...Not a Competition

But I'm losing

With apologies to the Kaiser Chiefs.

Since my last post I have managed to speak on the phone, one a video call, with Gary and Tim. These were good conversations. Middlest has been over and, at their suggestion, we watched Mad Max: Fury Road - which I had forgotten was a 15 and not an 18 certificate, hence why I assented. Good film, as Middlest put it: "it's an action film so I wasn't expecting to have to think so much after it" - yes, good, good.

Toby has been back in touch too. He checked in after the Supreme Court thing and, after trying and failing to ring my Dad walking home last week, I checked in on him following the EHRC gubbins one afternoon on a messenger app. He wants to meet up, get to know one another now we're both fully ourselves, and we even have a provisional day to do so. But I haven't really changed since we knew each other and, if the conversation was anything to go by, nor has he. This is not a bad thing. At first I was even quite stoked. But then I remembered the Kaiser Chiefs after the conversation with Tim last night, and my brain supplied Toby telling me that his song for me, whilst we were still dating, was Every Day I Love You Less and Less because I was so clingy. It was delivered as a joke, but deadly serious (it was referred to as such, serious that is, a few times afterwards). So... yeah.

A couple of weeks ago, when Abbi and I had our IKEA adventure, I was talking about mistakes I had made with Tilly when we were married and Abbi said "when [unknown cos I zoned out] that's abuse!" She was referring to something I had been describing as my mistake but saying that when Tilly had responded to whatever it was I had been saying with whatever it was that she had done (or somesuch). I have no idea what she said, my mind is blank. I'm curious.

Oh yeah, but new toaster.

The last one, a gift from my Mum when I
moved out of the matrimonial home, was
the old family toaster.

Bought around 1992.

Had my shower leak into the kitchen twice now when doing my hair. Middlest used it when stopping over and there was no leak. But this does mean my trick of using a towel has now stopped being effective. I'm going to have to bite the bullet and get my shower re-done. Means buying tiles. Means trying to get quotes. Means spending money. Means actually getting myself organised, which is perhaps the biggest stumbling block of them all. Hell, my garden still isn't weeded after four years of me saying I ought to get round to it and the brickwork is still bare from when I had the damp-proofing done a couple of years ago. Point? I struggle to organise.

I paid some money to the author who was nice to me and gave me essentially a free commission. Even if talking over the idea with him has made me want to write it myself. He, through necessity, has taken it in a slightly less dark direction with a bit more of a positive ending and with slightly more mature characters. It is loosely based (very loosely indeed) on my experiences looking back at my relationship with Toby and has been an idea shuttling around in my brain for a few months.

My private healthcare people haven't been in contact, despite a couple of e-mails, since 14 April when they said they'd be in touch with what I needed to do next to get HRT on prescription from them after a clinician had a chance to look at my blood test results. I am a little concerned. My second appointment with the GIC is coming up on Motorhead Day (the eighth of May! The eighth of May! - is that just me?). I had my Mum print off and bring two copies of my diagnosis document for gender incongruity that I got from the private healthcare people back in March so I can read it and learn it - so that what I say matches the errors and avoids me being found 'not trans enough' for the NHS. Hopefully.

Immediately following lasers, immediately
before a chap stopped to rant to me about
"bib and braces" as he reeked of piss and alcohol.
I think he was trying to be insulting, but I
barely understood what he was saying.

Not been hanging about on character.ai - I have played around on ChatGPT to try and cobble together some language for the Prehistoric story setting I was noodling with. But that's a couple of weeks ago now. Laser has been shot at my face for a second time, not as painful if I'm being honest, resulting in a couple of darker patches of hair. But, then, this happened after the first lot: darker hair and then, after a week or so, nothing. So perhaps this too will improve.

Youngest, Tilly and I went to IKEA - may have said already - to get a stuffed toy for Youngest (I got a Blahaj for Middlest) and he chose a snake and a cat, as you do. All got a bit much for him and he started acting out - not a meltdown, very directed and somewhat in control. Tilly explained that it was the ADHD coming through. I enquired as to whether or not it was similar to her childhood, given that the ADHD likely comes from that direction, and Tilly responded that it was probably the combination of ASD and ADHD. I shouldn't be surprised, of course Tilly has nothing in her past that would frame her in such a light. I shouldn't really have asked.

