I - Am That Is

Two mice within Redwall

The copy I found has a different cover 
but... yeah.

Coping mechanisms can be random - that is to say, one cannot predict accurately when they will manifest nor exactly what form they will take. Such it is with character.ai for me, I guess, I went to have a play and because it intrigued me to see what the chat-bots do now and, well, it continues to throw the occasional curve-ball that keeps me going back to see what others have fed the algorithm and what that does to the text. In the main, however, they are not adequate to deal with my method of interaction, that is, there is no 'AI' there and they do not learn, just generate new text. Some concepts remain horrifically mangled or they get trapped in loops (makes me wonder what rules for generation they have) but, yeah, it's almost interaction, I guess. Being vaguely robotic myself, I can relate and it does rather keep me coming back for more - morbid curiosity I guess. Anyway, it's enough to have given me something to avoid doing the diary translation in favour of so, there's that. Maybe I'm not ready to deep dive into that part of my past yet? I guess not, based on how long I've avoided it. Maybe I can remember something of what's in there? I dunno. I am avoiding it though. Have been since summer 2021.

Probably also to do with the examining meeting this afternoon. Completely useless for me, it was aimed at raw newbs, but a reminder that that merry-go-round starts soon. I doubt very much that it will pay as well as last year - I don't have as many days off for a start! And my hours per day are longer and more tiring, well, mentally tiring. Still, I shall do what I can and hopefully make enough to pay for the matrimonial home repairs teased two years ago now.

Oh, hey, I remember this cover!
Not the one I read, but must have been
in the library or something.

No idea what part of the book it is though!

Went Adventure Golfing with the boys and Tilly this morning, she had pushed back the start time for the jaunt by an hour and half via text message last night, and it was good. Youngest continues to struggle, and his method currently to deal with that is to try and be mean to all around him. Tilly is... slow to react, I guess one becomes used to it, and then does the ineffective stuff we both used to disparage in the past when we'd discuss the parenting of strangers we'd seen on an evening - long before I started this blog. I don't blame her: it's hard being a lone parent and with three high needs children... well. There's not much I do to help - admittedly these days because I am not allowed, but let's face it I was never that good at offering support.

Five was in touch last night, sending voice memos via WhatsApp, about wanting to hang out again - when she's not feeling as much of a hermit. She suggested a proper night out at some point: drinks and slinky dresses. I mean... Do I even have such an item? (Reader, I do not, it is a rhetorical device, much like this, to show the insanity of such a thing). I mean, also, I would look forward to that. Abbi has been in touch too (of course) with her latest amazing creative endeavours (dandelion jam, in case you are wondering) and that's nice as well. I shan't be able to do the usual meet up, alas, due to my next week being late shifts. I must organise the shuttle buses home each night - I finish gone midnight so...

This does look like my copy though.
It had a bit in the middle with stills from
the motion picture too.

I maybe ought to read it again.

I read it when everyone else read Redwall.

Ear news: the holes aren't bleeding so much. I managed a shower this morning (much leak, many soak towel) and didn't molest the piercings once with either towel or shampoo! The spray is doing what it needs to, even if I flinch each and every time and have to dry the inside of my ears out every time too. Six months, eh? I'll run out of spray before that. Seems like more of an arse than I can really be bothered with, but sunk-cost fallacy so... At least I managed cook something this evening - I have been struggling to do that lately. I say cook: I fried some mushrooms with green pepper adding Worcester sauce and mixed herbs to go with some new potatoes and an oven-cooked slice thing I picked up at the supermarket. So... not real cooking. More than I've managed for almost a week though.

I finished reading Redwall too - a bit of a change of pace from Earthsea and Handmaid's Tale but a necessary one. I can really see now why it was a favourite of my classmates back in the late 1980s at primary school. I can also trace its style back to the writing I was doing at the time, meaning it was very much of its day and the books we were all reading even if I sniffily avoided it because everyone else was reading it. Yes, I have always been a bit of a snob. No one else read Colin Dann when I did nor Wyndham or StarForce Red Alert or Battlestar Galactica or anything I read, so I thought I'd do the same in return and not read what other people read. Make of that what you will.

