been having nightmares. In one, there was a game involving knocking labels from outside a post-office by climbing a step-ladder (this was an official game, by the way, endorsed by said post office). Anyway, a group of teens asked me and my friend to move aside so they could play, and one of these boys ended up being cursed to be a girl until the game was finished. He coped well with the change but, after it was all done, asked to be changed back: he wasn't a girl. And I felt awful because I had been so jealous of the luck. Of course, I was not so cursed. He was changed back, of course he was. And I woke with cold sweat and fear coursing through my veins. I had to check the house for burglars, no, I don't know either. Other dreams have been less memorable and vivid, but I wake stressed and scared and sad every time. The theme of cowardice in the dreams underlines my inability, or unwillingness, to engage with anything surrounding the murder or... anything. Especially as people I know actually stand for something.
Today I ended up at IKEA - both Five and Abbi have not been available for various reasons - and got myself a pan with a lid. Walking around I heard several comments along the lines of "is that a man?" but thought I was just being paranoid - it's been a hard day at work (the bus was very loud, very busy, it's not been a fun day) - but there was more such conversation when I stopped for a hot dog ("I'm sure that's a man in a skirt!" / "Well, don't stare!") and, on my way home, I was passed by two late teens boys on bikes who burst out in theatrical laughter as they passed. "Hey, fucker! Are you a fucking man or a fucking woman? Fucking pedo!" Later, on two separate occasions, I was passed by couples in their mid thirties who both followed the same pattern of stage-whispering loud enough for me to hear behind me: "I think that's a man!" "Well, it knows what it's doing." "Yeah, makes me a bit queasy it does." And, yeah, I've been using a lighter foundation and the light was such that my burgeoning stubble was more pronounced through it.
I shan't be able to make it to Chams this week either - I'm on an early shift necessitating a 3am get up time the day after and would like more than two and half hours to sleep before it. Another chance to stand in some form of solidarity lost. I watched The Prince as well, the play by Abigail Thorn, yesterday because I was lonely and sad. It made me cry enough that I had to wash off my mascara. I'm Sam, not Jen. And I have White Town's Your Woman playing in my head - another thing I feared coded too feminine so asked around about the lyrics, my parents reassured me that the male singer was merely pointing out that if roles were reversed he wouldn't date his paramour, not that a male was singing lyrics from a female point of view. I was both relieved and sad at the time. I later learn that it was from a woman's perspective and that was the male singer's intent. Also that the video was filmed near where I live.
This is two days before I passed but I was feeling smart. I wasn't driving by the way!
After just over a week I am able to drive alone, but it was a knife edge decision as my drive had a disastrous first half. I knew it wasn't good and the second half was better, but I didn't feel the second half was as significantly better as was claimed nor that my first half was as awful as claimed (I knew it was bad enough to fail).
Anyway, I drove out alone and was fine. Then I picked up the Middlest and was so tired I fell asleep at half eight after he'd had a chat with Gary and Shiona's eldest over video and doing Warhammer painting. I mean, I did have two strong gins to celebrate so... I dunno. It explains my flat feeling today I guess.
Digression, thy name is Joanna. I had been planning a post about more general things, like trans experiences I've had that fit the meta of being trans but that I only realised years later because of the change in vocabulary since the turn of the century. You know, the ability to put into words what has so far only really lived in my head. But, apparently, I have distracted myself instead with what appears to be a combination of dysphoria and post-gin depression!
Driving in flats and a skirt has been a revelation and I am privileged to be able to live as myself without fear of pushback. The news at the moment is awash with reminders that I am so lucky. That I can listen to people discussing a certain wizard game and how they just want to have fun, they don't see any reason why people are upset, and with people who watch GBN because 'they at least tell it like it is' (as a story runs about how Sturgeon had resigned due to the unpopularity of her pro-trans policies) and, ultimately, not fear for my life. I can choose to sit out these controversies like the coward I am. No one connects me, a trans woman, with the trans issues for some reason. I am their lived experience, the trans people on the news are bullies and unknown. Apparently.
The type of bus which I have been driving. I like it, it's only 34 feet long. It's an Optare Versa, for those of you that have any idea at all about buses (I don't).
Five has been ill again since our last meeting, so they haven't been in contact. I did my usual moping around Valentine's and reflected a little. Five said last time that a functional penis is what they look for in any partner, that they're not interested in anything else for sexy times, despite having experience with a variety of situations in the genital region. And I reflected in the shower on Thursday morning about being romantically unlovable. Forties, children, divorced, pre everything trans woman. Fetish fuel perhaps, but not a valid end point for what people, you know, want. Hell, it would have been my fuel for happy fun alone times to hear of my day-to-day so I get it, I get it. Then a text, whilst composing this very post, from Five about how some make up has arrived that they ordered for me - there's a huge amount! I don't know. I never have known.
