Tempus Fugit

Tuesday was wonderful this week.

Posh togs for the day! 

I know, right? Been ages. 

Little Sis was unexpectedly able to visit and so she came over. I had arranged for some new friends to join us too and was super excited. Sis arrived early and we assumed company was arriving midday so got on with things we couldn't so very well do if I was entertaining, just cos timings as much as anything else, but company arrived early. Sis and I finished what we were doing, but were absent a good 45 minutes, and then I tried to get things back on track. I do not feel like it went to my new friends' tastes and we rapidly ended up split into two bubbles. Food did not help matters, they had not been able to check the menu I sent in advance and I assumed they had. I slipped up, big time, and then things spiralled. They left, I thought still happy but trying to hit another appointment, and would later learn that that had not been the case. They are now... not friends, not new friends. But, that has now been firmly put to bed, there's nothing more I can do.

But Abbi then turned up and the three of us, Sis, Abbi and I, had a lovely time watching Nimona and Matilda: the musical and ordering Chinese food and just being in the same room. It was truly, truly glorious. I felt genuinely blessed and happy and home. I wish I could wax more lyrical, go into more depth and detail (and I no doubt could) but the main fact, the important thing, is just how lovely it all was. How natural. How warm. How comfortable. For all of us. Living in the moments. The afternoon flew by but felt like it was forever. Abbi went home. Sis and I stayed together a bit longer before I walked her to her train home, that we didn't miss this time, and it was just a lovely, lovely time. The house felt... feels empty without her and Abbi. Without that warmth and love and companionship. When they were both there... when it was just Sis and I... that was home. Truly. More than I've ever known. And, as regular readers will know, I have felt home a few times. Honestly, the high of this afternoon is still felt. It is a series of wonderful happy memories that won't quickly fade. Added to others of a similar calibre: Easter, the day trip to see Sis, Easter LLI, June LLI, February weekend, Sis stopping overnight... And more to come.

Got a bit stressed if this damage to my
thumb from picking is anything to go by.

I then had the appeal the day after. Short meeting. Hour or so walk there, about five minutes, wait for Union Rep to leave meeting (40 mins) and then about an hour or so walk back. Got some marking done. Middlest was over the day afterwards. We had a walk, watched Nimona (I seem to be doing that a lot, keeps making me cry), and they enjoyed it and remarked how on the nose it was to their experience and how much they seemed to have missed when they saw it. Then, as I prepared food, I learned the appeal had been successful and that I have my job back. This is good news, if entirely unexpected, it meant starting work at 0310 the following day! Bit of a change of plans, to be honest.

Yesterday I went back to work, took on extra hours like an eejit, failed to use the time wisely afterward, went to see the new Minions film (don't) with my youngest and then flopped home. Yes, the whole time was just the film, no extra. To give an indication of how long it's been, I got my only father's day card at this point. It was nice to spend even a little time with Youngest, even if he had a mini strop (again) as we walked home.

Back on at work today. Plenty to do. One drawback of living in the moment is that, sometimes, the moments aren't that interesting. Makes the times they are really stand out though.

Closing a Chapter

I had been prepared for a long, protracted campaign. I was laying in provisions, digging trenches, setting up gun emplacements. But, with the first aerial reconnaissance... there was nothing to be faced. It had all melted away. It took only as long as it took my mental troops to trudge wearily to the location and occupy it to deal with the issue. 🤷‍♀️

So, an intense Monday. An intense set of text chats with Little Sis. An accord, a pact, an agreement: that I wouldn't delete messages any more. I sent some stuff to Mummy. Didn't delete it. And had to wait for her to read it.

And then have her respond, essentially saying: yeah, no, you were hurt - that's valid. Little Sis said the same. Neither of them were scared. Neither ran away. Both were kind. I didn't lose them. 🥹 And then? It was done. Truly. I checked with Abbi, who knows about shadow work, that I wasn't being stupid and she confirmed (and I am all about external confirmation) that, yeah, that made sense. The hard part, I guess, was facing up to the fact that I was hurt and accepting that I was hurt. Don't have to blame anyone. But accepting I was hurt. And having people agree.

I could have done that at any point. Apparently.

But, without the nagging and prodding of Little Sis over a few days, without Abbi joining in, without Mummy to have to inform and worry about losing... I guess I wouldn't have got that far. Now, I'm not gonna diminish the roles of other friends, it could have been done with any of them. It just so happens that right here, right now, was when it happened. Here is the house, where it all happened. Hmm, two song references in close proximity 🤔I doubt anyone will spot them. 😅

And that's the final part of the triptych. That's how this chapter closes. Positively, with nary a ripple.

Saw my children in plays last night. Eldest two in Everyman - with Middlest playing Death. They channelled the same thing I channel with the AoD-Teacher: they were truly terrifying and unsettling. Not to me, I knew what was happening, but I watched the audience and they were spooked! Brilliant work by Middlest, bravo! Eldest was her usual excellent self, but she was upstaged by her younger sibling. Smallest also did fantastically well in his play - knew all his lines, actually acted rather than read from the script in his head. I thought he was the best in his group. Objectively? I dunno. He was very good though. It was a good night.

Did then have a brain malfunction and plan for the wrong shift today - luckily one that would have started an hour and a half earlier - so I had showered and got ready and had the boon of an hour with time to just... be. Very nice. Bit of a Day today, but plenty of positives too.

And... apparently I'm back to pre-whatever-this-was levels of firehosing positivity. 🤷‍♀️

Huh.

The Joanna Show

Literally the only photo I took... 

It was lovely to meet with friends lately. Nothing so exciting as one reads on the blogs of others, of course (I'm not giving you side-eye, Izzy, I promise!) but it was nice. A late birthday adventure with Abbi saw us wander to buy some dungarees (where I ended up spending more than she did) at Lucy & Yak and then wandering to a shop where I bought two books (but no Bitterness: the musical CD - otherwise known as Chess). Thence Oop North for to meet with Tim and his family for a day - which was lovely - I really enjoyed being invited into their world for a time. I even managed to teach their children a new card game (whist) which, I think, went down well. I was loaned a brace of books (now begun) and... yes. I got to see a presentation in the local museum with my Mum that I had thought lost to time years ago, and even film it for my own, personal, use. It was made in 1991 and, apparently, is one of my main memories from my teens so... there's that.

