Excelsior

My weekend did not go as planned. I had been very much looking forward to it. Despite all my murbling and worries, I had thought: the weekend will be a lovely way to end my time off and fill me up before doing battle with my own very particular set of demons as well as being able to support my friends whom I love. I kind of bet the kitchen sink on it.

Oh, hey, here's a thing from my youth. 
😳😳😳🫣 

However, first of all, Abbi couldn't make a coffee shop meet up, and the heatwave got mad. And, when I managed to accidentally on purpose meet up with Abbi I ended up wandering about with her for two hours in the heat of the day without an adequate plan for hydration. I had intended to go get some shopping, see her for ten minutes, get home and have some lunch with plenty to drink and then spend the afternoon replacing my lady shaver that had chosen that morning to stop working. This was Thursday. Instead, I went out, met up with Abbi, and then spent two more hours out with no more than a coffee. This meant I did not venture forth in the afternoon, got distracted and only realised come morning that I was dehydrated and probably suffering heat stroke. Because I am so clever and good at working out my moods and feelings and health. 🙄😒

Anyway, I went and collected both siblings at the station the following day, having failed to buy a new shaver again (none in stock in the supermarket) and realising with dawning horror that I might not have got enough food in after all. Luckily, for me, I got to spend some time with just Sis and I at the station when she arrived and ensure she had a lunch, I correctly identified that she had not packed nor eaten one in advance, and then we headed back to mine. Bro departed to wrap a present and Sis and I caught up on some much needed chat to set the tone. A strange interlude was weathered vaguely and I don't think threw anyone but me off balance. Then it was films and me cooking a Little meal for the sibs that went down well, even if it did rather make me something of a third wheel, a theme that would become something of a constant. A second film was indulged then it was time for a storytime. This went pretty well, actually, but I hadn't actually sorted out a timetable nor properly prepared because of the previously mentioned issues and the whole heatstroke thing so I ended up being surprised by a move to a back up bed for the night. Feeling a bit third wheelish already this just confirmed my bad feelings and made for a bit of a sad end to the day.

I never questioned why the dog got a
spanking as well.

Morning came, I did my usual making of breakfasts and lunches and managed to get myself sorted relatively easily, even if getting clothes was a bit of a dicey game. I was once again third wheeled in short order, which... fine. I guess I put myself in that role. But autistic frustration is a dangerous beastie and I've not had to deal with her in a while so I was a bit out of practice. I didn't see how danger close I was getting and when an incident occurred I found myself losing it and then retired to try and deal on my own. Except that when I shut the room door, as I had the windows flung open, it ended up slamming and thus terrifying Sis. Bro was who I blew up at. So, he was sobbing, she was hiding in the bathroom and I had to try and fix all that and get us all out the door and to the venue. I am so good at being a host. That's sarcasm.

Once there I was in the mood to drop them off and bugger off to the local city and lose myself there. I was vaguely convinced to hang around but then the fall out from that fall out on The Tuesday reared its head and I was all for bolting. Sis followed me out and I had to shoo her back inside the venue to join some activities and, honestly, without that I would have gone. Anyway, I did go back, resolved to leave, and ended up causing a panic attack in Sis, who was already struggling with me leaving her and Bro, and so I ended up staying and calming her. It meant I stayed and I did manage to stop the panic attack I also caused. I was doing so very well this Saturday. I stayed mostly disengaged in the activities and it culminated in the perfect recreation of every school disco I've ever attended in that I was shunned and did my own thing in a corner. 😔

These all come from the same comic
book, by the way. 1987! 😱

The evening was food, film, third wheeling again, and then some normal routine for Sis and I briefly before retiring to my back up bed for some less than good sleep. Sibs shattered by a fun day, me attacked by head demons and heat, and that was the end of the day.

At least on the Sunday morning I was in less of a volatile mood. I skipped breakfast and a shower and stuff and focussed on prepping Bro and Sis to leave in time. Did not do terribly well, defaulting to a third back up plan and arriving near bang on the last time I had prepared to arrive at. Did manage to mess up a relatively simple coffee order though, which was probably a good indicator that I wasn't doing very well. Anyway, I had assumed attending the event for a second day would go better as there were more people there and it would be harder for the shunning pain of the previous day to hurt me. I was wrong. It hurt more. And, again, I was third wheeled. Several points had me off to one side while Bro and Sis had fun or napped together and... well, I mean, that's fair. I hadn't really considered how possessive and jealous I might get, and, well, I've had plenty of time with just Sis and I lately so it's only right she and Bro get some quality time together. Home for the now traditional Chinese take out and then they were having silliness and eating sweets most of the night, playing up to me having to be the grown up. Again, I should have seen that coming but it's not the role I enjoy at all. I don't mind being the Big Sis, but being frozen out of the Little dynamic and cast as 'villain', even in jest, is something I really struggle with. It's happened so often in my life for real...

Have an older photo.

I did not sleep well that night. Despite finally getting a chance to spend some time with Sis. It was also obvious that I had shattered the trust built up painstakingly with Bro with my explosion the day before and, well, I don't blame him. Let's not forget how effectively I have blown things up with Tilly and my children in the past. Why should he or Sis cut me more slack than my own sodding family? The following morning was another breakfast skipped and a shower forewent. Sis did not hug goodbye as normal. 😔 Bro started talking new bikes and amount of money he, it turned out, did have on hand - which was not inconsiderable - but ear-marked for buying books and that grated on my very autistic budgeting self. Like, sure, you can pay for posh books, but you can't pay for meals? Priorities I guess. 🤷‍♀️

Then I was yelled at by a white van man, I didn't catch all of it, just the repeated "faggot" (bigots are so unimaginative, I seem to get that a lot) and the threat to run me down if he saw me again accompanied by a revving of his engine (I was behind a barrier on the pavement by this point, so, idle threat, but delivered with some venom). I had a very shaky walk home from the supermarket, where I had gone, and then failed to do much. I slept reasonably well last night but today has been another attack of head demons and feeling very lonely. I have left the Event discord server after a brief chat with a friend who is a mod there confirmed that, yes, I was shunned by people and that it was an understandable reaction given the situation. No. I don't want that to be a thing people feel they have to do. The Event is a place of kindness and friendship and openness and trust. If I'm making that impossible for people I do not belong at that event. I've also been off the Server I've called home all the weekend too after winding someone up there too. It's been an excelsior weekend for me. Full marks.

Christmas 2025

Yes, I am aware this is not Christmassy 
in the slightest. Ask me if I care. 

I do not. 

What ho, fair internet denizen. You have come across my corner of the internet again. It has been Christmas. What news? Why, fellow internetizen, I have little. Oh, what has changed since the last post? Not a great deal. I managed to miss getting in the right food amounts for the destive period following my Mum coming down. I got a bit distracted and had enough for in for her and I to have a meal of the Christmas variety but utterly forgot to get in basics for me like breakfast and meals enough for the bank holidays. Stupid shift times meant that, by the time I realised on the way back from work on Christmas Eve, it was already too late. It's meant being creative - like today with Middlest having a fish, potatoes, carrots and sprouts meal. It's... well, it's very me.