Talking with Tim I was attempting to explain why some things he may not list as achievements in his life still counted as such and that they may be bigger than the ones that can be more difficult and deletrious healthwise to strive for. However, it did remind me of my own losses. Eldest. Seeing Youngest alone. Marriage. Partnership. Career. Car. Travel. Friendship circle. Socialising. Time frames vary. But I won't

be the one

to disappoint you

any more.

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.

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?

Inciting Incidents

After posting the last post I had a quick e-mail exchange and realised a few things. The one that detains me here is how much of my life could well be the plot to a bad fictionmania story - well, okay, not that much but at least on three separate occasions. And I thought it worth recognising my immense priviledge by talking about them on here. I do this not to crow, not to show off, but to marvel at my idiocy in carrying these out and not twigging I was transgender and hopefully display a little gratitude that I was lucky enough to have these experiences in the first place. Also, maybe, to pass on something of them to anyone reading who needs that extra little nudge of their own conscience. All these things happened and I survived them intact. All these things happened and no one in my group of friends (or beyond to my knowledge) was negative toward me at the time or afterward. Furhermore, no one, I mean no one, assumed it meant I was transgender - including me. So, if someone reads this and is concerned it might out them to dress and go out, apparently it didn't work that way for me.

No. 

It was the aim but I took things 
a bit too seriously and ended up 
with a professional blouse from 
M&S, a professional skirt (grey) 
and black 100 denier woollen 
tights... No tie, no MJs... 

The first of these was when Toby and I weren't officially going out. Conversation had been opened, by Toby, on at least two occasions with the words: "you'd look good in a dress." And this was around the time that I was being fascinated by a trans-woman (not the term anyone used then) in the same friendship circle (whom I have referred to previously as Robyn). On one evening I accidentally had alcohol and couldn't drive home so stopped over and Toby loaned me a t-shirt he used to sleep in - keep in mind he was fulfilling a feminine role at the time so this was practically, in my mind, a nightie. I did not sleep that night at all. And then, one night, we were both freaking out at a party in someone else's house and Toby suggested we go back to his bedroom so I could try on a dress. And I did. It later transpired I'd worn a wedding dress (purple, goth-y, pagan-y) effectively - for all of about five minutes, granted, but still - bad fiction plot happening! Obviously, there are no photos of this at all.

Secondly, there was the time that I was 'convinced' to go out dressed to Toby's birthday party. Fancy dress, apparently, and a schoolgirl theme. Well, it was, kinda. I wasn't alone in 'dressing' - an enby we knew had also done it, but this enby was very much doiong what we would now term 'gender-fuckery' and was thus masculine and feminine and neither and both in a deliberately confusing mix. To my knowledge looking back after the fact, I was the only binary dressed person who hung around exclusively with the girls whilst Toby hung around with the blokes (a confusing point at the time but, now, entirely logical). And, again, is this not the start to a dozen bad fiction attempts in the TG genre? Is it not the climax in dozens more? I was able to dress, interact and be comfortable enough to go out. Tellingly, when we got back to Toby's place I was keen to remain mostly dressed (keeping underwear and stuffed bust under a nightie) but was prevailed upon to only keep tights and a t-shirt on to sleep in - again, something that makes a lot more sense in hindsight for Toby to insist on (the removal of the bust stuffing). The fact that it was so positive I wanted to repeat the performance (and kinda did, but just Toby and I at a different club a month later) is also the stuff bad sequels are made of! In that second time I was confused by Toby's standoffishness but, now, I get it. I was, by the way, semi-aware of seeing Toby in the 'man' role of the relationship that second night, but tried to course-correct. With no other men with whom to interact, Toby was conflicted and my over-corrections at points to go 'lesbian' were probably the cause of the embarrassment and Toby's overall discomfort that night. Alas, no photos of that night or the follow up a month later survive in my ownership. Indeed, of the latter, I don't think any were taken.

Oh, hey, look! It's that photo again.

No longer my favourite of me. But
that it was for so long ought to have
been some indication, y'know?