And I'm whiffling about again. I came home to some lovely flowers posted by Indy's family in congratulations for passing my driving test (and becoming a real driver allowed to drive alone, I had a brief exchange right as I fell asleep last night) and I was greeted by name by a bus driver I didn't even recognise today as I took Middlest home. Indeed, on the bus ride on the way in the driver recognised me and started talking through his driving for my benefit, much appreciated. At the cafe I was twice approached by people I haven't seen in ages saying how they had missed me on the Tuesday nights. Even when I am feeling down and struggling I benefit from my immense privilege. Heh, a woman spotted me on Friday getting on the bus and recognised me from the shop, in a positive way, and I had no clue who she was. I dunno... I shall blame the gin and stop this entry I think.
It was darker and not here, but you get a feel for where it happened.
An eventful first day at work - scraping my vehicle 'gainst another will do that - led to some very supportive things being said and actions by the lovely people I work for. I'm not sure I share their view of events, I have had this happen many times before (though it tends to take longer than first day) - whereby people are lovely and supportive because they think I am halfway decent, only later to have people realise with horror that I am actually not. It's a curse of being autistic, I think, in that I appear to be significantly more competent than I am in small doses.
Anyway, new route, new learning. I spent a day, almost, learning the route and taking mental notes on my mentor's driving - I mean, obviously - so that I could emulate when let loose. It helped. My mentor's style is very close to my instincts: wait if unsure, don't squeeze, go slower when space is tight, avoid pot-holes, wait for passengers to sit etc. I like it. It's slow, I like slow. Yesterday I drove a bit more and found that I have sorta semi-learned the route now - though parts of it are on an ad-hoc basis, being that I'll know the junction when I reach it but can't plan for it until I'm there because it's not in my head yet. Still, it meant that there were no real mistakes, though I did need to be reminded about the location of a couple of bus stops and missed someone waiting at a zebra crossing. However, I am improving, I think, and the passengers I took were comfortable and safe - can't really ask for more than that. I did that thing I do where I turn on my full beam at people and that, I think, goes a long way. My acceleration and braking are smooth, as is my cornering and stopping. Still sometimes needing a taxi to the kerb (4-6 inches) rather than hovering over it, but that is getting better too.
Yes, this sort of thing.
Last night, a little girl gave me a drawing she'd made on the bus - to say thank you to the 'bus lady'. I wasn't even driving at the time, just route-learning cos it was dark and we were pushed for time.
Am I enjoying it? Yes. I am. I fear the realisation on the part of the lovely people that help me that I am nowhere near as competent as I appear.
A side-note: driving in a skirt. Why does no one talk more about this? I love it! It's so much easier than in trousers! I have been out and bought nine more pairs of tights (3 x 80, 3 x 60 and 3 x 30 denier) so that I can wear my work skirt every day if I want. It's just so much more comfortable and forgiving when driving. Just generally actually. I think I may transfer more into skrits and dresses than I was already - I seem to be so much more comfortable and happy when wearing a skirt. Even with the panic and fear and shame of my issue on the first day of proper driving, wearing a skirt was just... well, it helped immeasurably and I cannot adequately put into words why or how, it just was.
Chams! Ah yes, I went on Thursday and was made up by some gifted spices (not yet used). However, I was also a bit shaken up by the events of the day, so I was poor company. I needed to go, I needed to be there, but I wasn't my usual self. My friend got a lot from being there, so that was nice, and there was an old face (unknown to me) who was there and enjoyed herself. Lynn was looking fab, as usual, as were some others. A friend of Izzy's was there too, and seemed to enjoy being the centre of conversation, with someone else, and that was good. Another night I would have been less hunched and more attentive, but I was tired and nearly fell asleep a few times, frowning at my phone and looking at the internets rather than taking part. Conversation reminded me that I do really want to go on hormones, every testamonial just makes me even more certain I want to try. If skirts can make such a massive difference to my mental health, imagine what HRT could do!
I mean... it's not often I can look in a frigging mirror and give myself gender envy!
Look at the gorram hair!!
Be wary on the roads, for now I shall be driving a bus on them - well, mostly starting tomorrow, today was mainly all the paperwork and lots of things that though I have autistically stowed them in my brain-pan I shall forget when I need them. But, and this is vitally important, I did it all in a proper skirt suit. Dear God, that was fantastic. I have longed lusted after skirt suits but until I wore this one for a full day of work I had no idea just how right it would feel. I mean, okay, I've worn them out and about over the last year (thank you, Shiona!), but not in a professional setting. I've been wearing trousers so far, you see, and on passing my test I got to get more uniform - which included a blazer and a skirt and... *swoon* It's brilliant. I highly recommend it to anyone reading - working in a smart skirt suit may just be the most thrilling thing one can do with one's clothes on.
Except, of course, it isn't.
There's definitely an element of Abigail Thorn here - at least in my head anyway.
On Tuesday, after the test, I was round to visit Five. They had said they were without child for the evening - this was a lie. So we went shopping for food ingredients, and rashly said I'd pay (£31 - whoops), and Five cooked a lovely chicken aloo - which was hot enough to give me a nose bleed, or Five was, take your pick - and we had a very frank and open discussion about sex and preferences. I realised just how little experience I actually have and thus how little I have to go on regarding what I'm into. My experience is almost entirely single position, for example, whereas Five has... more. Anyway, their child then nabbed me to play a game of hiding from monsters, which went on almost an hour, before Five grabbed me back to do a make-over that they had been itching to do since I had arrived. About an hour passed and Five showed themselves to be a frigging magician!