Equally, yesterday was... Not my greatest achievement. I managed a lovely bath, which I ruined by adding cold water and then, when I got in, it was still gritty from the plastering. I hope that the bath did the do in clearing it though, so that'll be nice for next time. And I fully intend to take my mermaid Barbie for a spin with my bath dinosaurs. I've been telling myself the dinosaurs were for Youngest when he used to come and have baths, but he never does any more and it's been over two years and, in those two years, I think I might have got myself to the point that I can admit that I wanna play dinosaurs in the bath again. Anyway, yes, the bath was fine rather than lovely. Then I got out, threw on my bra and dressing gown and... stayed like that all day watching the Good Place that I have never before watched on my Mum's Netflix log in cos she was out all day.

I managed to play some Barbies and... I think I might be a bit broken somewhere inside. And in very specific ways. But that can wait for after a line break later on! I did manage to get some playing done and even managed to eat both a lunch and make a stir fry thing with coconut rice for my tea. Mostly I sat under a blanket and vegetated to Netflix and ate a whole tray of biscuits. No contact from children, a couple of short phone calls from my Dad (he was on the road to visit his Mum who may not make it this season) and a short one from my Mum where she, again, needed supporting and comforting as she cried at me for not being able to visit me. She was fine though, was round a friend's most of the day - it's a tradition - and had had good food and company all day. I tried to message friends, think I was mostly successful. But it was Little Sis who was in contact most of the day over text.

And that's my lot, the rest is work. Well, apart from the TMI coming up...

Okay, here's the line break below...

Naming the Demons

Warning: darkness awaits.

Fly, you fools!

On Monday the dam burst.

Family portrait made by a talented 
Little Sister on Sims 4. 

I might be enamoured by it. 

See, unknown to me, my estimations of the activity of others was way off. Turns out my careful timing was for naught. Little Sis had been in action. I was thus confused by an offer of a phone call on Monday. I planned accordingly, and took an age in the shower because it was for the afternoon, when Abbi would be over. I checked with her and took my time. Plans changed whilst I showered, of course, and I rushed to join a call. I was utterly at sea, I'm not good with conversation I haven't prepared for. Never have been. But it sorta kinda worked and, as is now customary, I stayed on with Little Sis. Went to meet Abbi, took her with me, and we came back to mine.

I got a bit over-excited, I'll be honest, and ended up just dominating the whole thing. Throwing stuff at Abbi to read, forgetting basic manners (hello, would you like to eat? What about a drink? I can listen to what you want to say, obviously), and just firing madly around. My demons weren't fully under control. Abbi and Little Sis, now working together, managed to force the issue. Upshot? Another rug-pull. Abbi and Mummy met and chatted. Abbi supported some pushing from Little Sis. I... I got gotted.

My book on how to be invisible (you take a pinch of keyhole) failed me. I was seen. I was skewered (fold yourself up). And I was forced to actually stop deflecting (you cut along the dotted lines). But it did mean that I ended up ignoring Abbi in the tumult, and tumult it was. For me, internally (you think inside out).

Jump round three times, jump into the mirror: and you're invisible.

It's not over.

Line break follows. Bail out now. Pull up, Maverick!

Illogical Little Demons

It was coming, I knew it really. Being as positive as I was for as long as I was and still feeling things...

Woah, hey, is that a shower cubicle in 
a bathroom with actual flooring? 

It surely is!

The demons came back on Friday morning. I hadn't had good sleep, my foot was itching and then I scratched it and then it itched more and I didn't want it to bleed but my hand already smelt of rotten foot... Anyway, turns out that sleeping with an itchy foot that is itching like crazy is impossible. So, an early night to get sleep before a 3am start stretched on. I got just over 5 hours in the end. I started reasonably well. But there had been stuff going on the night before and I read back on what I missed and in came the jealously. That was fine, I can wobble my head a bit on that one.

No, worse is the arrival of the demons. Heralding my Inner Critic. Demons that whisper about how I'm boring and not fun to play with. Demons that remind me how hard I find it to chat with people. How much I hide. How many walls I've built internally. How silly all of what I'm up to actually is. Demons that tell me I don't deserve to feel bad or sad and I certainly don't deserve to feel happy.

I spammed some messages to Mummy - after all, I am challenging myself to be more open and actually let people in for a change. I figured she wasn't awake yet, I had time. Then Little Sis got in contact, and shared some screencaps of her morning conversation with Mummy (she was unaware of my demons: see, I told you, I'm not good at sharing). Mummy was up. Had been a while. The demons started whispering the sort of stuff Tilly used to tell me. The sort of stuff I used to tell myself. I knew the Inner Critic was coming.

I watched an episode of Stoppit and Tidy Up the other day on a whim, about the Big Bad I Said No! as it happens. It reminded me of a point of my life when I was between being a child and becoming what I became. A 26 minute podcast from Abbi would help me put the feeling into words later. Point is, I was worried about that Inner Critic showing up in much the same way the Big Bad I Said No operates on the show. I deleted all my spam to Mummy as I waited at a timing stop, then set off, and my watch pinged. A brief glimpse: Mummy had responded. She hadn't managed to read any of the messages, but had got a vague notion of what was going on. She offered a chat later.

I had errands at the end of work. I tried to put the demons back in their cages. It was windy. I was using my umbrella that I inherited from Grandpa. Older than my children, always reliable. A gust caught it, turned it inside out. I was just sorting it when a second gust hit and one of the arms snapped. I tried to jimmy it back together, got reasonably far, and a third gust hit, snapping two more arms and pulling the one I'd fixed apart. I smashed the umbrella into a wall a few times. Threw it. Beat a lamppost with it. Dead now. Like the spiders in my youth. Dead now.

Tears. I bin the umbrella. Take a few deep breaths. My hood is leaking. Cheap and useless work coat. I make my errand. Manage to navigate the deliberately hostile NHS process to book blood tests for HRT - I have to ask for them, the GP is never told to give them, there is no way to input it into the system except as something I request. There's a note: can be refused without reason. The receptionist apologises, navigates the system, books me in. I feel a bit bruised. I get the bus home, I ain't walking in the rain. My hair ribbons keep falling down my pigtails.

I get home.

I manage to call Mummy for a chat. But, like with therapy, I am annoying in these cases. I've already analysed. I've already reached conclusions. It's been seven hours by now. More than enough time to rebuild the casing, to reapply the border guards, to re-erect the barbed wire and clear the anti-tank ditches. My brain is now fully reshielded, old teacher-senses in full effect. I reveal nothing and the blast doors slam shut once more.

It's not over.

I barely manage to interact with Mummy for the rest of the day. I just... don't. I hide it from Little Sis. Mummy reads here, cos I shared the link. Thank goodness this entry wasn't written yet, eh?

The day ended with this concoction.
Yes please.

Saturday is better. I have a working shower. I use the shower. It is lovely! I have had a second today. And things are good. I get the 26 minute podcast from Abbi, pure gold, absolutely amazing, nails on heads throughout. I even manage to respond. She says more nice things. I was gonna write, but am stopped in my tracks by some amazing joint writing instead. Some amazing stuff on display, no deets, just know that I was applauding at more than one point because of how it all worked. Every player plays their roles, some rugs are pulled beautifully - the writing is adroit... it was intense. I was genuinely in it. Like... the room went dark and I didn't even notice. I have the house floorplan in my head - it fell out of my brain a few days ago fully-formed. Now the rooms began to take shape properly in my mind. At one point I could see it. When it was paused, it wasn't done, I had to sit and breathe a bit. It's like I had to recover and then slowly make my way to bed. It was a good day. I got grocery shopping done, did some life admin. Even got to bed on time and slept.