The weather has also remained warm and dry (though rain has blown in over the last day or so) so that my choice of packing dungarees for the trip Oop North was perhaps less efficacious than it ought to have been. In my defence, there was supposed to be a big rainstorm and a drop in temperatures. Whilst there was fine misty rain at a couple of points the temperatures remained high. Meaning I got to join Tim's family on a walk into town and back and stopping by at a park. Tim and his wife easily switched and changed duties, their children were happy to be part of the group but also strike out alone, good parenting was observed and spoken about.

I did, however, do my usual. I don't know why and, in my limited defence, I wasn't quite aware of it at the time; but I did my usual 'Joanna Show' - that is, I dominated conversation, rambling uselessly about my Prehistoric story idea and then, worse, falling back on old tales of my past - now so mangled and over-told that I genuinely have trouble sorting the basic story from the self-deprecating details and 'humourous' asides. When I'm asked a question about glasses and, four tangents later, everyone is confused why we're talking about getting a pen as a birthday present in the mid-90s. I hate that I do this, that I only realise too late what I've done. I did it to my Mum as well. Partly it was awakening the old teacher patois, dealing with children will do that, but mostly it's my old arrogance asserting itself.

The book. I need to review it...

This was echoed on Monday when I took on an extra shift to act as a failsafe satnav for someone starting on my route. Their first run, for which I was utterly unrequired, was also one they were getting judged on by the person who does that. She and I had a chat, and I ended up telling the anecdotes about my journey (you know them by now, and, if not, they are repeated a few times on this blog), whilst only partially giving space for her to rejoin with her own anecdotes about growing up QUILTBAG+ in the time warp that is our local area.

As an aside, the lady in the shop on my trip when I popped in for something, anything, to help my flaky skin around my eyes referred to me as "this gentleman" to her colleague - when I challenged she made a, frankly, genius side-step, 'how on earth do you deal with that?', when she said: "I call everyone 'love' - there's nothing implied by it." Like, lady, you did not refer to me as 'love', that wasn't... it didn't... what? There's been more than a few people refer to me as male in the last week too which has been... a marked increase certainly. Not sure what I'm doing differently or if this is somehow connected to the flying of England flags thing but... eh?

Goin' Back To Mah Roots

Going back to my family's geographical roots to visit my remaining grandparent was a Big Deal.

The market where I used to collect Sharpe 
novels has an indoor section with a micro- 
pub in it!!!

Firstly, because organising train travel and trying to guestimate connection times and visit times and work out bus lines and distances was taxing but also because of the attendant executive dysfunction that inevitably accompanies me when I do such things. Plus trying to organise maybe going to the Event (17 August, fact fans) and liaise with Tilly for child things and deal with my Dad getting strangely worried about my visit (he had me call him so he could impart to me, his 45 year old child, that I should ask questions and listen to the answers - I mean... come on)... Anyway, yes. I managed it. My ancestral seat is transformed from when I last walked around it some 25 years ago - because 25 years have passed obviously - and I upset some old Uni friends by posting a beer review and not having given them a shout I was in their area (in fairness, I had forgotten Kirsten's husband worked where I went BUT I also hadn't managed to work out that I would have the time I did). Met a trans-man on the platform who, it turned out, was not only the same age but went to my Uni and transitioned 14 years ago. Sadly, he took a different train to me (some hour and a half before mine - yes I did panic and turn up that early for my train home, thank you for asking).

But this part of the bus station is unchanged
from when I last caught a bus in 1990!

Oh, ailing grandparent is ailing and old. Like, nowhere near as bad as billed when I was guilt-tripped into making the trip by my Dad, but, yeah, less good than when I last visited before Christmas with my Mum. Oh, and didn't use any name for me at all - which is a marked improvement - and even complimented my hair. I'll take it. Oh, and I did listen and ask questions.

Speaking of panic-driven decisions, I went with Tilly and Youngest to do a treasure trail last week and was worrying about getting home to be in bed in time to get up for an 0310 start the following day. Thus, after an hour, I panicked and went home. To find I had at least two hours left. Doh. Led to a nightmare in which Youngest was in a room and I was trying to get him to turn the light off and not let him leave til he had. It turned out there were literal monsters out to get him and when I finally relented from being an awful parent he escaped but they killed Tilly and I woke up before they got to me.

We reconvened today, Tilly, Youngest and I, to complete the trail. Initially Middlest was supposed to come but did not. In trying to pick up where we left off we had two ADHD approaches (get angry and mis-name locations and landmarks, whilst arguing over which of the same but differently described route was best) and me: direct. Anyway, with Tilly and Youngest each getting angrier at one another, Tilly tells me that she knows I must be frustrated, and understands how anger inducing it must be for me to not be listened to, and suggests we do her approach as a compromise.

Oh, I got chance to wear this top without
melting!!! Nice.

For reference: I'd already butted out and was trying to laugh it off and point out they were both giving the same directions and that we'd do that. I was not even remotely frustrated. I laughed and said: "don't worry, it's fine, your routes are fine."

Tilly insisted I had no reason to get angry and she understood that I must be quite frustrtated not to be listened to. And then tried again when I simply smiled and assured her this was not the case. I said: "I think you may be projecting" and she got angry: "no need to snap at me!" Before collecting herself quickly, saying I wasn't snapping but that was no reason to say she was and then repeating that she knew I must be frustrated. I want to make clear that I had said literally nothing in this time.

At the end of our time, I said I'd run and get lunch before picking Middlest up, so Tilly got out her phone and told Middlest I'd be there in an hour - for a trip that would take about that without lunch - and reassured me Middlest would already have eaten. Quite why she had to instantly text Middlest and make it so lunch was next to impossible for me I don't know.