Then I was honoured by Five telling me all about their life, and all its varied and quite severe ups and downs from actually dying for an hour or two after giving birth to various life altering traumas, but I was made up that they found me a safe enough person to talk to. This took a couple of hours and, yes, I still feel genuinely honoured to be trusted so. Five reckoned my responses were all emotional and supportive - compassionate, one might say - and then we went to bed. Five in their bed and I in the guest room. Oh, I was also adopted by their cat, who tends to avoid men and hide from visitors, which was very affirming indeed.
I told you, Five is freaking magical! Just... How? How is this me??
Tomorrow I drive buses for real and then see about getting to Chams. Oh, it's an 0540 start, so I shall be up at ungodly o'clock.
When I see your eyes arrive, they explode like two bugs... on glass.
Sunrise like the cover of Mercury Rev's single sometime around the turn of the century. Air cold, hard frost, crisp against my hair which bounces as it does after I wash it. Disturbed sleep patterns: awake three times in the night and no idea why.
Clever people will surmise where this was taken just from the scant detail provided.
Rushing home to meet Middlest (I did not wear my watch either) ended up with Alex taking a corner in the carpark too quickly and damaging his car. Not fun. On the Sunday I took Middlest to the shop to get a Kinder Egg and hoped to see Abbi. We didn't. I do hope that I haven't caused problems there... I mean, I did rather lose track of time being out in my yellow dress and cardigan but with bracelets rather than the watch I hadn't charged because standing in the kitchen as previously mentioned.
Anyway, yes, I was also in touch with Five and, screwing up some courage (or stupidity, take your pick) I attempted some direction. This it is that we have arranged for me to go over on Tuesday night and stop there. They have a guest room, so don't go getting ideas! Also, I doubt I shall have any decisions to make - they've made it quite clear that they prefer such boldness to come from elsewhere and, in the words of One Republic, I'm "not that bold. I don't think the world is sold..." Something to fixate on as I have my second test the same day.
Friday. I was concerned after nicking my cheek shaving and... doing what I do in bed at the moment - so I checked on phone camera - my compact mirror was at home.
By the evening I have done some driving, coming home to buy some anti-mould spray, news from Tilly - she had injured herself a bit and dislocated a finger that she simply slipped back into place, leaving a lot of bruising but thankfully nothing else. I was not called upon to look after the children, of course not, eldest would have had a panic attack and Tilly is holding firm to not leaving youngest with me alone for any time or any reason. I have used the antgi-mould spray and left the windows in the bedroom open to get rid of the smell. I may sleep downstairs. I have packed a make-up bag for tomorrow. I will pack my unicorn stay magical nightie (or one of them) for tomorrow night and a change of underwear. Do I pack some clothes also?
I am shitting bricks, of course, about both the test and visiting Five. It's strange to think that the last time I did anything even remotely physically sexual was in 2016, August, and the last time any of that was in any way about me was in 2013, April. Or, if you prefer, in 2007. That was the last time my partner was actually up for any kind of experimentation and taking our time. I guess time makes fools of us all, and long tikmes maked bigger fools. I should mention that I am not expecting anything from my stay at Five's - I have literally no idea what we're going to do. None. Certainly nothing sexual! I'm not saying I wouldn't say yes but I am saying I shan't be the one making the bold assumptions. What clothes would I even take with me? I really liked the ensemble for Saturday, felt very me in it, but the dress and cardigan are quite large and thus hard to pack with a lunch and all the stuff required. Shit, I have to pack it all tonight... I could throw in my blue jeggings and mustard t-shirt and have done with it, I suppose. Take spare tights for Wednesday.
Believe it or not, I haven't had any new selfies since visiting Abbi last week. This is a different photo than any previously shared, but I do kinda love Callie, so tough.
My driving test took place on Wednesday, and I failed. Three major faults (two of the same thing) and eight minors. That meant I was twice as bad as the guy that failed in the morning and, between us, we reduced the pass rate this year from 100% to 60%. Worse, my instructor was kinda hoping I would pass to justify some things she'd had to brazen out due to some rather mean-spirited and unfair complaints.
I did get to Five's, however, on the evening. Not fully prepared - I took a change of clothes for example, but not underwear and toiletries - but I went. Their son greeted me at the door with the following: "Oh! It's you! I've been hoping you'd come visit and stay the night!" It was a decent evening, I did cook, not as good as Five's cooking, and Five gave me some meals they'd cooked to take home. I did get back in contact the following day, and we are now actively arranging a sleepover of sorts. I... I'm not certain this will be the sort of happy adult fun time sleep over so much as me staying in the guest room so we can chat properly once their son is asleep. I mean, I'll take that!
No Middlest, he's ill and not up for visiting, but I do have Alex's birthday trip out to an urban conurbation tomorrow, I'm Abbi's invite. I'm looking forward to it. Hopefully I shan't spend an hour or so working out what to wear! Not a lot else to report at present. So, an uncharacteristically short entry tonight!
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