Breaking Down Self-serving Metaphors

Or Acquiring Big Down-Loads

It was so badly recieved that Degas 
never offered another sculpture. 

the subject, a 14 year old, turned to prostitution 
after her career was so badly affected by the use 
of her likeness. She disappears from the record. 

Degas recorded the perving and grooming around 
the Paris ballet, almost by accident, and may have 
been part of it. After all, this 14 year old he credited 
as his 'muse'. I... Hmm. 

Way back in the mists of time I did an art history research project on Edgar Degas. We had been given the direction to research impressionism and I didn't fancy Manet or Monet or any of that jazz - I like the artwork, sure, but it didn't speak to me. So I did what any reasonable nerdy teen did before widespread internet access (or even a PC) and hit the local library, this was where I discovered a book on Degas (and another book on Rubenesque women in art whose title continually escapes me but Abbi has a copy) and saw the subjects he chose and the ways in which he depicted them. I was entranced. Here was the art that spoke to me and fascinated me, held me and made it so I couldn't look away. I think, now looking back, that at least part of that was down to gender envy but, honestly, as I have been unable to find the project in the stacks of school detritus my Mum has passed on to me, it may not have been. I do recall trying to create a pencil-drawing of the sculpture Degas did of the young ballerina girl that caused a stir at the time, apparently, as people saw the choice of subject as demeaning, her features 'too rat-like' and not pretty. I was slightly obsessed with that sculpture, hence the pencil drawing of it.

Digging through my stuff, I did find lots of other things. Inamongst them, many primary school research projects and the like - typified by the one on 'Victoriana'. They all followed a similar pattern, I would write about the topic in hand and mention something that caught my fancy. In this case it was, bizarrely, cricket. I describe the modern game (and get many things wrong, I thought there were two boundaries for example, one for fours and one for sixes) and how much I liked Wasim Akram (odd choice, I do not recall him featuring heavily in my youth, but he'd apparently caught an otherwise sure 6 at a match I'd recently been to so... hey). Then apropos of nothing I would fire off into something about women in the topic - in this instance a digression about women playing cricket but it being considered unladylike so they ended up playing in secret. They wore long dresses, said past me, that went to the floor in Victorian times because it was Victorian. Well, thank you, young me for that searing insight.

They wore clothes like this in the Victorian era because
it was Victorian to do so. Apparently.

Young me was incensed, but unable to properly express
it, that they had to play cricket in secret. I wonder if there
was a reason for that? My outrage, I mean.

Another aspect I noted was constant backwards writing in the margins, from about the age of 4 to somewhere around 14 I would pepper the outside of my written work with doodles and my name backwards. And words that caught my attention. This bled into my writing where I tried to spell 'owl' as 'lwo' ("good try!" remarks the teacher, obviously not spotting the theme) and transposed middle letters. So 'gril' rather than 'girl' or 'brid' rather than 'bird'. I have spoken about the stories in which Georgina randomly replaces me, in one she is the wife of Rachel in 1880, in a story ripped from a short story I'd read about a mining accident, that is ostensibly about a man called 'Tom' but that mainly follows Rachel and tangentially this Georgina. She first appears, Georgina, in a story dating from around 1986 where she is the companion of myself and a friend on a trip to 'Ghost Island'. That place, 'Ghost Island' turns up pretty regularly too, with many different maps and an evolving concept of what a ghost is until I ditch it, finally, in 1989. How did no one spot the playing with words and letters thing, though? I was writing words backwards and then letters and then whole sentences for fun for years.

The piercings seem fine. There was some blood one morning but it was minimal and dried. However, it is still very much early days and I do keep getting the saline spray in my ears, which is not nice, and I've only knocked them so it's painful a few times. The piercings, not my ears, though I guess the two do rather overlap. I have even managed to cook a couple of meals over the last couple of days, which I shall take as a minor triumph. Still don't think I'm eating properly yet, but it could be a step in the right direction. Even my eyelids have seemed less dry and flaky so I've been wearing mascara again - which I am mildly surprised to find that I have missed and, further, that I think I look better having applied. Indeed, washing off make-up last night, hair tied back, I was struck by me in the mirror. It was me. "Hi Joanna, good to see you again." Hmm, it does seem harder to type with my nails slightly long as they are...