I did say "yes" to a big Book Pony.

Anyway, my point. All of this seemed rather reminiscent of arguments Tilly has invented in the past and how she has viewed what happened after the fact. I found it fascinating watching her project, intensify, blame me for her frustration, find a reason to make it my fault, say I snapped and then restrict my ability to do things in good time. There were multiple instances of this across the trail too - really interesting once I'd spotted it - where she and Youngest would start falling out only for Tilly to suggest to me, who had said and done nothing but wait, that I needn't get angry and thus deflect Youngest's anger onto me and project her own frustration onto me before explaining to Youngest that I was getting frustrated and angry. It seemed so blatant. And I want to be clear: I was not at any point angry, frustrated or upset. I even checked my reflection a few times and my face was as close to happy and smiley (it was a lovely day, I was doing a trail with Youngest - what's not to love?) as I get so... Fascinating.

Abbi came over, I made a space because it's my house and I can do what I want with duvets and pillows and soft toys and we sat and had a good natter. I revealed my hoarding money problem - like Abbi said: I need her to teach me how to say "yes" to myself a bit more. I have the savings I have because I deny myself a lot of things. Mind you, that said, I have the savings to cover things. I just need the executive function to actually get people in to do said things - like the bathroom and the plastering and the decorating. Anyway, apart from feeling like a boastful heel ("look at the money I have"), it was fun. Alas, she can't make the Event - so it'll be my first alone if I actually go.

An Elephant Never Forgets

Do I address the elephant in the room?

Hello Mx Pachyderm, it would appear you have somehow gained entry to my living room. May I ask, politely, of course how you got in and how you intend to leave?

New top (a vest top for outer wear, long 
an ambition and now almost doable?) and 
autumnal dungarees! 

Why, yes, you can tell that the bed is that of 
trans-woman, what tipped you off? 

(It was the shark, it's always the shark) 

Daftness aside, yeah, it's been a time. Marking mainly, but also odder shift times than last year (I think? At least as bad as last year anyway). I jacked in one contract, enjoyed the one I haven't done for the last two years, and the Team Leading one (I always do, to be fair, but that is the one that comes closest to ruining my Middlest's birthday every time so maybe that's the one I bow out gracelessly from) meaning that it got a bit... treadmill-like? I mean, don't get me wrong, I love money as much as the next late-capitalism wage-slave, and it shall pay reasonably well but... I say pay well, my Dad remains confused when we talk that my quoted full contract rate isn't my daily rate (and regularly behaves as if it is, because, I suppose, that's what he's used to) but it's not too bad.

I finally managed to contact a person to look at the guttering and pipes out back, same fellow that came and rescued (finally) my roof and plugged the leaks (the one by the chimney he solved with a minimum of fuss for about £80 and the one over the back of the house he sorted for £30), and he's quoted £90. Given what needs doing, that seems very reasonable, actually. Though, honestly, I rather suspect he'll find something else when doing the job, I've prepared more than £90 to cover it (and, again, very reasonable, I had ball-parked a couple of hundred).

Heatwave came and I melted on shift on Friday, having mercifully finished my marking by that point, but then I was into a recuperative weekend off. Bought some new clothes at Lucy & Yak (and managed to get Abbi there too, where she found a lovely pair of dungees in her size on sale and bought them!!!), then a trip to Bird and Blend to spend far too much on tea. We also managed to eat all the Chinese we could eat, much fun had there, and enjoy a tea in a park in the shade whilst the sun shone and we nattered about folklore, fiction, women's history and empowerment. It was a good day.

Different angle, better to see the top.

Also, as is the usual at this time of year, I have spent much time observing things, people and places and thus ruminating on my own situation and reactions. I see new relationships blossoming and it's lovely - people are very happy - and feel those pangs of jealousy within the waves of genuine joy for others. And it's multiple relationships here too, not just one set, and in both cases those concerned are well-suited. I know how they do it: they get out there, they meet people, they have hobbies and regular activities with like-minded people. I say I can't, but I don't know if that is true. I can't make regular groups that I would like, sure, but it's not like I'm actively looking for alternatives.

Middlest comes over and enjoys what we do, but there's so much that I, as a parent, have failed to make happen for them as was made happen for me at a similar age. Sure we watch things together (and their card for me was a masterstroke in unexpected humour that made me laugh far too long and loud for what it was) but I don't take them places like I used to and despite being honoured with their thoughts and let into their struggles, I don't do much to support. We ended up at the latest Jurassic thing on Saturday, with Youngest, and I managed to help Youngest with some of the unexpected scary moments (I saw a couple coming a fraction of a second in time to help cover his ears and offer a protective hug) whilst we melted. But I'm not there, and honestly never really have been, to put in the hard graft and time and effort. All of which is dialled to eleven with the Eldest.

I risked attempting eye-shadow recently too,
despite the fact that the skin around my eyes
is extra dry and flakey these days.

Not sure one can tell though. Still, a different
view of my bedroom showing my new marking
nook.

I also finally told Tilly about HRT (up to 3.2 pumps a day for fact fans - or thereabouts - I'm much too timid to regularly do 4) in that I said I was going to start it. She offered congratulations - which wasn't my anticipated reaction from her - but gave no indication that she knew I'd started already. Honestly, I had assumed she'd rejoin with "I thought you already had" but then, afterwards, I realised that she only did stuff like that back in the days when she paid attention. Sure, she often took the wind out of my sails, but I missed the fact that it proved she vaguely cared and noticed.

Did meet with my new friend for some beers as well, which went down rather well, I thought. Until we ended up back at theirs and they tried to share some videos with me. I did my usual and got over-excited and tried to show all of the things in my head at once, making connections as they showed me things and thus coming across as rude by talking over their things. As they pointed out - they listened to my stuff without interruption. My ASD kicked in enough to ensure I didn't get the full mortification until I was walking home. But evidence again that I am a bit... overbearing and rude, honestly. Another example of the sort of stuff that Tilly used to say about me being rather true. I think the friendship has survived my... usual baptism of fire, we shall see. Not the first time this aspect of who I am has caused me to despair but, as always, I shall moan about it and then go right ahead and keep doing it. Further reasons why I can't do as the people who have found new relationships do, I suppose.