Today.

I'm in a good mood. I have another shower. No leaks. No problems. No issues. Bathroom clean enough to use it. I love it. I listen to Abbi's podcast again. It's not a real podcast, I just mentioned the length and Mummy said it sounded like one and I stole it cos it made me giggle. I even have plans for the day. I want to write. I want to play. I start on them too - clearing and moving shelves in the front room to allow for skirting boards to be repaired, buying in ingredients for a curry tomorrow when Abbi visits, meeting Youngest for a meal at the Scottish Restaurant... it all goes really quite well. Plenty of time to spare, no flashpoints, no issues, no problems... nothing. Even the weather holds and stays dry and not too cold.

I get home. I end up somehow helping someone out on the Server, I have to channel my teacher again, and, at the same time, have a Little Sis being super happy and sharing that with me. All good, right?

But my containment wasn't. One of the little illogical demons is still out.

Someone's not in bed.

Who's not in bed?

Iggle-Piggle's not in-
No, wait, Joanna's not in bed.

Someone is trying too hard.

Little Sis is good. She knows how to play. I kinda do, a bit, but I'm more the surreal humourist, I guess, there's not a lot I leave for people to do when I start. I begin narratives and then just keep going. You've read here a bit, you know what my diction is like. I am scary to deal with when I get going. Indeed, one chap on the Server decided to challenge and I smacked him down so hard I think I may have broken him a bit. I channel my Teacher, well, the Angel of Death part. My AoD-Teacher is not to be messed with. I have honed the AoD-Teacher well, people quail at it, it projects an unassailable air. It makes people nervous. Very nervous. I don't like my AoD-Teacher. It's mean. It's brutal. It's kind, but the kind of sharp kindness that cleaves rather than protects, that makes people vulnerable and raw, but doesn't offer absolution, only guilt.

"You feel that feeling? It's guilt. I can't offer absolution, I'm afraid, only point it out to you. You have to deal with that on your own." the Angel of Death Teacher says to her victims.

It's not me. Alas, it's still there, haunting my interactions. Sis? She's just fun. People like that.

And I was planning to write. "It's like reading a headache" - I might have PTSD from that comment. Or something at any rate. That and knowing people don't really read my screed. It's long. Daunting. Hard. It scares people. Even my new handwriting is just as impenetrable in its own way as my old. I have tested, because I am that scary, and found people do not read my handwritten work. I have tested and found people, at best, skim my longer form typing. Here is different, it's... whatever style this is. Stream of consciousness? Is it the present-ish tense? The conversational style? Less obscurantist. More approachable? I dunno. Anyway, she was doubting her own popularity and I stepped in to remind her that, no, she's very well liked.

Except that the demon was out. And I was tired after channeling my Teacher again. And so I slowly fall apart. Except, this time, it was mid chat to Little Sis - so she got a glimpse of what was going on. Only a glimpse, but enough of a chink in my armour to grapple a bit more of a view. I'm still me though, I can clang things shut. Or hold out long enough for something else to grab attention. I almost fail. Almost. But I don't have several decades of experience for nothing. Just as I crumble, bang, we have a new focus - I live, I die, I live again. So: no writing; no playtime; and a hidden crisis of... what? I don't know. Thank God for the distractions of others.

I was wrong, of course, I over-estimated my ability to predict, under-estimated the ability of others to act. But that's a story for another post.

Keeps Out the Enemy

Breaking streaks is never a nice feeling. Nearly two years ruined by an attempted downsize in a heatwave that led to a poor sleep a few days back and I woke unable to move my left shoulder properly nor turn my head. Initially I couldn't move them at all. It's getting better, but waking this morning was accompanied by the same sickly feeling that came from way back when I first donned it and took a couple of weeks of on/off wear to clear. I have thus gone a full day now without either the new or the old and I worry I may have hit a barrier like with the Great Experiment. I hope not, but one can never tell.

A mighty host of Seraphon (Lizardmen), to which 
I have done nothing at all, the work of Middlest. 

Middlest and Youngest were over today for a game of Warhammer. Middlest was struggling: with the heat, with time of life, with existential questions - and so struggled to read and apply the rules. The heat also meant that Youngest was on a hair trigger and struggled to keep invested in the game beyond trying to annoy his sibling. It seemed to work mostly well, I am reasonably pleased that my attempt to make 40K Orks and Gretchin work in a fantasy setting (and create an Orc Mage from whole cloth rules wise) seems to have been balanced enough - even if it did mean that Middlest's gribbly monster basically tanked a fusillade of concentrated gunfire before going down without causing a single casualty (his unit of skinks wiped out the Orc archers before they got in range though).

I have managed one whole contract and done some extra, which is nice. I have mostly kept my head above water on the second, my usual favourite, and am now embroiled in a third that I have been finding harder. Part of that is the bad sleep I've been getting (average is about six hours rather than my usual seven or more) and the neck thing - it's hard to focus when muscle pain makes you feel a bit nauseous. I even had to resort to paracetamol and, well, that's not been my style. Still, not denying that having to resort to it felt strangely affirmational. I am strange, I know.

Youngest's Blood Orc Horde, led by the Death
Mage (for whom I had to make up rules from
scratch, and spells).

I continue to take on board extra hours I shouldn't. I continue to partake in bad habits that I do in marking. I continue to mull on how bad a parent I have been and continue to be. I continue to have strangely vivid dreams about the end of my relationship with Tilly - her being disappointed and saddened for good reasons and the residual emotional fall-out from that. Speaking of, she had confirmed via diagnosis some suspicions she'd had since I moved out. I apologised on her telling me last week for not having put two and two together myself. She accepted my apology, and then moved on. I guess I still hoped for some reciprocity, but I never spent any time setting that up so I can hardly really expect it now. Besides, why would she? What on earth would be the point?

House news: new plaster cracks suggest a drying out of some parts of the house I hadn't known were wet, drainpipes at the rear are detached from the house, leading to one pipe to fall apart so now my bath and sink don't quite drain into the drain and it looks like the toilet and shower pipe might fall down if I don't get that fixed soon. Good thing I'm doing these examination contracts I guess!

Time Warp

Apparently the doctor's appointment (no, not that one, the one I paid for) I booked was today - not Friday as I have written on my wallplanner and added to my electronic calendar to make my phone go ping to remind me. It's an expensive error (I was at work, no chance of taking a video call) cos I have to pay for the missed appointment and then pay for a new one. I mean, I have the money and had originally misunderstood the pricing so I had saved up enough to cover this (thinking I had more appointments to fund) but...

To forestall my usual question: ASD. It's my autism. That's why.

However, as proven, I still don't quite know how to prevent the issue or even protect myself better. I mean, I managed to re-arrange the "lasers" for a better day, I managed to send a parcel and a card for people's birthdays, I even managed to get some extra stuff for my own son's birthday to augment the paltry suggestions offered by Tilly. I even, get this, remembered to get moo-juice and jus-juice (that's milk and cordial if you're boring) on the way home tonight and make and eat a beige tea (fish, chips and, wait, green beans? Okay, beige and green) whilst watching a nearly three hour long YouTube video from Contrapoints.

Oh, yeah, my shift moved today too, I lost my morning but gained an afternoon. In which I have done nothing of note, despite my crowing above.