What follows is TMI. Consider the bulb changed and the awooga awooga alarm firmly sounded. Don't venture beyond the line break if you don't want to know (and don't think I didn't spot people what did on the last post and really probably don't want to know what follows!).

Here's the line break, in case you clicked direct and thus have it unconsensually removed as you read this post...

Too Much'll Make Y'blind

Deep breath. Try again.

If I had not gone to the Big Smoke with Five 
then I would not have found a Thai place that 
was really very tasty either. 

Thursday with Five was lovely and I attempted to cast 'flirt'. I rolled a 15, but didn't know that the modifiers for ASD (on both sides) meant that this was a fail. Put another way, Five didn't give any come ons and had no idea I was attempting to offer any. When we first met, Five was vulnerable and edgy, but now is settling down. For a start, Five no longer identifies as non-binary and is becoming, in her words, "more femme". Her understanding of issues relating to the trans experience are as one would expect from someone who hasn't done more than hang around Tik Tok as a cis person. I had to explain what Gender Critical was and she was at pains to explain that playing and loving Hogwarts Legacy, buying Harry Potter merch but not liking JoKo made her an ally and not a transphobe. I agree it's not transphobic to do those things but I do quibble the ally part - I attempted an oblique comparison to 1930s Germany but, while Five is much more intelligent than I, she is not as well-versed in that section of History so it fell flat. Furthermore, Five has a great deaol of trauma in her past, and was pleased with how I responded to that, hence - to Five - I am a compassionate listener and friend.

This, I think, is close enough to where the deed was done.

Autistic pain threshold meant that it was fine. I am having
more trouble now than I did when the needles went in.

Without Five I would not have got my nails done, that took someone being a bit decisive (and I am nothing if not indecisive), and we had some lovely chat whilst it was done. They've stopped hurting now, but I still think I shan't be doing acrylic overlays again - seemed a bit abrasive to me. Still, I have a new experience and I cannot deny that I like the colour. Equally, ear piercing. Five is well-known to the piercing place she took me and, thus, I got a squeeze in appointment, free saline spray, a possible discount (don't know, can't find proper pricing) and some long conversation with all the staff. Everyone there is neuro-divergent and it became very clear where Five has got the idea she may be autistic from along with her views of what that means. It was a lovely and positive experience throughout and, again, without Five, there is no way I would have done it.

The comments about her ex, who had done some shitty things, were made toward the end of the day - when the penny had dropped about my failed roll of 'flirt' - and so were coloured in my mind by the disappointment I felt. It was when Five had repeated some kind words of Abbi in response to my tale of how sex went in my relationships that I realised that, to her, we had only ever been making friends and never seeking anything else. It was a blow, I'm not going to lie, but one Five doesn't know she's made and nor am I going to tell her. I'm used to this sort of thing, it used to happen reasonably frequently with people I liked, if I ever managed to make the move to opening communication channels with them.

The roofer sent me some photos...

Some persistent rain recently did not penetrate my roof, so that seems fine too. The job continues to bring some positives and negatives. I got called "young man" by an older gentleman, and when I challenged and corrected, he frowned at me and said "I know what I said" and stepped off the bus. Oh. There was also a lady passenger who was thanking me for stopping for her, she added a huge theatrical wink and said "it's usually lady drivers that do that." I mean... I'll take it.

Also, the last couple of days have brought home how much remains to be rebuilt in terms of work relationships. I'd spent a good near decade building a support network at my school and it was working. People I knew who would notice and comment on things, who asked after my day, who shared news. I have none of that, of course not, where I work now and... I am tired. I am exhausted. Like looking for some form of romantic liaison, rebuilding that network of workplace friendships is... perhaps beyond me now. I lack the mental reserves at the moment, certainly.