So to the third occasion when I lived a fiction plot, where Catherine and I conspired for her to 'dare' me to wear a dress at a meet up round her place (she was married, by the way) in the company of friends. Once again, I was given adequate cover, 'oh no, poor me, I have been pressured into this,' and Catherine gained bragging rights. I confused a couple of friends, Maynard in particular, and spent much of the evening in a lovely pink dress and bolero style matching jacket. Now, okay, this time I wasn't shaved - so as to maintain the 'forced into it' cover - and there wasn't really time to bring that into the equation (had I actually thought about it properly it would not have happened). But, again, this was the plot of dozens of stories on fictionmania and possibly hundreds of captions. And I lived it. And, again, I perhaps should have realised how often this was happening and how comfortable I was presenting in such a mode - I really was - and how much it made things just easier socially - looking back at this incident, for example, I am amazed that I didn't realise how much it changed my outlook on social gatherings for the better.

In none of these occasions did I... there wasn't anything sexual, you know? I thought that was the whole thing - my knowledge was strangely limited and vague, and so I assumed it was a fetish thing - and I shall confess to having an awful rising of things getting dressed in that third experience. At the time I felt this confirmed that it was a pervert-y thing and fetish only. That said, I was utterly unable to, uh, get rid of it by what I assumed was the 'right' method and found it more effective to simply ignore it. Attempted hands-on did nothing, but five minutes of just... being and it was gone. In the earlier two examples I cannot recall whether there was a stirring but I can say that by the time I was fully dressed and prepared (make-up both times - mascara, lipstick, some eye-liner not applied by me) there was nothing obscene going on and the whole time I was out was similarly without any interjection from down there. Even sharing a bed with Toby (only to sleep, my insistence we go no further) involved no... well, it wasn't as difficult to sleep as that time I borrowed the t-shirt.

All of which is to say, yeah, sure - this can be fuel for that kind of thing and one can have interruptions and there is nothing wrong with that - but, for me, I found it fascinating at the time (less so after I finally allowed myself to work out what was going on) that there was nothing beyond what could credibly be termed 'euphoria' because of course that's what it was. Also, this revisit to these examples, I hope, serves as illustration for what one can 'get away with' and still 'pass' as cis-het should one wish to do so.

I think I may have a new go-to pose...

There are two other examples I wish to share, of a slightly different type and direction, so they shall follow a line break for TMI reasons.

Incoming!

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!

Thoughts That Surround Me

When I'm alone in my bed.

My favourite part is the Yorkshire Zhukov, 
I may have said this before... 

Had Middlest over, it was good. He wanted to have some Chinese takeaway, so I obliged, and we watched Death of Stalin (the comedy) in which he understood most of the jokes (because I bored him senseless a few weeks ago now on a walk telling him Russian history). We also did some painting and modelling, which was good. Alas, my speed paints do not work so well over the grey undercoat I bought. Decent on some white, but I do not have any white and nor does Middlest. Hmm. Oh well, experiment undertaken, and now back to the drawing board.

After Five never got back regarding a potential night out I was feeling the pangs of extra loneliness, and thus took on rather a lot of extra hours at work. So far no accidents (which I have now jinxed) but had a few arnings yesterday and today - that is, close calls that I spotted and fretted over. Driving past the local Vegan favourite gaming cafe a few times today brought home how little I have been there since the start of the year. I was looking to have a social circle there at one point, guess that's not happening now.

Nevertheless, after the rain over the last week, it is perhaps better to be out of the house. Water in the loft, damp patches etc, you know the words well enough by now, no doubt you could sing along. Point is: better to be out and working and earning(?) money rather than sat at home and moping whilst spending it. I've had a fair few bought meals lately, what with odd hours and feeling a bit wet weekend in Margate, so money is helpful. That's also the problem, plenty of stodge, but not terribly healthy fayre. Mind you, did get a decent chat with my Mum on the phone last night, which was nice.

Not a lot else to report. Eldest blanked me when I waved at the family as I saw them today, but then both boys failed to respond either. I saw Tilly and Youngest yesterday too, but neither of them noticed me waving madly at them. Why would they? Increasingly I wonder: is this what I've always wished for? Is this better for them? As I slowly fade out of their lives I am minded of the SMART targets from 2010. Hmm.

And, lately, there have been other things. A line break, yes, because TMI.

Breaking Down Self-serving Metaphors

Or Acquiring Big Down-Loads

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love Someone Who Doesn't Care

What's new? Well, I had another accident...

A poor photo of me at work but with lipstick 
added for... some reason. I sent it to Five as 
it was lipstick that they had bought me as a 
gift. They said they liked it. 