Back on topic: I did things I was planning but still managed to miss something quite important in the mix. Stupid thing? I actually checked my wallplanner last night because I had a panic about this exact thing and thought: oh, no, I'm fine. Which, dear reader, I wasn't. Speaking of...

The family returned from their holiday today and Tilly was in contact regarding Youngest's birthday - we had agreed I would attend a bowling trip with him and Middlest to celebrate about a month ago. Tilly revealed, in a message sent when she thought I'd be at work (and I was, despite changed shift), that she hadn't booked anything yet, nor set a time (good thing I got the day off I guess) and that Middlest won't be joining us after all - he's had too long off from his lessons (his thoughts). Cos the holiday. It shouldn't hurt me as much as it does, it's not like any of this is done on purpose (it's not, it's unthinking not directed), but it kinda does.

Also, I'm kinda scared about the "lasers". I mean, back in 2021 when I had the patch test I was able to feel some vindication - it didn't hurt that much, it really didn't, and I took a kind of glee at the amazed voice of the technician when I (truthfully) claimed it was fine. I felt the burning sensation, sure, but it didn't hurt and I liked that it was attacking my facial hair. This time? In the patch test it did actually hurt. The technician was low-balling too, I could tell. And, well, I don't like pain. I mean, sure, there's a huge part of me that believes, as I have since at least my early teens, that to 'become a girl' has to come with some negatives. It has to cause me pain and discomfort because women who are women are better than me. That includes trans women who aren't me, by the way. They are older than I, knew before I, accepted before I (and, if they're older, then they did in the years before I figured me out - this is irrational, you can't win). BUT I still don't like pain. And I worry that the "lasers" will leave me with a swollen face. And I'll be applying SPF50+ and then having to put make-up sparingly on top. For, like, a year or two.

Why didn't I do this before I went full-t- it's the autism. Duh.

I am aware I'm going strange again. It's been too long since I saw someone to speak to face to face. I mean, I see people at work on breaks, but it's not the same. And I'm worrying about the Awards Evening thing - last time was highly alienating. It brought home how out of place I am in my current workplace. I don't drink to get drunk, I don't drink cheap lager and I'm not a fan of too much cheap wine. I like a good after dinner speech as much as anyone else, but faux boss-bashing at corporate behest grates on me (as does too much humour that relies on coarse delivery as opposed to, say, clever timing or wordplay - I'm not going to laugh because someone swears at a boss, at least, not solely that). I struggle to connect at the best of times, but moreso when people...

I loaned a book, Mealtime Habits of the Messiah by Conrad Gempf, to a fellow believer at work. She's been banging on about being a follower of Jesus for ages and had been "reading a book about Heaven" and, I thought: hey, cool, connection! She read the book and her take, her genuine take, was "he's a believer in Christ" (of Gempf). I mean, yeah, he's a pastor and has several degrees in theology and is reasonably well-connected across multiple branches of the Christian faith and his book is part loving pastiche of the 'Breakfast with God' series and part theological treatise on why Christians need to be more humble and less keen to jump into ideological beds with terrible people and more accepting but in a non-self-aggrandising way. Of course he believes in Christ, it's like his entire deal. So, I gently pushed for anything more and got: "it's hard to follow in some places" - oh. Oh no. I judged. Which makes me a pretty bad person, I know. But, yeah, I judged. I judged hard. It explained what some of the alienation was at the last Awards Evening: it's not just class, but also education and, yeah, sorry, intelligence. Like, okay, I have zero street smarts and struggle with socia-

It's autism, yes, we know, get on with it!

Point is, these are not my tribe. I cannot have the kind of conversation I'd like about, say, Gempf or post-apocalyptic fiction (another driver loaned me Gone after I loaned him A Wizard of Earthsea because we've both read the Road and discussed some of it) because my way of thinking is so far removed. Not better, just I do different things. With Gone, the driver liked how the coyotes talked and was interested in the super powers - my take that these are fine but distractions from the central conceit that adults have gone in this set up (a form of apocalypse) was met with "yeah, but he's obviously planned a series." Well, duh, yeah, but... y'know, the central conceit needs a bit more focus cos... I'm prepared to have the debate but the answer was a shutting down to discussion - not a cruel one, not a bad one, just an unconscious shutting down of that avenue of discussion. Because that's not how this person thinks. Or, apparently, how many (if any) bus drivers think.

I say 'if any' - I'm a bus driver. So, well, at least one. I guess I'm just feeling the loneliness again. Makes sense. There must have been a drop after the Event at some point and, unlike last time, I haven't had a chance to combat that in the same way. Last time it was effectively exorcised by some time with Abbi to share reminisces and be silly together. That hasn't happened this time.

Another Year of Being Me

Despite my mood, this year's festive period was shaping up to be a generally good one: I got to see my boys for a film (commuted from bowling due to illness at the old homestead) on Christmas Eve, which I had off work, and they gave me their presents. I'll admit, slipper socks and a voucher for Nando's were really very sweet. The film wasn't great, but at least I got to spend time with them and even have a decent chat with Tilly. An evening on my own and feeling a little lonely was alleviated a bit by cooking some proper food with gravy.

Christmas Day was also potentially good, Abbi had confirmed an invitation to hers for a Christmas meal and watching Santa Claus movies with an exhortation to be myself (in more words, but I was looking forward to a Christmas in company where I could be myself). And it was lovely, I really enjoyed it, even if I did my usual of talking too much toward the end due to tiredness and having been alone maybe a bit too long. This was on top of having been used as a sounding board about ASD for someone a friend knew who had been newly diagnosed. I was feeling almost on an even keel, at Christmas no less, and maybe even actually useful and like a good time had been had. I went home and felt satisfied.

Today Middlest was over for a few hours. I did my usual, wasting more time in the morning than I realised and then having to rush, but managed a shower and to wash up. He came over, we had gammon roast and watched a long video on YouTube together - which seemed to be something he enjoyed.

And that's when reality righted itself. Of course I had put my foot in it and upset people without realising it. I heard over WhatsApp (still not behaving itself, my phone doesn't let me know when people message, meaning I can miss things for literal hours or days) and... my stomach fell, and... yeah. This is what I do, this is how things really are. No matter how I think I've handled myself I always manage to wander far enough on a tangent that I say something that makes other people feel hurt. And I don't notice. At least this time I was told, a day later, but there's nothing I can do to fix it. There never is. Apologies aren't worth anything (especially as I always give them) because I never seem to learn or significantly alter what I do.

Yes, I'm being vague. This is deliberate. I'm not asking for advice, and I'm trying to avoid doing that thing where I explain a situation and simultaneously slant it so people sympathise (or empathise? Not sure which word is best) with my position. By keeping it vague no one can do that nor offer advice. This is about recording that I never get better. That I always fail to learn the right, or any, lesson. To record my frustration with myself for putting my foot in it - not this one specific case, but all the cases - and never noticing what I've done. Leaving a swathe (not that wide, to be honest, I keep a small enough social circle that it never gets very wide - perhaps this is why I keep my circle so small) of hurt people in my wake. Like I say, at least this time someone was able to tell me soon enough that I didn't build up too much of a positive head of steam first. Makes building my mood back up no harder and means I don't waste any effort in the meantime.

And that's another Christmas down.