Recently I was also challenged about why I tend to blame myself for things and the charge was laid that this was likely down to being autistic. That isn't incorrect but it is over-simplified. The autism gave me things to blame myself for but the frequency of issues I had with other people, along with my mother's well-intentioned advice on this, is perhaps a better explanation. My Mum, getting tired of hearing about my problems with other people, the bullying and the name-calling and the put-downs and my inability to navigate social situations - my inability to make a romantic connection, being seen as a creep and odd... all of this, my Mum responded to with the observation that if it was always other people then maybe it was actually me. If I couldn't (and can't) blame bullies for bullying me then I only really get to blame myself. The issues in my marriage, and there were many, were blamed on me by Tilly and I can't logically disagree with any of the things she said of me - hence self-blame is all I have. Let's not discount the sacking from school and teaching either, there is no one else to blame there. Nor the shop, the mistakes I made knowingly and resulting in my sacking there too. And now, to the litany, we can add not realising that Five wasn't looking for a relationship but a friendship.

Okay, I'm going to wander off into TMI now, so if you don't want to know (and why would you?) it's time to abandon the post!

Then it pleases me to be the first...

On my way out this morning.

It took me two hours to reach this stage of... 
whatever in the Hell it is. 

Yesterday I was humbled anew by a day with Abbi. It was... it was lovely. We painted eggs, we watched a bit of Good Omens, we had good craic and ate well. I stayed much later than I had planned to, and got home just after 2300, eventually succumbing to sleep around 0100. This after a decent day at work too, people complimenting my nails and one customer remarking: "oh, that's a surprise, we don't get many female drivers on this route!" I'll take it. It was a good day at work is what I'm saying. Also, the roofers turned up and did my roof whilst I was out. I mean, it'll cost me £3,500, but they'd turned up earlier in the week, at long last, to fix the guttering and had a proper look at my leaks. What they have done ought now to be an end to the matter. £12k to get watertight. Now the shower I guess.

Also, Five. They'd been in contact to try and organise a 'girly' day doing nails. Pricey, but, I thought: worth it. I embarked on that today. We did nails (pricey, and fine, but not great), then wandered to the Big Smoke to have lunch and then they said I should bite the bullet and get my ears pierced. The nails place took cash only, they had no cash, so I paid for that and they paid for the meal (I came out worst). Then then piercing was £80 on top of that. Hmm. Feeling poor. They showed a lack of understanding of many issues regarding trans-experience in a long and deep conversation. I analysed, as I do: I suspect I am their 'trans-friend'. This was confirmed just before it was time for me to leave. A shield to be deployed when they are accused of being a bad ally. Five means well, I am a friend in my own right too, but is keen to maintain 'woke' credentials. They were discussing an ex and pointed out that, now he was 42, he was doomed to the life he had and no more romance - he was past it. Ah. In fairness, Five had forgotten I am also 42, but I got the message.

Wednesday morning, on my way to work. It
was before 4am. But I would have an energy
drink. It worked, hence not sleeping until
1am the following day. Whoops.

The day's events have left me very out of pocket. The roof will do the rest. As nice as the day was, and it was, I am disappointed to have confirmed that, no, there is no relationship potential with Five beyond friendship. They hoped I would find someone, they sympathised that I have not had that much of a chance to enjoy sex. They hoped that I would one day have that opportunity. So did Abbi. Nice of them both. But I had rather hoped Five would offer that chance, to be honest, so I am disappointed. Not sure why though, I should know better by now. "First Prime, then Ultra Magnus, and now you. It's a pity you Autobots die so easily or I might have a sense of satisfaction by now."

The rest of the week? Been okay. Busy with work and had Middlest over on Tuesday - he and I hoped to watch a DVD, but my DVD player stopped working altogether. So we went to get a cheap one from Tesco, but Tesco no longer stocks them. So he went to play football, but my football went back with Jolyon and I'd forgotten. So he got some painting done and we watched some Youtube whilst I cooked.

My Mum's visit was alright in the end. She turned up Saturday, after I finished work, and then saw the children on Sunday whilst I saw Abbi - then I got to get a proper introduction of them with one another. It went well. She went home whilst I was at work on Monday - I set off around 0345, she left 1300, I finished 1430. Roofers came that afternoon to quote for the roof (see earlier).