Here's the top humour from Middlest.

The amount and volume of laughter
induced was unseemly!

On the HRT front, looks like there's enough difference for me to have had to dispense with the trusty birdseed in favour of those M&S foam forms. But that may be less HRT-induced development than it is extra fat desposits - as an attempt to wear that blue and yellow spotty dress from way back when showed I can no longer pull the zip even halfway (so nowhere near the boob area - implying simple middle-age spread as the culprit). I mean, I am somewhere around 14st as standard these days and back when I got the dress I was closer 11st so... yeah, that's more likely than significant boob development. It's not like I have anything else to aid that, like progesterone, nor am I likely to bite the bullet to try and make that happen. Let's not forget that it's taken me nearly four years to even get on to HRT unofficially - so long, in fact, that I only just beat the NHS to the punch by about five months. Which, given how unutterably bad the NHS is for trans healthcare these days, is saying something! It also illustrates neatly how long a run up things take me even when I'm reasonably sure I want them. The biggest changes in my life have always, thus, taken place mostly by accident or by jumping into that plunge pool without a plan when the opportunity presents itself. I do not recommend this as a general course of action.

Out drinking beer. This was the stout.
Chocolate coconut. Yes. It can come again.

You can actually see the issue I had with my
old dress here from the sillhouette!

Oh, yes, first time painting nails since some
time last year!!!

In conversation with my Dad a couple of times over the last however long it has been he reprimanded me for talking too much and too long, and for not really listening to the news of others. He's not wrong, by the way, but it had a corrollary effect, as I ruminated on it after the fact for a few days, of reminding me about he has previously said he thinks that I think I'm the Big I Am. It was a theme that often came up as a child too. Along with the perception that I was boastful. Now, you might say that this is down to my Dad, but it was a common enough thing that I was told (albeit with different terms) at school by teachers and peers alike that I must assume that there was something to it. And, in my rumination, I realised that it maybe has something to do with my inability to really deal with my birthday. I am, and always have been, desperate to avoid being seen as boastful or self-aggrandising. Whether or not I am, well, something to leave to the philosophers (spoiler: I rather think I am), certainly my efforts not to be so seem doomed to failure. I digress. One of my methods to try and avoid being boastful is to downplay stuff like my birthday, if asked directly to state that I do not wish to celebrate it or mark it in any way, and to deflect if people mention it in other ways. I had noticed that, last year, I almost managed to have a healthier relationship with it but, this year, I was back to my usual rut.

The only other news to relate is more of a TMI nature, so here's where normal readers will finish. Back to work tomorrow, hoping for slightly lower temperatures in the bus (it was somewhere above 40 degrees on Friday - the thermometer didn't go any higher - for five hours and I was melting so much that the 3+ litres of drink I'd taken with me wasn't enough to replenish what I was losing through sweat - sorry, maybe this ought to have been beyond the TMI line break as well...).

Here's the line break below, for those of you that clicked the post direct...

Executive Dysfunction

I have, apparently, lost the ability to dress 
in a professional manner: lines and dots? 

I had worn my "I feel so professional" suit 
at first, but it became apparent that whilst 
I could walk and stand, I was unlikely to get 
away with sitting. 

Oh, this is at a coffee shop nearby the place 
I met my MP. Nice pitstop. Decent lemon 
drizzle cake. I suspect baked on site too. 

Saw my MP today. That's a first and very uncomfortable for me. I went expecting a bit of a battle, but it was as though I was pushing an open door; my MP already knew, was already on my side: having a partner who is an enby, friends and relatives who are trans*. But, alas, it was as though that open door led to a dingy anteroom with flickering lights and a broken heater. My MP is a bankbencher, has seen leadership deal with people stepping out of line and watched as other methods of showing displeasure have achieved nothing. My MP radiated frustration at the system. What else could either of us do? Not much, it would appear.

A Friday repeated, and it was nice. I feel I messed up though - I'm relatively certain there was a point in the evening in which I should have said something and, for some reason, I didn't say it. I was aware of it, but can't explain why I didn't act. Fear? Confusion? Fear. Always fear. On the back of some shenanigans with an online account that seemed a bit fishy at first, but with whom I had a decent chat for a bit the previous day. I was prepared to give them a go, if I'm honest, but then the person typing on that account seemed to change, a shift change maybe, and I wondered anew who is taken in by such things. Mind you, that I noticed means they filtered me out as not the intended target. That this was finalised as I was walking to meet my partner in crime for the evening probably accouonts for some of the fear. And the visit to eat Chinese food - I am most unladylike in portions, style of eating, amount of visits and resultant burps.

£3.75!!!

Bonkers cheap.

An IKEA trip earlier in the week gave me ideas about something better to put my TV on than the health and safety hazard I currently use and also prompted me to finally buy a set of scales for the bathroom. Turns out I am consistently above 13st! I can shift my balance to get it up to 14st too, which is a concern. However, it does explain why my favourite dresses don't fit any more and why most photos are so unflattering - paunch territory. I mean, I can't claim to be fat, but I can definitely claim to be shaped in a way that a lot of the stuff I bought early on does not allow for. It is what it is.

My private prescription for HRT is supposedly in train, they tell me I will get a code on my phone, but it's been a few days and nothing yet. I shall chase next week I guess. Too early for me to be chasing the GP, I feel, but I shall take that up at the end of the month. Examinations are coming - my e-mail is regularly assaulted by reminders. I've been finding executive function hard, not just this last week (though it is far more noticeable without work shifts), so that I haven't packed yet for my holiday and have been struggling to wake and get ready in good time. However, I did manage a trip to the Scottish Restaurant with Youngest and hear about Eldest's plans for University (Manchester or Leicester). Not from Eldest, from Tilly.

Maybe it's because I'm tired?

Dark Souls

Rollercoasters have less whiplash... Joanna, struck by a laser, was unable to finish a treatise. Some cling to this scrap for warmth.