Time Frames

It's been almost a week now, so I feel I have the space to turn around and look back at the event I went to Sunday and properly reflect on the fall-out. Also, I have read more of Wicked (it continues to surprise) and managed to nudge Abbi to start reading Skin Horse (which I didn't know I'd done), which in turn prompted me to re-read from the start.

Oh, hi Tip. 

Starting there then. When I discovered Skin Horse sometime late in 2011 I was hooked relatively quickly because of the gimmick of Tip: a lothario loved by women who was a comfortable cross-dresser - indeed, it was rare he ever wore 'men's clothes' at all. It's cool, not every man who wants to transgress gender boundaries is secretly trans - indeed, a man who does so is, by definition, not trans because if she was trans, she'd be a trans-woman and... It sounded simpler and more profound in my head. My point is, Tip is a good MC and, for the most part, POV character. However, as I read it again, I begin to spot many things I used to augment my own repression and denial: that Tip is a happy cross-dresser and very, very, masculine. That he is beloved by women (one of his super-powers is the ability to use his mojo to solve issues). He's a war hero and a bit brilliant in many ways (with a soft spot for women's clothes). By elevating him in my head to 'role-model' (and I| kind of did) I also eschewed any 'trans' stuff. Which is more a comment on me than either the comic or its creators, by the way. I find it interesting is all. And, also, there's section in Wicked involving and Elephant/tribal matriarch (the capitalisation is important) who is forced to live in human form - she asserts that living with an outer form different from one's inner is a valid life choice and that changing the outer to match the inner may not be safe. I find that allegorical. I have yet to see how it plays out, but there's a definite push by the author to make Elphaba identifiable, if one so wishes, as inter-sex or trans - which, again, I shall have to see how it plays out. I digress.

An old, face-apped, photo.

But more 'me' than non-face-apped photos
before this point.

In Skin Horse, then, 2011 me had found an expressive way of dealing with things and a means by which to further repress (there is a storyline, I haven't hit it yet, where Tip has the opportunity to 'be' trans and turns it down because he is still a man but he never stops cross-dressing). One could argue, I suppose, that by socially transitioning as I have but doing, as yet, nothing else (laser, HRT... I suppose one could include surgery but I think in the UK one has to be on hormones to get onto surgery waiting lists; oh! And be diagnosed as having GID - which I have made no move to have done - that wound from the sex therapist in 2012 runs deeper than I had assumed) I am, in fact, living a bit like Tip. In the sense of dress code, I hasten to add! The literal only difference sartorially is that I do not see myself as a man. Indeed, that has been a constant in my life for a long time - as long as I can remember. A 'male gender identity', for me, has always felt rather incongruous if not outright uncomfortable. Tip, on the other hand, has never doubted that he's a man (and never actually does, even when 'questioning' in the storylines). Outwardly, Tip and I seem similar, I guess. But crucial differences. If you're questioning, I recommend musing on that distinction - it's important. I think. It is to me. I think.

Stuff that happens when I'm mulling and driving.

Beyond here, I'm going to discuss the event, the Littles' Lock In, and I'm going to put it behind a line break because, well, that's a separate thing (though connected) to what this blog is mostly about (being gender issues and my navigation through them) and, also, may be defined by some readers as a bit more belonging in 'sexy-things' so... yeah. TMI line break incoming!

Brace!

Brace!

Here it is!

Learning to Accept Kindness

First thing: I think the bar is set way too low for kindness in public.

Not the lady, but you get the idea. 

Besides, she was in her late 20s, so of course 
she looked good. I've yet to meet a lady who 
doesn't. Of any age. 

Let me explain: about a week ago now, whilst driving the bus, a lady rushed across the road to the nearest bust stop. Clearly flustered, balancing an empty canvas, a full rucksack and a purse which had clearly spilled its contents into said rucksack, she fished for her card to pay. I made a comment along the lines of "don't worry, we've all been there!" and she eventually paid and sat down. At the next stop, a chap got off and said to me "you are thoroughly polite." Which, I thought, was an odd remark to make as one alighted a bus. Anyway, I drove on and, about forty minutes later, the lady with the canvas left the bus, but stopped as she did so and looked at me very earnestly and said: "I didn't know how much I needed a little bit of kindness today, thank you for showing it to me."

I mean... very nice and all, most flattering, but really? Is the bar set so low that a bus driver saying an innocuous comment is considered kindness? It got me thinking (as most things do, let's be brutally honest).

Not long afterward I finally got a chance to catch up with Abbi. The man came to fix the boiler, a littlle later than billed, and spent far longer than he'd planned. The fan in the flue had gone, causing the fuse to blow, and once that was replaced it turned out the long period of inactivity had deflated something that needed to be fished out and reinflated (which took extra work to strip the boiler back, get the thing, inflate it a bit, reinsert the thing, inflate it properly and then rebuild the boiler). It cost £470, which was steep, but lower than I had feared and planned for. Having heating and hot water, I visited Abbni and we watched the Wizz and bounced. Then home for a celebratory bath.

Eh, close enough.

Driving after 3pm at the moment is like this.
But the headlights aren't as bright on the buses I
drive (unless on full-beam).

Plenty of time to think.

I knew the week would be busy - extra hours on Wednesday and late shifts all other days, culminating in the latest of lates on Friday and Saturday (1530-0140) before heading north on Sunday on a 10 o'clock train. I like to set myself impossible tasks. For some reason, on the longest day (0825-2006) I agreed to shift swap on Saturday to a 1225-2058 shift - to make it easier to catch the train on the Sunday - forgetting that was also the day I'd arranged to have lunch with my father for his birthday and Christmas combined. This was, in itself, a compromise as he'd originally rung to inform me he'd be coming on the Sunday. I explained the going north. "Oh, I know you said, but I assumed you'd take a day to rest before going north." Thanks, Dad. I'll leave aside the assumption that he could interrupt the rest he thought I'd need and the assumption that he could just inform me of his plans and have me accede.

Anyway, I don't realise the clash (I know it's the ASD, doesn't make me hate it less) until a few hours later and hurriedly let my father know. I hate how disappointing I am around Christmas time. I always have been, and it's one of the myriad reasons I have grown to dislike the festive period. I just straight-up suck at dates. On a side note, because of my inability with dates clashing with Tilly's suspected ADHD I haven't seen Middlest for three weeks now and he hasn't stayed over in over a month.

Nevertheless, more in desperation than hope, I asked for a day off on Saturday. I have three to use, but such short notice is a. unhelpful and b. highly unlikely to be successful. I explained to the man in the office, someone I know at work, the situation and his response was kind and unexpected. He said it was unlikely but that he would try for me because I am always keen to help and I've bailed the office out on a number of occasions (which I have). Fast forward to yesterday and I get my day off. Turns out a couple of other drivers were keen to help after I'd bailed them out in the past and so, between them, some shifts were juggled and I get my day off.

And I felt wretched. For having to ask. For getting what I wanted. For people putting themselves out on my account. For being so rubbish that I'd caused the issue. For not being able to swap my shift back with another driver when they offered because I didn't want to disappoint (they had plans in the morning they'd wanted to achieve). On the drive afterwards, I tried to unpack all of that. I think I might be wrong. Why can't I just be grateful?