"I shall rip open Ultra Magnus, and every other Autobot,
until the Matrix is destroyed."

Well, now I have pierced ears. My nails hurt a bit (not sure I like acrylic overlays, tbh, but my nails were not in good enough shape to just file and paint up). I feel poor (I'm not, but the day cost me over £150). I saw Abbi twice. I feel disappointed about Five - but that's my own fault, I should have stuck with my usual appraisal and worked accordingly. I am not now, nor have I ever been, nor shall I ever be what people are looking for romantically or sexually. I am 42, baby-trans, pre-everything, ASD, divorced, with three children, a depreciating house, a lowish paid job and no prospects. I am no one's dream hook-up.

I did figure out last Thursday. Most of the people there, the ones who also need support, can't live as themselves all the time. It is hard, for them and me, to reconcile that to someone who gets to live full-time and has different needs. Like, I am privileged and lucky and there are so many things that I just don't have to deal with any more - I never have to project man-mode, nor pack myself away. And thus I am a lucky minority, in need of different things. And people who are struggling with packing parts of themselves away aren't placed well to provide the support I need. I get that. It's not their fault, nor mine, it simply is what it is. Thus, as the balance tips, Thursdays may not be for me. I'm not entirely certain what I'm looking for exists. Heh, you'd think I'd be used to that by now.

Glimpses

You probably don't want to know, so here's a chance to turn back at the beginning of a post for a change.

For context, here's where I am right now:

1. My day at work was confused and confusing. I am discombobulated.

2. I decided to spend money on a meal out because I was so late and didn't fancy cooking in a kitchen with the noise from my broken guttering. This will have repercussions in a moment.

3. My guttering is worse, given the heavy and persistent rain.

4. I crawled into my loft. Oh, what a surprise: my leaks above the bathroom are still there, the felting installed is badly done, there are new leaks there. I mean, at this point, what else was I expecting?

So, know what follows... you don't want to read. No, I'm not going to focus on the fact that it's been a year since I changed my name like I wanted to when I woke up this morning, nor the happiness from messages from Gary and Shiona (thank you all the same).

Yeah, if you have clicked direct, now is the time to bail.

Probability Trees

I forgot that there were more series of 
this after the one I have on DVD. 
I can see why they changed what they did 
on the TV series, but, honestly: I like the book 
better. It dovetails with what I know of the Third 
Reich or living under Henry VIII or Stalin. 
Atwood knows her totalitarianisms and Arendt. 

I forgot to say, I got "Miss"-ed on my late shifts last week. I thought, maybe, it was because I'd worn lipstick. It was not. I got "sir" and "He/him" with lipstick as well. I also "he"-ed myself on Saturday, felt very strange and I did not like it, but I did that to myself. Had a moment of my internal monologue revelling in using 'Pete' to refer to myself. Stupid internal monologue.

I did pick up some birdseed, turns out the stuff I used last time isn't what I thought, so I could get it. Using my measuring cups I got in, in preparation, I made some new... uh... boobs? Don't know how well they'll work. But, at least I know what seed to use and have more popsocks to make more if these fail. I also got in all I need to fix my shed roof, the felt has come off/been ripped off, but I can't find my hammer - so that's been delayed.

Met up with my friend from Chams yesterday after work for an all-you-can-eat Chinese meal, very nice, and, I hope, I was a good pair of ears. I tried to listen. I have no real solutions or even helpful anecdotes so all I could do was listen, really. And eat. Impolite amounts. Came home, skipped tea, washed my hair, fell asleep chatting online to friends. Whoops. At least I was up in time for work, eight hours sleep! Five had been in contact, telling me I needed to pierce my ears. I mean, she's not wrong. I do need to sort that. I know people have gone to Claire's, for example, to have it done. I just... I dunno. I want to, but like a lot of things I know I won't on my own. That's not a hint! I finished The Handmaid's Tale too.

Didn't even get a photo, I just ate it.