This is actually from Friday, with the 
obscene amounts of Chinese and the 
sour beer. 

My Mum's comment: "Your legs look 
rather big." 

Thanks, Mum.

Last Thursday but one I attended Chams, which was great as I got to chat to Lynn and see Izzy and others. Also I cycled, so it was good exercise and I managed to get home before midnight - I do enjoy weather that is dry enough to cycle. There were qualifications - I am so removed from 'the scene' that there is much I found myself unable to join in with nor even listen. A new person offered a chance to have the sort of 'grand gesture' conversations that Tilly said I was good at (not a compliment) but it turned out I had little in common with her and that fizzled quickly. A mixed bag.

The appointment, re-booked, followed and was pretty good. Turns out I'm on such a low safe dose that the doctor I spoke to was, frankly, amazed that I would be noticing any differences at all in the time I'd been on HRT. Good to know. Stuff takes time. She told me that I was being realistic with my expectations, which is always the sort of praise I like to hear, and was pleased I had arranged an appointment with my GP about blood tests and shared care. However, I get the distinct impression that I am speedrunning things - that appointment followed on Tuesday and I booked a blood test for the next Friday. I e-mailed the Pride in Health Team and they were shocked into action - sending a blood test request before managing to get the Shared Care agreement sent and only on the evening before the blood test. I've saved the money precisely for this purpose though, so I don't mind spending it. Things seem to be in order. The blood test went well - my blood doing its thing of being quick to clot and heal, so the nurse had to go in through my hand. She also offered my favourite kind of praise by being surprised my appraisal of how my blood behaves was spot on and that I was fine with the needle in the hand. Ah, validation.

Oof, that shadow on the chin...
This was the Awards Evening on
Thursday.

Shrug was a size too large. Bust a size
too small. Very cylindrical.

Tuesday's laser was attended, only through roping Abbi to go with me and metaphorically hold my hand. Had I not taken her then I suspect I would have bottled it entirely. Here there was more pain than I anticipated and I, shamefully, winced and flinched my way through the appointment. Worse, I actually asked for it to be turned down above my lip and down to my chin. Not a proud moment that. Still, I didn't ask for a break and the whole thing was over in twenty minutes. Because I had work the following day and day after I did end up applying make-up and that may have led to a bunch of angry spots forming. Normal spots, likely due to blocked pores, but big ones all the same. Now, almost a week on, it feels fine and I am finally noticing some lessening of hair growth (the first couple of days there was more than normal and enough uneven swelling that shaving was bloody difficult).

Awards Evening went ahead and I had invited my old driving instructor as my plus one and there was a colleague also attending with whom I get on. Due to these provisos it was actually a decent night. We made our fun, well, me and my colleague did anyway and that made the night a significant improvement over the one last year. That and having a proper portion size with the meal and better wine on offer really helped. A late finish meaning I was glad of the day off on the Friday (and having booked the blood test for after midday). I also had the weekend off, just normal rest days, and so I had an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet for lunch, bought the next volume of Fruits Basket and finished with a beer. Sour. Iron Brew. Vault City. Lovely.

I have a Blahaj, I am become meme.

Saturday I ended up running for a bus to make a meeting for lunch with Tilly and the boys, which was surprisingly hard - I suspect a present from HRT as my feet are retaining water and thus I found it harder to run in my dress - and we had spicy chicken. Combining the heat of the day, the establishment chosen and my running meant that my face felt very swelled that afternoon, but Middlest and I had fun watching various videos and having discussions. Sunday, he and I decamped to IKEA and I mentioned looking at stuffed toys. Middlest took delight in reminding me after we ended up having lunch and was cock-a-hoop when I ended up buying a Blahaj, cos he knows that's a trans meme. A bit of background, he's been playing Celeste - a computer game made by a trans woman about a trans woman with music created by a trans woman - which is something of a trans meme also, most trans femmes of a certain age have played the game (though it is overwhelmingly played by cis people). Thus Middlest wants me to play the game and was alive to the idea of enabling a trans meme.

Work has, concurrently, given me time to muse and my brain reminded me that No Regrets was a song I loved in my first year of University. And remembering the lyrics and the music video from that time (since checked on the internet) coupled with the fact that the Pet Shop Boys definitely had a role in it (beat and Tennant on vocals) unlocked a new aspect of my dysphoria from then. Like... it was an anthem to my feelings back in the day. My brain then 'helpfully' reminded me of Come Undone by Duran Duran, last analysed back in my old job pre-pandemic for a Desert Island Discs thing I took part in and during which I discovered the music video. But, more prominently for me, associated with a big event in my tumultuous relationship with Toby that involved quite a lot of crying on my part, alone in my car with this track on tape. It was one of those songs that unexpectedly moved me to tears. Later that year it would be You Choose following Love is a Catastrophe (both by the Pet Shop Boys) that did something similar and the tears were enough to make have to pull in and stop the car.

And it feels like...

Home...

It's a Boigger, but not from any monarchical nor 
circus-act-inspired institution. 

Third time's the charm, I guess. Third event and it went really rather well. First and foremost, I actually prepared the night before, but mentally rather than physically. I'd had a shift in the morning and then went out to meet Middlest and Youngest with Tilly for food at a new place to both of them. Keep in mind their flavours of ASD and just know that this was a Big Deal. I think. Maybe it wasn't these days, I don't know, I interact with the pair of them little enough that I'm not entirely sure I'm in the rigt place to judge. Also, the interaction time was small and the last before they disappear on holiday. Also, it ended with me asking after Eldest but I had to ask "and how is [eldest]?" three times before I got an answer that actually included Eldest in the response - the first two got comments from Tilly about how hard she finds it to remember what people were doing or remember what day it is. Which, sure, valid, but shouldn't have formed the whole answer unless she was deliberately trying to stop me asking - which I suspect she was. I digress. I popped for a beer, nice, and then went home and prepared.

Yeah, this about sums it up.