Oh, yes, also, that morning I'd walked to work and when I got there discovered that I hadn't got my house keys in my pocket. Fearing that I'd left my front door not only unlocked but also open, I used my break (three hours later) to hop on a bus, check my house, and hop back - foregoing my meal. I found my keys in my door (locked and shut). Again, another bullet dodged. Perhaps unsurprisingly I had my most near miss that afternoon, after break, but, unless my nightmare is real, I didn't hit anything.

So, to the end of all of this, I take this as another nudge from Him Upstairs to learn to accept kindness. To learn to be able to ask for help and to accept it when it comes. To be grateful without beating myself up over needing to ask and recieve in the first place.

Prickly Pears

I'm properly 'in' this now. It's very 
good. If not really part of the whole 
'gender apocalypse' thing I'm thirsty 
for. Still, post-apocalypse written by 
a woman with a male protagonist... 

If there were any doubts, I have laid them to rest today. On one aspect of life I am very much certain: doing what I am doing, transitioning, is absolutely the right thing for me to do. About the only advantage of having mulled over it actively since at least 1997 is that I have gone through all permutations and tried a number of approaches: this one is the only one that has felt right and not worsened my mental state. Furthermore, and this is perhaps the biggest one for me given my past and life, it has come with no guilt attached. I have never felt more in line with the Plan from Him Upstairs as I have taking decisions to live as me out there in the world. God's waited a long time for me to take the hints and my feeling remains that this is the Truth.

A corrollary has been why I am so lonely, why it is that I have failed for so very long in romantic entanglements. Abbi has previously suggested that maybe it was because girls were picking up on my trans* vibes back in the day. But there was an incident today that shows this to be no more than a potential contributory factor toward my nature. For one, not connected to today, I have long come across as 'odd' and 'creepy'. Partly being seen as a man and doing the woman things regarding romance (unannounced postcards and such are cute when girls do it, stalker behaviour when boys do it - I don't make the rules, society does). But, like I say, today I saw the main reason: I am just not a nice person. Lovely fellow doing recruitment for work health care, giving it the hard sell and clearly enjoying being Educated in a room full of bus drivers. I managed to smile and get on with my word puzzles in my break.

At the end of my shift though, having just heard of events in the US, he was pontificating about how Portugal and the UK had the oldest trade link in the world. I quibbled - it was the longest running alliance not trade link, there was trade twixt modern-day Cornwall and modern-day Turkey in tin during the Roman Empire and it kept up until the 1800s, for example. He retorted that Romans conquered on land and hadn't developed ship-building - did I mean the Vikings or the Habsburgs(?). And I got ugly. I told him he was wrong, pointed out that I knew things by referencing the Neolithic trade routes and name-dropping historians and classical authors before culminating with a smack-down of his peeved defence that he had been a tour-guide in Portugal so he knew his stuff on Romans with my patented "I have two degrees in History". In a bus driver's break room. It's not got the same heft, has it, as when I applied that line in a classroom. Not only did it make me look, accurately, like a pedant and churlish - it was an incredibly toxic male response to someone playing in my 'box'.

Halloween cossie, but I bottled leaving 
my bedroom in it.

I think, perhaps, trying rather too hard.

Coupled with me working up the courage to take some deliberately 'sexy' photos to post on a site devoted to that kind of thing and gaining a whole like and five views for one of them, and no views on any of the others, and you have my problem. Tilly always said I was needy, Toby always said I needed a Domme and Terry accurately pointed out that I'm not James Bond (if that makes sense, I don't think it requires explanation). They were, all of them, correct. Throw in my irritated pedantry and inability to allow other people to be Wrong about the random shit I know and you don't have a 'loveable character' but the 'avoid at all costs weirdo' - and that's before we even get to the complications of being in social, but not medical, transition and a divorcee with children working unsociable hours. Oh, and the fact I'd quite like to do 'kinky' stuff too - elucidated ad nauseam all over this sorry record.

Watching the Secretary with Abbi and she pointed out that I, too, seemed to need permission to do things or I simply would not do them. Worse, they may not even occur to me as things I can do unless someone told me to do them. I related a tale about my past, where I would have happily stepped aside for a partner and their former paramour to finish their journey, without jealousy or fear because it was the right thing to do (and I stand by my assessment that it would have been helpful) and Abbi responded with a warm and affectionate: "you are so subby." She's not wrong.

Playing at Being Grown-Up

Personally, I blame Evan Edinger.

I watched his video on Derby as a place to visit way back (but still haven't finished it) and have been having coffee on and off at work (moreso than when I first tried it as a coping method in the Before Times). Basically, I have found that I have coffee tastes - in that very autistic way that I do (like when I got into beer and have now foound my niche) - and I thought I'd maybe try Bear when I was next in the vicinity. After going on an adventure with Middlest I realised that I could maybe have my own adventure and seek out Bear. So, with planning (and having got up too late for everything I had planned), I wandered to Bear and got a whole half hour to sample their flight of coffees.

It was only when they served it to me that I realised: that's three coffees I have to drink. An espresso (shot of coffee), a filter coffee (two shots) and a piccolo (at least one shot?). And, recall, I am susceptible to caffeine. Having around four shots of coffee in less than half an hour on an empty stomach and then a long bus ride or two home was perhaps not the best plan I've ever had.

Complicating matters still further was the context. Having finished work for two days yesterday afternoon I found myself feeling... well, Little. So my errand today was very much in the context of playing 'dress up as a grown up' and so I was having an extra layer of strangeness to the caffeine (which it has only enhanced). Whilst my world has not blurred I have found my impulse control has been reduced to virtually nothing following the coffees. I may not be able to sleep tonight. I have managed to avoid having a nosebleed by dint of copious water intake (and herbal tea, non-caffeine variants).

Oh, right, yeah, I was in need of washing my hair yesterday but at work and driving a bus so unable to deliver on it. Instead I ended up plaiting twin pony-tails (which I liked the feeling of, actually, giving a palpable hit of gender euphoria so intense that it may be the biggest experience of it since getting the hat from Catherine back in March 2022) which may also have contributed to my Little feeling - being the go-to stereotype for girls rather than ladies. Indeed, a colleague commented I was looking not a little unlike Wednesday Addams (why, thank you, unnamed colleague) and I had a boost to the gender euphoria from that. Add to that watching the Pet Shop Boys in concert on iPlayer in bed with a tracklisting that was drawn straight from tapes I made in my childhood and you have a heady mix - small wonder I felt that extra layer of remove today, I guess.

A Little Muse

A projection, if you will. Suitably close to 
reality since March 2022, granted, but 
still, at heart, a projection. Just one I am most 
comfortable in projecting. 

This may be a very thought about (not thought out, don't worry) post. I've actually been trying to write something (type?) since Thursday, if you can believe that, and I've already cycled through numerous options. However, late shifts at work equals lots of time in my own head behind the wheel in almost complete silence without too much in the way of immediate driving distractions (if that makes sense) and that is a lot of thought and introspection if you're me.