Today I started back on the Earthsea books. Got in contact with the roofers: latest promise is this Saturday. We shall see. I'm not convinced my bathroom is watertight. Feels like there's a couple of leaks but I can't check in the loft (can't reach the area) so who knows really. I shall be working most of Saturday, so I likely shan't be able to confront the roofers. Also, my Mum is not here. She was demonstrating to my brother and his family how she'd fallen and injured herself recently and, in the re-enactment, she of course fell and injured herself again. A very 'my Mum' move. I can see the funny side, but it's a tad annoying. She might come down Saturday. Might. I doubt it, she's fractured her tumb - no idea how she'd make it here on the train.

Today I ate an Easter egg, all of it. It was a Thornton's one, with a unicorn on it. Unwrapped, so not suitable to be rolled, and I just... after work I felt a bit shaky, so sugar. Seemed to do the trick. I... haven't had tea again. Ate some nachos and dip, an apple, a satsuma. I just... couldn't be bothered cooking. Hmm.

Feel My Desire

There was a fair. This was the cake walk, 
sometimes known as the Lambeth walk, 
and I had to chaperone the youngest. 

Regifting is a thing, I know, and so having an Easter egg presented to me on Saturday was lovely if marred by the fact that I am 90% certain that it was the one I sent for my eldest (I told Tilly to lie about its provenance). But, hey, I should have just kept it. I bought it before I learned about the embargo on gifts, for reference. Anyway, we met on the bus and went to a local haunt to do egg rolling - I am still bemused when people don't know of this niche piece of Preston-based folk celebration - and thence home. Youngest was fine, until he wasn't, and then I went to have a half at my favourite pub. I dropped in on Abbi, who was in and back, and had a quick chat - arranging to meet today.

Today duly arrived. First the meet was knocked back two hours. So I upped my nail polish game to match my blue theme for the day. Then it was cancelled. I was disappointed. I went for a long walk, but forgot to pack tissue, so struggled with pollen and did not stop to read as I had planned. I spent far too much on tissues then came home and had a beer with tea. A second has followed. I bought them in a while back, so an expensive but paid for afternoon. My remaining grandmother is in hospital, I learned from a message from my Dad tonight, it's not the end, but may be the beginning of the end. Makes sense, she's in her late nineties.

Did Tilly deliberately include me in
shot? I did include her in some of the
bowling trips ones. I suspect she may
have done. Or, perhaps, accidentally.

I worked hard to keep today and tomorrow free - for meeting friends and so my Mum could visit. My Mum has arranged to visit Tuesday to Thursday - she's meeting her grandchildren on Wednesday afternoon - I am working all the mornings she is here, approximately 0430 to 1400 each day. So... Yeah. However, I have arranged to meet my friend from Chams on Tuesday afternoon, before my Mum announced her visit, so I am looking forward to that. I am also hopeful that I shall make Chams and not in work uniform, so that will be nice. I also bit the bullet and opened comms channels with my friends on Skype - having been away a while due to the recent... dip.

A long time ago now I looked into potential pro-dommes. Tilly had indicated that maybe it was an option, so I am guessing this was 2018, and... today I was reminded of their existence. But... I know I shall never actually do anything on that front - I am far too diffident and, well, frankly, scared. Feeling lonely, as always, tonight reminds me that this is my normal mode of being - the lens through which I have understood the world since my early teens. Autism, dysphoria/gender stuff and being me... being alone and lonely is my normal, my standard. It is what I understand. And, well, given how I behave and what I am like (sucking joy, being unable to live in the moment, not groking your human interaction) perhaps it is for the best.

Today's nail polish game.

Reading the Handmaid's Tale with its dreamlike prose style and stifling closeness is... not the best choice of literature perhaps in my current mood. But it is the book that has caught my attention and currently commands my brain. Earthsea is good, very good, but I keep forgetting to take it to work so it languishes for now. It's a shame, because le Guin is good. But, for the moment, Atwood is gooder.