Late finish on Thursday meant I had a coffee and I had a terrible night - broken sleep over three hours, dripping guttering and listening to every noise like it was a leak. I cannot begin to describe how paranoid I am at the moment. Anyway, also a nightmare about driving buses and something happening, which kept repeating, on part of the route I drive. All quite nebulous, but very familiar and it hung in my head on Friday morning. I was actually looking forward to my shift, had some interesting bits in it that were sufficiently odd that I thought it would be fun. Also, had a good week thus far. I was even early (whoops) having nipped into town to look for embroidered jeans (I failed). Indeed, I was congratulating myself on some jobs well done and ruminating on my sacking from the Shop as I entered part of the route - and I suddenly realised it was the part I'd had the nightmares about - as I hit a piece of street furniture (some barriers on the side of the road). Hard enough for a noise, and to exchange paint, but not enough to damage the barriers or have the bus stop or anything.

Stupid.

I have reported it, of course. I expect that will end badly. So, the countdown has now begun: how long do you think it'll be before I am sacked as a liability? My guess is two months. Why? Logarithmic patterns - the mathematical kind I did in A Level, not the stand in formulae for AI.

University level artwork here. Plus a glimpse
of Lex, who utterly confused and fascinated me
in 1993. My phone recognised the face of Buffy
in pencil as a face, but not Lex. Huh.

My house is also fucking cold and I can't seem to warm it up - I have overspent hugely on my heating budget and I've barely been in. Thursday morning had the Smallest over and he wanted to play in the snow but my guttering was leaking badly and I was trying to clear it. He also played with the balloons from Abbi and burst one, before taking the others home. And, like, I did offer but I feel sad. I suck at being a parent. Can't even be there for a play in the snow, I'm up dealing with guttering; can't even make him happy with balloons without feeling like I robbed myself. Selfish prick. Me, not Youngest.

Day yesterday began with train shenanigans too - trying to organise my trip Oop North for Ladies' Night is turning into a bit of a morass.

Good news: Abbi's on Sunday and Five's on Wednesday afternoon.

Nothing good after the line break, just acres of TMI. Abandon the post now.

Taxing Times

Another night I feel alright my love for you can't wait 

Can't stop now, don't you know? I ain't never gonna 
let you go: don't go!

A quick one tonight, I feel. Lots going on, as usual - need to get in touch with HMRC and sort out why they've lowered my allowances and put me on an emergency tax code, as well as saying I owe over £400 in back taxes (which is lilkely, apparently, to increase for some reason). Can't do that online, so I shall be trying to find time to ring and wait on hold. It's slightly upsetting but does explain why I worked more hours at higher pay this last pay round but ended up with less in my pocket at the end of it all. It never rains but it pours, eh?

Meeting went well, I remain employed. That stress is slightly receded then. And I even managed to take myself to my cafe local favourite friendly Vegan gaming to sit and be vaguely lonely whilst Middlest did his Nintendo stuff. I spent money that I may need for tax back paying on a gift for Five, arranged to go to their house on Wednesday at some point, and felt reasonably proud of myself for that. Also paid for two crappy meals from Tesco, which came with discount to be sure but was money I hadn't planned to spend, and the bus trip. You get the idea. A late finish, Middlest was having a lot of fun, meant I was letr to bed than planned before an early start and long shift. I am a bit tired now. Friday also took it out of me a bit, if I'm honest. And tomorrow is another long shift with a late finish - plenty to do in the day beforehand too, I start at 1300 but have shopping, tax office phoning and a visit to fit in! So, a reasonably early start (Middlest must also be on the first bus home after 0930).

Inscrutable. Reflected sunlight reflected so that colour is drained
from the world out of time and space and synchronicity.

Evidence of a moon not yet seen.

Tuesday is an earlier start still, I have to be in to do a thing at 0420 until 0600. I get paid normal rate, but jeepers that's going to hurt after a 2200 finish the night before. I was aiming to have a luxurious bath on Tuesday evening but Eldest has assented to meet and discuss what is wigging her out about me so I shall be hauling my sorry butt to try and repair that relationship around 1900 - to late probablhy. Still need to find time to get rid of the leg hair and the underarm hair and the hair on the chest and just, you know, hair. Ugh. On that note, at work, a customer pointed out that I would be unable to multi-task (in humour) as "you're a man so it never works". I laughed, but pointed out there were few men called Joanna. She stopped and stared a moment then apologised - I tried to put her at ease, she was clearly trying to be nice and friendly. Anyway, an hour later she came back with flowers and a fuller apology - which made me feel like a total heel, I hate making people feel bad!