I read Susie's blog and it is fascinating. I love the set-up and the way the title works in at least two ways. I like the concept and I like the idea behind it. I wish I were that creative. I wish I'd thought of it. I'm not going to do similar here because my evolution is different - I don't know that there was ever a point in my past where I would be simultaneously cognisant of my issues and dressed - the thinking after the fact was always what resonated with me. I remember reflecting after Toby's birthday, where I dressed as a school-girl, that I had been so much more comfortable in the 'girls' group and interacting with girls as a girl, so to speak. I managed to make it to a club and stay without wanting to flee and run away. I was at a pub making small-talk like a normal person beforehand. I stayed out as long as everyone else did and never once looked at my watch longing to go home. I didn't drink any alcoholic drinks. It was only afterward that I contrasted that with my usual trajectory of going out: stress, stress, more stress, refusal to talk to people, hiding from the noise and wanting to escape the club, followed by regret and self-loathing. Indeed, a few years later, I would do that with Tilly and spark the incident that really ought to have ended our relationship where I called her 'drunk'. Point? If the me out at Toby's party met the me I am today, I'm not sure there would be much knowing dialogue. Not in the same way as Susie managed, certainly. The me then could totally have done with some commentary to help make sense of things and maybe even spot in the moment that this was more than cross-dressing but... I'm not sure it would be an interesting read.

Heh, like that whole paragraph.

An inflection, the opposite of a projection,
the inner workings that sometimes come
to the fore.
No eye-contact, defensive body-language,
prickly demeanour, trying to hide inside
oneself.
One might claim: a reality.

On the bus, I was thinking about budgeting - about what has changed price-wise and what has not (not in terms of inflation, but in terms of what I choose to spend money on and what I don't). About how, back in 2003-6 I was saving for a house and managed to save enough to buy one. About how that affected decisions and about how long it took (lost to time, I'm afraid, Catherine would know) before I dared spend money on 'fripperies' like a couple of swords (I want to say 2004). And, even then, how I regulated my life: fish, chips and gravy on a Saturday, after shopping, if my spend came to less than £20 on groceries - which it nearly always did; two meals cooked by me a week on a weekend (the rest were supplied at work) and sandwiches every day; church on a Sunday then marking; showers every day; bed by 11pm (that was considered a 'late night', usually I was asleep by 2130); awake at 0600; ready to leave the house by 0645 every day.

I spent a lot of money on my two weeks off. Far more than I do usually. I bought a new set of dungarees at full price and a pinafore dress on sale. A belt too. Lovely colours, may be a bit big, I discovered when Tilly was over with Youngest and I decided to go with the original dungarees and a blouse. Youngest and I played chess, one all. He's seven, I wasn't pulling any punches. The family go on holiday to see Tilly's parents this coming week, they return in time for my Mum to visit next weekend. I shan't see them until afterwards, a few days later, but this way my Mum gets to see all the grandchildren. Were I involved she would not. My Mum gets to take all three on her own if she wants. Ah, consequences.

She's been with me less than a fortnight.

Would I even have looked had I not lost
my career?

What if I had not lost my career? Another night on the bus. Comparisons in state of being - I would be gearing up for an extended trip Oop North whilst the family were away. I would likely still have a relationship with Eldest and be able to see Youngest unsupervised. I'd still be on holiday. I'd probably have had laser sessions on my face. I may even be on privately-supplied HRT. I'd certainly still be a regular at the favourite local vegan gaming cafe and playing Pokemon cards. Heck, I'd be attending Chams on the regular too. Would I have gone to the event just a fortnight ago? Hard to say. In all likelihood I would have attended BOYL instead - my concerns and worries from 2023 would have been much ameliorated by being able to get there under my own steam and it being in a sea of time off rather than a rushed weekend. Moreover, I would probably have come straight from Oop North, having visited Tim and Gary's families in the week beforehand - so I would have been better placed to go and thus probably not even have considered an event I found randomly on the internet. My yard would be weeded, the shed likely still serviceable rather than slowly falling down, my roof repairs may have been completed more swiftly, my living room would have been plastered (as I would have had the funds to do so at the time it was damp-proofed) and I may even have been looking to get the bathroom sorted... It may even have been done.

I certainly wouldn't have Callie, because I would
never have met Abbi. I never said the life would
have been more positive.

I went round to Abbi's and we had a Little time together. I'm not sure if I should be using TMI tags here or not. So, we went to Littles' Lock In back at the start of August - that was the event I was alluding to - and we both realised that we hadn't fully unpacked with each other about what we found there.

VERY IMPORTANT CAVEAT - THE EVENT WAS ENTIRELY NON-SEXUAL

Abbi was overflowing with how much it had been healing and powerful and fun. I, on the other hand, had been ruminating on how much I had run away inside the event from interaction and avoided doing things that I wanted to do because of vestigal embarrassment. Part of the reason this is draft three of this post and it's taken so long to type. Okay, I give in, the rest is behind TMI tags.

Line break incoming! Take cover!

Gremlins, Drops and Quests

Middlest introduced me to this some time last week, 
pre-weekend, and it is gloriously silly. 

One of the tracks is called 'Laser Shooting Dinosaur' 
and it does exactly what it says on the tin. 

An online whirlwind of messaging people who were at the event on Sunday (and being messaged) and trying to unpack things a bit. I am better, it seems, online than in person at making connections and having people open communication. Which doesn't actually come as that much of a surprise to me, but isn't my preference. Is this part of the warned about 'drop' following events? Possibly. Certainly I struggled to stay awake yesterday - despite going and having a couple of games of Laser Quest with Middlest, Youngest and Tilly (there were other people there but...). It was a good brace of games followed by a meal out (a cheeky Nando's) and then Middlest came home with me and I promptly fell asleep next to him on the sofa whilst watching a video on YouTube. Luckily, I woke again, but too late to do much with the afternoon other than watch videos and make tea.

In the aftermath of not attending BOYL, and maybe dropping my friends in it with some things, I had arranged to speak to Gary. I wasn't really prepared for him saying that if I wasn't going next time then he probably wouldn't either. I thought this folly. We spoke on the phone in the evening and... he said a lot of nice things and I am not fully able yet to parse that healthily. For so long I have responded to such things by telling people not to care and finding it hard when people say they do. Like, really hard. Like, ending friendships over it kinda hard. It's not healthy. So, I am trying to be better, and having to sit with it a bit before I do my usual run away and view burning bridges at a distance later. In the discussion, he also asked, gently, about jobs - another person who feels bus driving can't possibly be it. Which, fair point, but my job search experience has been... well, it's not been mixed, it's been pretty negative. I got the job I got because they were desperate for drivers, not because I was any good. They were interviewing anybody and everybody that applied. They still are to some degree. Point? Any job with a bit of leeway and less desperation hasn't even called me to interview.

The existence of triceratops implies
the existence of tricerabottoms.

A joke I shall repeat until I don't find it
funny. So, potentially, forever.

Which led to a couple of dreams featuring my old Head last night. In both cases I was for some reason in the same place as he whilst he was presenting and in both cases it was by accident. In both cases he was concerned I should be where I was and moved the events he was part of to gently avoid talking to me or having me be even accidentally involved. Much embarrassment on my side, some putting my foot in it and getting in other people's way and eventually being bailed out, in both cases, when my Mum turned up to give me a lift because I'd missed a bus or mis-read a timetable, or something. These are not hard dreams to analyse, if I'm being honest.