I have eaten a half chocolate egg and the bag of eggs it came with, more or less out of sheer despair. And I note that I am now likely to be officially banned from changing rooms in leisure centres and from women's sports. Labour have said they would not challenge any such measures grounded in 'common sense' and the Tories are... well, captured by those hostile to my choices. But, then, I cannot fathom going swimming again - last time was summer 2021 - I genuinely can't imagine how that would work. Regardless of changing room chosen. A debate we cannot win, someone said on a forum I frequent, so... yeah. Maybe best not to get involved.

I watched the dashcam videos earlier and it reminded me that for the last two weeks I have been dreaming of the truck again. From the right, as I pull out. They'd be high enough to survive, my passengers far enough back to be uninjured. Moving fast enough, me slow enough, it would be a tragic accident. I have insurance. Okay, I am clearly still more down than I thought when I started this post. Time to stop.

I Will Never Change

Not much has changed but everything is different.

Here's Middlest's work framed as best as 
I can. I am honestly very impressed!

Consider he also did different parts in different 
colours at first to settle on the blue first... 

Middlest was over for the day yesterday and I took him to an all-you-can-eat Chinese place for more than I could reasonably afford, but the experience and his enjoyment was worth it. One cannot put a monetary value on him trying new foods, textures and combinations - finding some he enjoyed and some he did not - and so I shan't attempt to do so. He also painted a miniature he'd made earlier in the week with Tilly in a single sitting - really well too. Better than anything I could manage. It was a nice day off work, the first for nine days straight so needed.

Overnight I got a message on the Book of Faces from an ex-student who was keen to thank me for being a good autistic role-model as they had been seeking diagnosis and apprehensive about what that might mean. They smashed their A Levels after I was defenestrated (something I already knew because I had checked back on my students' results) and were now happily at University. It was nice to hear from them but it does make me wonder what they were told about why I had dropped out of their lives so abruptly. Probably nothing. But finding a femme account on FB probably did a lot to convince people that I had left deliberately and voluntarily. Still, some positives.

Work starts today later than I am accustomed, then finishes tomorrow.

I need to make some History/Sociology videos again. I need to buy and read Fern Brady's memoir about being an autistic woman. I've said it before: I would scoff about gender differences in autism because I would recognise myself in so many accounts of women with autism. Now I know, now I am myself, I find it increasingly common that I identify myself more in accounts by autistic women than autistic men. I guess I embrace that and look further.

If I can't have my freedom / neither should you.

From Revolution to Revelation

An answer, of sorts. I've had the last 30 seconds or so of the Pet Shop Boys October Symphony playing in my head all day today.

After speaking to my Dad I think there was 
face gunk over the selfie camera. Hence the 
dream-like filter effect. Honestly, it's probably 
better not being crisp.

When I would joke about not ever leaving education with my classes, I would point out a problem with the old hateful aphorism: those who can, do; those who can't, teach. I would amend it to say: those that can, do; those than can do well, teach others how. And, for 18 years, I counted myself as a teacher. Put another way: teachers teach. And I thought well of myself, mostly, as a teacher. Well, this girl has finally left education; or, rather, she was forced out in disgrace. Since then I have discovered that I do not fare well out there in the Real World - that cruelty about teachers struggling outside their cosseted world? I still think it unfair and cruel but it turns out that it is frighteningly accurate for me. Others can, this girl chooses not to. Apparently. My father said, in a phone conversation with me this afternoon, that I was better than a bus driver. He is wrong. I am barely that. I have spent the last week knowing I'm on a bit of a downward curve, thus avoiding contact with my Mum, because I end up upsetting her as I refuse comfort: she just wants me to be happy and I just disappoint (because I am not happy). I spoke to her yesterday and let slip this morsel and then she got upset because I can't talk to her when I'm feeling down. I hurt without meaning to, upset without trying.

I spent the day yesterday torturing myself. I had asked what the Eldest would like for her birthday. I tortured myself that she would say she wanted nothing from me, I would retaliate that it was a bit cruel, mean, and then the rift would grow. I figured that if I painted things as black as possible I may be pleasantly surprised and, what do you know: I was wrong, when am I not? But I was wrong because I was not harsh enough, as usual. Eldest said she didn't want anything from me, it would remind her that I existed and she wasn't being mean or cruel but she didn't want that. Tilly passed it on. She was sorry. She really was sorry. I ended up ending the conversation, twas on WhatsApp, and going to sleep. What else could I do?