I mean, okay, no questioning my trans-ness these
days (apart from sarcastically and the equally silly
but entirely realistic worry about being trans
enough for the NHS).

That is, I had a bath to shave the legs (first time in two weeks, ugh) and then shower to wash my hair. I also took some time to watch some videos on YouTube and just... be. I had an early night, I didn't try to be social online nor worry about being too... I dunno. There'd been a text conversation with someone I know reasonably well at work with her trying to work out whether I counted (in my own head) as a lesbian - which is fair question (and was raised incredibly respectfully but with a burning autistic interest, which I recognise) - and I shared some of my rabbit-hole on that subject. I should stress that I found this fascinating and a fun diversion, by the way, I'm still trying to work out whether or not I can claim such a label or whether another would be better suited. I recognise labels shouldn't be the be all and end all, but I like categorisation and I especially like to categorise myself in my own head. It's not for everyone, it's, perhaps, just me. No, I don't bother to categorise other people - how they use or do not use labels is personal to them, I'll work out what they mean by labels by observation over time (if I'm lucky) or from context clues in a shorter interaction and, if it's not repeated, then I'll never really know. I have discovered that it is less terms used and more how those terms are deployed. I digress.

It goes a little something like this...
(with apologies to Run D.M.C.)

Sunday morning I made sandwiches, consumed Pepsi Max, packed my rucksack and planned what I would wear - having given up the night previous - and focussed on ensuring I had everything packed. I also watched the latest Philosophy Tube offering on Nihilism - which... yeah, can relate, but a topic for another time. I had planned (barely) to meet Abbi for coffee and cake, which became coffee and bacon bap (sorry, not a local term) and we thus arrived early for the event. This gave me time to actually plait my hair - something I had had to do at work the previous day because having pushed time between hair washes to the absolute limit (four days, in case you're wondering) - and I made a pretty poor job of it, but at least it was even and my attempt at a centre-parting allowed that. Usually, in case my images of myself haven't made clear, my hair is an off-centre parting.

Also, Abbi had made the decision to try something different. I've said before that these are her people and this was made abundantly clear as she properly let go and was just herself - which was fantastic. I got caught in various queues alone but this allowed me to actually strike up conversation with other attendees early and thus actually make some connections. I loved that most of all. I was able to talk to people and share stupid jokes and... interact. You know? Like a person. In an arena that allowed me to indulge a little bit in some of my more esoteric topics of conversation. One of these interactions was with a nervous first timer who had become Abbi's friend (one of several) and I was able to help her adjust to the space and feel a bit more comfortable. This came to a head in one particular interaction that... well, I shall talk more after a line break about that. No, don't worry, no big secrets, no big earth-shattering changes but enough details about the nature of the Event that I recognise casual readers may not wish to know! If you know me well enough IRL know that I'm not burying any ledes!

Actual art work.

It does resemble a great deal the sort
of thing I drew in Primary School.

Alarmingly so, in fact.

I actually won a competition in which I was not relying on chance (it was an art competition, but I won not for my art, but my joke title shenanigans - basically I won an art competition with my sense of humour and self-deprecation - I'll take it, could there be a more me-like way of expressing things?) and thoroughly enjoyed the return of party games (pass the parcel and telephone). I loved being able to chat to other attendees (and had a return of my joke reel in the ball pit) and respond to what they were saying and the energy they brought to the proceedings. In short, I had a lovely time and, though I didn't drink nearly enough liquid, was happy sinking into bed last night. I mean, I have work again today, but whatever, you know?

In another deviation from the usual script, I didn't take a selfie after the Event so no record exists of my outfit, but it wasn't quite the euphoric high of the First one, nor the determined 'must take photo' energy of the Second. I ate the sandwiches we hadn't eaten, the Doritos I'd picked up and failed to drink enough water to avoid feeling like a dried out husk this morning. Also had to perform some wriggling to satisfy my Mum, who rang on seeing I was actively doing word puzzles, who was mad keen to find out where I'd been and who with (I lied, not proud of myself, but I lied: Abbi and I went to a park and had a walk, I told her).

And that's the post.

Line break follows...

Late Night Musing

Late shifts are gruelling. I think part of the problem lies in the fact that I work better after work - that is, when there is a shift still to do I worry autistically about that work and being there on timem, so I misuse the time before the shift. Whereas, when there is time after a shift in the day I tend to be able to do what I like with it. Conversely, the shift itself, being late, is actually rather easy - the roads get emptier over time and finish up with me just pootling about in a bus on my tod - which is quite therapuetic in one regard. It does get me rather reflective however, which isn't always good. Reading Avoiding Anxiety in Autistic Adults by Dr Luke Beardon has been interesting (maybe even helpful) but also has the effect of making me analyse my autistic traits more - and then applying all of that to the past - which can be less than helpful.

Nevertheless, it has been interesting if leaving little time to do productive things - like write this blog. A lot of what I have planned to put on here has come and gone and been superseded over time. Like, I had this whole thing about looking back at the day of my wedding or a whole section on the process of wearing two masks so long that it took a while to work out which mask was which. And there may be more. And yesterday Abbi was over and I found a page on here (those tabs up top are pages, you see, and can be accessed whenever) that I wrote back in June 2013 and then removed in November 2015 called 'Who is Joanna?' and... well, I kinda forgot exactly what it said. Abbi asked to read it and... reading over her shoulder, it was... prescient. That will likely appear on here at some point because it was... well, written in Jube 2013 and it spells out much of what came to pass once I figured me out - implying that nothing really changed from June 2013 and that that writing was, itself, based on feelings that have existed longer than that.

Potentially the fetishisation of housework
(or getting a photo op whilst actually
cleaning my bedroom, YMMV)

Concurrently, a conversation with a bloke on fetlife developed - not while Abbi was over, but before and after my Mum visited over the weekend - to a point where I'm going to have to seriously consider what's going on there. I had another post about that planned too, see, about how it is that I have cybered in the past with two people and they've both been blokes. I mean, there was a short amount of contact with a woman as well (who was also a Domme, but not pro) but that ended when she a. wanted pictures and b. wanted to bring my Mum into it (no, no idea either). I bring this up because Abbi has previously suggested that I give off the most trans-lesbian vibes imaginable and yet... I don't seem to engender contact of that kind of variety from femme-folk.