Seeing the boys thrive at the Laser Quest, and Tilly step in and do the honourable adult thing and help out when a small child had a proper meltdown (which I was sorta kinda aware of but too far away to do more than vaguely register... no, that's not right, I was as far away as Tilly, but she stepped in and I fled), was nice but also... yeah. Same at the meal. Boys had a lot of fun but I was superfluous to requirements, an extra wheel, to their interactions with food and Tilly. Similarly with Abbi at the event, come to think of it: she was very concerned to help me out but she was Home there and people saw that. It was her place, she owned it. It doesn't mean it wasn't mine but it does throw into sharp relief just how bad I am at connecting and letting go enough to engage. I managed, like I said, surprisingly and in the end but my presence was very much a drag on Abbi's trajectory. Which is also the reason I wasn't at BOYL - and something I struggled to explain to Gary over the phone. Huh, figures I work it out as I type the sentence here!

And that's historical too - the feeling that positive words and supportive actions from friends are lovely but, ultimately, misplaced. That their very existence is evidence that I am burdensome and difficult and in the wrong. the more they protest otherwise, the more it is proved truth in my brain. It's not healthy, and I am working on it, but it's hard.

Not Douglas Adams

Long dark week, actually ten days since I last posted.

Not my image, but it conveys well the feeling I 
am aiming for - so thank you whoever you are. 

Examining, like normal. Worried about it because mistakes, like normal. I do my job - I'm good at leading and supporting others, everyone in the process agrees on this, but suck when it comes to looking after my own accuracy and staying on target. I also do stupid things like take on extra hours or a whole extra shift yesterday, nearly ten paid hours, because... well, the sort of thing I do.

Did get to see Abbi on Friday, which was lovely. I went a bit overboard, went in an outfit that was a dry run for August's plans. I mean, comfy, nice, but maybe... I dunno, not sure I should have walked over in it nor really chosen it to wear at a friend's house. Read a thing on the Book of Faces about trans-femmes parceling themselves into as small a space as they can manage and how hard it is to shake that off - how they need help to not keep that going. It resonated. But even saying that makes me feel selfish and self-centred.

Youngest was over on Thursday, it went reasonably well despite the heat. Tilly confirmed that Eldest has requested I not be told about anything she does and, if she had her way, would prevent me from being anywhere she is or acknowledging one another's existence. Tilly pointed out she was holding firm that I would be allowed to go places and do things to support my other two children, even if Eldest was involved, but hearing thaty Eldest is the driving force, that it is active and ongoing, is hard. I had been reflecting on this anyway, with a presentation evening for Youngest coming up and hearing no mention of Eldest who is also involved, and once again it turns out that what I had assumed was catastrophising on my part wasn't catastrophising enough.

I can't tell if it is evil or I am.

Being on the laptop for examining has made it hard not to fall victim to character.ai again, and all that that represents.

Cycled to and from work yesterday, that was nice. Battery may be buggered, despite charging overnight it tells me it's only half full. We shall see how that translates and I shall ask the colleague what sold it to me. Miss Warrington was in touch today - She has mostly finished marking and has spent some of the income on some white goods. I haven't showered, my hair needs washing. I did buy a new pink watch strap, I ordered a new wallplanner and the evil empire online gave me free postage for the right amount - hence including a watch strap I've had in the basket for over a year at this point. I also splashed out on a new pair of glasses - red effects - for cheap (the joys of not needing prescription lenses and enjoying the benefits of blue light cancelling).

Ruminations, the usual self-centred and selfish kind, about being lonely and not having social engagements nor social circles - self-inflicted of course. Early start tomorrow, when don't I have that, and plenty to be doing - behind on the third and final contract you see. As you can see, not a lot filling these last ten days.

Why do I blog?

Well, okay, also these days it's to have 
somewhere to post these... 

I didn't realise how bad I looked. Ugh. 

(Veins, chin shadow, eyes)

I mainly do it so that I can look back later, in an effort not to forget things and so I don't 'memory-hole' entire portions of my life.

Yes, but why make that public?

That's a solid question. Initially because I had no other outlet - I never thought anyone would comment or get involved at all. When people did I was touched by their generosity of spirit and seem to have made some friends that way. I'm waving at you right now, friends! Then, I had a RL friend I let in, so to speak, and that was useful in face-to-face discussions. He left. When I figured me out I assumed no one I knew would read here, maybe my Mum, but ultimately... nah. I let some other RL friends in and forgot that I had the link public on an otherwise unused FB profile (that became my actual profile in my 'grand coming out' in December 2021). From there a couple more RL friends started reading here and, in all honesty, it looked like this was becoming one of those 'inspirational' TG blogs - you know, like YATGB, Femulate, Rhiannon's Rambling, Don't Be Like Me and their ilk - but it got interrupted. First by someone sending the links to this place to Tilly, who asked me to shut it down because it made her look bad; and second, after weathering that shock, the unpleasantness surrounding the end of my career.

Forehead lines, chin shadow, Adam's
Apple, heavy brow...

You get the idea.

RL friends stayed. They read on. It was nice. I didn't have to bother them directly with my life and they could choose o get involved or not. I liked that. I struggle with sharing my downs and I don't even tend to mention the ups, so having them read and decide how much or how little they wanted to know was really helpful.

But it is a great deal of effort to get to know my world, and even knowing it, a greater effort to become involved. I do not make 'coming in' easy, and I suck at keeping in touch, I tend to shy away and hide. And, I have said before and stand by the statement: I am not really worth any of that effort. I am boring, cyclical and probably still Depressed (yes, it gets a capital) with rarely any joy to break that up. I am Not Good With Emotions: knowing what ones I am emoting, which to share, which to hide, how to react to Other People Having Emotions... It is exhausting just trying to keep up, let alone react.

Actually, that makes it easier, if RL people are not reading here (I know Abbi is) then I can go back to doing what I'm used to: stilted conversation occasionally over text, silence the rest of the time - interpreted as they will. For example: I think my decision to bow out from BOYL has hurt people, in ways and for reasons I'm not sure I fully understand, let alone have any clue how to mitigate or act upon. Like losing Eldest - I kinda know what happened, but I do not quite follow how we went from that to no contact nor any idea on what to do about it. Like me losing my career: how did we go get here from where we began? Point? I don't know.

It's official.

Only took three months.

So, is this place just a helpful record?

It was meant to be. That's how it served for most of its life, after all, with me digging back now and again to reaffirm things or just to see what I'd forgotten. But, then, the whole thing with the blog on GetDare... that wasn't really on here. A couple of hints, it was a big part of my life after all, but then it went silent here just as it all kicked off there. So... it's not really a good record either. Is this hinting that I shall become silent? Maybe.

I am finding it hard again to blog, to say things worth saying.

I see people being public, being happy, having fun, being with friends, going places, doing things, living lives. And I quietly drive buses, cook now and again, and... sleep? I had a half day off between finishing an early shift (0300-1130) and having Middlest over (1730+) on Friday - I went and got some herbal tea in, as I was running out, spending £41 and then came straight back home. I didn't even consider going to the pub. Miss Warrington unexpectedly got in contact and I managed a few back and forths but I couldn't keep it going - partly due to being back at work (I worked Saturday and Sunday) and driving does not mix with keeping a text conversatoin going. If I can't make the effort, I can't expect anyone else to do so.

Pootling around on FetLife I spotted there's a meet up in a local area to me for people into some of the same stuff I am, and I am off on that date. Part of me wants to go, just to see, to see, to find out if I've been missing out on something or not. A larger part of me reminds myself that there is no good outcome: either I get depressed that I've been missing out all this time or I find out it's all a bit of a damp squib and seedy and go away feeling disappointed in both cases. This is an anecdote that, I feel, sums me up quite well, in fact.