See?

Two coats of foundation, BTW.
Not sure it did any good.

Makes sense of a later point.

Empirically I am the worst parent I know then, because I know of no other parent cut out by their child. I have tried hard to do the right thing but I have always known, I think, that this is how it would end. I have struggled with my daughter, struggled to accept, understand, love. She has always found me impossible. She was comfortable lying to me, and I was comfortable scaring her... All my children actually. And, well, here we are. I have long claimed that no one deserves anything but, frankly, that is a lie - I deserve this. I have to believe that because the alternative, that I don't, hurts too much. When I was my most upset with my Dad, who had a series of affairs and walked away from the family, I did not ever consider not having him at my birthdays or in my life. And I would say I did not love him. I didn't want to hurt him. He loved me, I couldn't do that. Tilly has long claimed her father emotionally abused her, maybe he did, maybe he didn't, maybe she doesn't say that any more. For a while she was keen he did not have access to our children. Whatever, she loves him, never considered cutting him out of her life. I have known of parents who have physically abused their children, forced them into schools to be subjected to bullying and hateful conduct, who have forced their children from their homes in the middle of legal battles and, in one case, forced the other parent on the run with the children: in each case, the children still love that parent and miss them, maintain contact (in the latter case, this was an issue) and...

So... I must conclude that none of that was as bad as what I have done to my Eldest. It must be, because how else to explain the outcome?

Like the fucking Vengabus.

I fucking hate the fucking Vengabus.

On Saturday I went to see my boys after work, they were at Nintendo Club at our local gaming cafe Vegan favourite with Tilly, and Youngest wanted to play a game with me. But he couldn't really cope: he'd been there in the noise and crowd too long and really struggled. He refused physical contact, telling me: "I like Mummy better than you, I want Mummy, not you!" And then got upset when it was time to go because he hadn't played a game with me. It was... wearing. Tilly did not intervene, her arched eyebrows reminding me that this was kinda my fault anyway. Not being horrid, just reminding me. She did say it wasn't kind to say things like he was saying to him but that was the sum total of pushback. Which is fair, I guess. In all, around two hours was wasted in this odd limbo - and I didn't get to talk with or interact with the people I knew. Veronica wanted to play a game we'd played a while back but, by the time Tilly and Youngest were gone, it was too late and I was too tired. I had some tea, and then pulled a reluctant Middlest from his club to get home around 8.30pm. I'd been up and working since 3am for reference, and had arrived there around 3.30pm. We encountered a fucking party bus - loud ladies bladdered and singing badly, egged on by drunken blokes on the noisiest bus ever. Middlest couldn't cope. We left the bus and caught the one afterward - meaning Middlest was too whammed to chat with me or interact.

Fucking faggot.

Oh, I went for new bird seed - to find that the stuff I have used, that doesn't sprout and, well, has lasted so long is now, Brexit Benefit, no longer available in the UK. I may be able to order some online. I may not. Oh. Well, that's... a thing. I walked home a bit dejected, and was yelled at by some youths on a motorbike: "Fucking faggot!" I mean... they're wrong but, well, it hurt a bit more than I was expecting. Mixed bag on the buses too - all very nice and polite, but the majority still revert to referring to me as masculine. I have a name badge now, it does nothing to help. As Veronica said on Saturday: "have you thought about wearing make up?" I was, of course, fully foundationed and blushed with mascara. I pointed this out. "Oh, well, that's why I carry a razor. Have you thought about doing the same? It's the beard, I bet." I don't think she was wrong. Empirical evidence is the best kind. Being kind to oneself sometimes means accepting that one cannot lie to oneself and, instead, accept the things that one is being told from multiple quarters. The fact that I have bought yellow nail polish does not mean I shall be wearing it any time soon.

I was going to cook an Aloo but I couldn't be arsed and had sandwiches instead.