I mean, looking back (and only recently) there was my friend from Chams who, maybe, might have been angling for more than friendship. If you're still reading, friend, I do apologise because I completely didn't think of things that way. But, apart from that, I haven't gained femme folk attention as much as I appear to have attracted male attention. And, well, this bloke on fetlife knows I am trans and took the time and effort to very politely set up a chat that wasn't primarily fetish and sex related. If anything it's been me pushing things to a different level. And, well, he seems like a decent chap with plenty of positive qualities. Needs a bit of confidence boosting as he doesn't seem to see his positive qualities as much as he exudes them. And that's the crux, isn't it? I want to nurture that, to bring it out, to help him see the value in himself - like I did when I taught I guess - but do I want more? Am I, in effect, stringing him along?

Combined with the old page... well.

This dress in fact.

A choice quote from that old page: "I'm no more attracted to men than I am women, and there's nothing in me makes me want him to suck cock or any other part of male anatomy" said the Joanna that wrote that page of the mask I wore when I wrote it. Fascinating slip there though, right?

In other news I have signed up to a private healthcare provider to make the HRT less DIY and that's gone reasonably well. I am also contemplating buying a new external HDD (my old one is over a decade old now!) along with some books and that will come in at over £100 all told. On top of having booked the next Event with Abbi (~£50) and... yeah. I'm not poor, and money is good, I can afford all this but it still seems like a lot. Oh, and I'm also too big to fit in my favourite pinafore style dresses. Which is odd, cos the fitted me just fine a year ago. And it's the ribcage, not my fat, that seems to be the sticking point and, like, my ribcage doesn't change size, does it?

Does it?

Been a while since we finished with a curtsey.

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.

World Without

I... may not have fully appreciated the 
text when I first read it (even if I did love 
the concept and the execution). 

Between finishing A Book of Spells and buying a new novel to read (I prefer fiction, a lot, to factual stuff. Plus many of the factual books I own are way too big to fit in my work bag) I re-read Woman World and it occurred to me that I hadn't read it since my own realisations. Having a main character, the grandma, state that she was trans about three strips in was fascinating (she learned the word 'transgender' and it helped her make sense of herself before all the men died - the fact she is accepted as a trans-woman and, well, survived, is very moving to me, for obvious reasons, in a work awash with feminism). Also, the set up, I think I have waxed lyrical about the concept before but a world in which there are no men and thus women run the show is interesting as it allows ideas of biological and gender essentialism to be explored - what, if anything, is the difference between men and women? That a trans-woman was wholeheartedly included in this female world and becomes a main player in rebuiulding society (as well as teaching the children) is also powerful stuff. Like, I get, the creator decided she was trans and then carried on regardless - but that in itself is also moving and powerful and interesting.

To be frank - the cover drew me in,
the concept came afterward.

I was all for pooh-poohing it, but, you
know, 50p. And, well, I'm glad.

Popping into the charity shop down the road from my break room, I discovered a book called Who Runs the World? and had a leaf through. It appears to be a YA novel in which, yes, all the men are dead - killed by plague here rather than simply not being born in the graphic novel - and the opening conceit is that a fourteen year old discovers a boy dying the road on the way home. There are already plenty of pointed references and ideas about how a female dominated world would differ from a male one, and though I do look down (perhaps a bit too snobbishly) at the use of bold and caps and italics for different THINGS close together in the text, I am intrigued by the changes and, of course, the underlying sense that this world isn't actually any better. That men are being exploited, perhaps worse than women in our time period, by this society and there is something of a conspiracy. I mean, obviously, it's a YA book (I think) and has a teen girl protagonist. Nevertheless, I am interested in how this concept is explored here.

Once again, I am drowning in concepts and ideas and snippets rather than being able to focus on my own writing. Still, I can call it research. Maitland's work also was awash with the exploration of women without men, or in competition with men, or competition with the world and how it favours male-ness. It's a rich theme through these works. It also harkens back to the work of Le Guinn in Tehanu and I like that this theme has developed. A link as well with Handmaid's Tale that kick-started me reading at this rate again, so there's a nice continuity there. One may also convincingly argue that it brings in the books I have been trying to branch out into as I have been deliberately selecting women authors to read. It shouldn't make the difference that it does. It really shouldn't. But it does.

Lost my pink watch strap - somewhere in the house, Lord knows where - and my black jeans. Not sure how I have managed that one. Very on brand for me. I am worried I may have accidentally thrown the watch strap out with some rubbish when clearing my room. That would be very sad, it is my favourite watch strap (and, arguably, the most comfortable too). I can always buy another, I suppose, I've been spending money like water anyway so...

Watching My Waste

Failing to have a shower and wash my 
hair, coupled with some warmer weather, 
meant that I risked plaits for the Friday 
and Sunday. Quite pleased with them, 
hence the selfie. 

I began a tradition last year of marking 'wasted days' on my wallplanner. Days when I had time but misused it somehow. This last week had a few - I was on a late shift (1530-0138 in case you wondered) for a couple of days and so, theoretically, I had a free morning. On one of the days I had Youngest over, he struggled with playing chess (his insistence) and much of the time was lost to him struggling and shouting and screaming whilst Tilly did her latest set of ideas to deal with it. I'm not against what she does, it just comes across (to me who is not there all the time, let's be fair) as inconsistent. Anyway, they left and I ought to have gone shopping, but I did not. The following morning was similarly wasted by me on the laptop - rather than writing as I have actual inclination and inspiration to do, I pootled - and failed to shop or do laundry. I managed grocery shopping, laundry and a bath on the Sunday though, so at least my day off wasn't wasted.

Also, I am aware that I have been eating... indulgently, shall we say, since my trip to meet my Mum last weekend. That weekend off had two big curries and I had a takeaway from my local Chinese one night last week. I've also had a cooked breakfast as a brunch one day. So there's my waist as well as my waste to consider (and the amount of money I've thrown at this).

A poor photo of last night's bath situation.

I finally finished the Maitland short stories. She really is fascinating. She writes with flair and power and seeming ease - switching between the banal, the macarbe, the unjust and the luminary within a few words, all without breaking stride or seeming to have to work at it. I am minded of the writing in Handmaid's Tale or Gifts in that the narrative is beguiling and arresting, very much aware of the state that it is invoking and doing so with aplomb.

Nevertheless, I have begun rederafting a chapter as a short story. I haven't got very far, of course, because I am now deciding how best to structure it. Originally I favoured a half and half approach between two characters - start with the original protagonist and then switch halfway through to a different one to balance the narrative. But I vacillate. What if I told the same story from two different perspectives? Which one should I start with? The original or the new one? It is a scene from my war story from 2012, the actual climactic scene had I but known it at the time, where William gets to see... well, it's a climactic scene. It was a frippery, an indulgence, when I wrote it - but it may be the only salvageable chunk of the story. Also, had an idea for a more autobiographical short story that I scribbled some points down about when I had chance late Saturday night and early Sunday morning whilst out on the bus (at bus stops, not in motion).

Finally, tonight, I have begun some truly transgressive behaviour. On Sunday I bought some hair, skin and nails vitamin supplements (specifically marketed to women in a pink container, though nothing suggests they are sole for women) and started taking them. For me, who has never taken vitamin supplements- well, okay, not regularly nor voluntarily, this is a Big Deal. The last time I did anything like this was in the Years of Hell when Tilly convinced me to try taking Kalms (I think?) to help sleep and they succeeded in making me get up late so I stopped.

You Just Lost the Game

Soy un perdedor, I'm a loser, baby; so why don't you kill me?

Beck. 1994. A song whose chorus stuck in my mind then and has never really left. And, let's be honest, is there any metric or comparison or interpretation of the simian dance of existence in which I find myself where I am not a loser? I'm not certain there is. I had opportunities beyond the wildest dreams of so many people who are my contemporaries both within and without my immediate circle and I have squandered them, all of them; along with all the outcomes I did achieve - which I have wasted and, to take a quote from a human blancmange, "spaffed up the wall."

My life used to have meaning. I had ambitions, dreams, hopes, desires. I didn't start out wanting to teach, it just sort of happened by dint of me being too me to apply for a Doctorate - something I now realise was down to my ASD and thus my executive dysfunction. I took risks. Like using my Nazi lesson, twice, to go for interviews (only once in it's full-throated sense - for the place that offered me a job). I dreamed of being a published author, of having a genuine bona fide relationship with someone after Terry, herself an amazing coincidence at the start of University. A relationship I squandered even if it was never going to be able to last. I got a job, I got a flat, I even managed to talk to a lesbian who found me interesting and intriguing before I ruined it by being creepily invested in the discussion after the fact. Nevertheless, I ended up going out with Toby and... that was never going to end well.

At that point I had a chance to figure out me being trans. And I came very close. But it was 2006 now. I met Tilly. And then I would spend the next fourteen years slowly destroying... everything good. I found some early e-mails that I had forgotten existed that reminded me that, in the early days at least, Tilly was very keen to work with me. Over time though... well, I must understand how difficult I am/was to live with. And now it's 2024. Among my peers I am the only divorcee. I have been alone, romantically, for 4 years - longer if we count the latter few years of my marriage. My Dad left my Mum with a relationship already in place. My Mum had a string of liaisons culminating not long after I met Tilly with her second husband. Even my aunt has had a string of relationships of varying lengths since her divorce. None of my friends is divorced. Some never married. But they are happy - they chose to not get romantically involved. They had, they still have, plenty of opportunities should they wish to take them.

I don't know how many live their dreams but I do know that most, if not all, feel fulfilled. Hell, even Tilly is published and regularly writes books, folklore and history, to some acclaim. And, like many of my friends who have children, she lives with children she loves and who love her back. Whenever Middlest stays over he spends a good half hour in contact with Tilly before bed and will text in the morning before breakfast. He does not contact me nearly as often, never for nearly as long, and certainly not regularly. I would wager not a single friend of mine with children is estranged from any of them and that they all enjoy pretty regular contact with them.

I saw a video about a flat earther who is... not a nice person. Some clips were included of him losing patience, on audio, with his children. I went to a dark place.

Soy un perdedor, I'm a loser, baby; so why don't you kill me?

Yesterday, out of the blue, Abbi got in contact regarding a reboot of Fraggle Rock and told me how Wembley was a he/they - embracing the values of the original show (and specifically Jim Henson) in a new paradigm. She said it was magical. Like me.

On the forum for the Event I went to, there's a channel called 'Mental Health Chat' and... well, I'm an ex-teacher after all. I know what that's about. And, so, when people come on to vent I offer my DMs for screaming into a private void. A couple of people have taken me up on the offer to vent to a stranger on the internet. There are few stranger people than I on the internet, to be fair. And I've been chatting with a couple of other people I sorta semi-met at the event too and even been asked advice. Anyway, late last night I got a message from someone I haven't chatted to at all, saying that they had noticed that I was being nice and they felt it ought to be recognised. So they were recognising it.

This morning, as I was getting ready for work, I was watching video essays, as is my wont, and I watched Funky Frog Bait discussing trad wives and was pricked. Also, may I just say how well-made this video is? Cos it is. And FFB as both patriarch and trtad wife was... certainly a thing. Anyway. I then watched Should People Exist? by the Leftist Cooks and it's three hours long so I only got part way through. Far enough through to realise a lot of what I had been preaching about childbrith from Grantly Dick-Face in the past was... not what he was about. Turns out he's a eugenicist and enthusiastic supporter of the patriarchy and misogynistic. Oh. But, well, Neil and Sarah often go hard on the silly joy of things. I finished that tonight.

Soy un perdedor, I'm a loser, baby; so why don't you kill me?