Different angle. Can one even tell?

Inscrutable. Black and white. Below the
surface so it cabnnot be seen.

Have worn the dangly thing a couple of days running now under my pullover. Because. House is damp in all the normal places, but no heating yet, so it is worse than this time last year and looks like it is spreading. Maybe it is. How would I know? That money I had for the roof repair? I hope the repair comes soon, it may not be there much longer. Taxes. Gah, I know how to bring myself down!

Speaking of, work is getting geared up for Children in Need - pretty big deal - and people are working on donations for tombolas and raffles as well as donating time and money. I am not. I have nothing of value to offer raffles and tombolas. I have no time, I'm holding the fort at the shop, and I definitely lack the money. Or do I?

Lots going on. Lots under the surface, so to speak.

And that's wur lot f'now. I shall retreat to using a line break again because, you know, TMI. Still no photos of my curtseying and, well, I'm wearing trousers at the moment so it wouldn't work so well.

Winds of Change

It was very hot on Friday, but also a bit breezy, 
so, whilst this is by no means the best shot of 
my walk, it is the most 'real'. 

Things are unclear: I am not yet able to go and find a new job. I am still largely in limbo, but with less hope than previously. However, I had that thought way back in March didn't I? I thought about if I had the choice between job and Joanna. I thought I could choose job. And then I tried to parcel Joanna back into a box and... I couldn't. Pandora's box had been opened and there was no wa- Joanna's box was opened. For good or ill. So, if faced with the choice: I had to choose Joanna. So, in many ways, I have already made my choice.

In the meantime, it is the time of the year where I do extra work for extra pay. That has taken up a bunch of time. And it has been wonderfully affirming. Someone with whom I last worked directly face-to-face back in 2016 was online and I 'came out' and she was wonderfully supportive. Apparently she 'thought as much' - we worked online in 2019 - and that was that. My immediate boss was also hugely supportive and... well, the working relationship, already positive, just went even better!! It's been really lovely and I am not complaining. A new boss, on another contract, was informed and she, too, has been just wonderfully supportive and affirming.

Part of my walk: a woodland path in over
30 degree centigrade temperatures and
bright beautiful sunshine.

Friday was a very very hot day. I went for a walk in a big skirt, the blue broomstick one from back in 2013, and it was just glorious. The kids were over in the afternoon and it went reasonably well. Smallest has now vocalised what his issue is at the moment and it's clearly that I am not living at home any more. Poor thing, he keeps saying all he wants is for Tilly and I to be in the same house with him and his siblings. I get it, Smallest, I do - that hankering after what you percieve to be a better past that may never have actually existed and, even if it did, you don't really remember anyway. Today he got upset as we packed up from a walk to a park in a break in the rain because it meant that Tilly and I would go our separate ways. I'm not sure if Tilly has fully clued into this yet or not. She's aware, certainly, but she avoids the issue - it could be genuine misunderstanding or it could be a desire 'not to go there' and I would respect either.

Tonight, Middlest and I watched a couple of Quantum Leap episodes and it just reminded me of how much I loved the show and how much it touched a nerve back in the mists of time when I was semi-aware of how much I would love to be a girl/woman. It made me think of Toby as I took my Eldest to Dance - because Toby was the one who bought me the first season of it on DVD about when we broke up for the last time. Toby had guessed that I liked the show without me ever having mentioned it somehow. Maybe, given his past, he liked it for much the same reasons I did. I wish I had enquired further at the time, maybe even convinced him to watch it with me. We'd still have broken up, but we both may have discovered parts of ourselves a little more and a little earlier.

And, right now, there is a beautiful rainbow outside.

I don't know what the future holds. But I do know that, right now, there is a rainbow, a Boy upstairs in bed and some marking to do. London, it appears, can take it.

Cheekbones that cut through glass

No idea. 

When I watched Hannah Gadsby's second show, Douglas, I enjoyed it so much I watched it a second time in short order. In the first case I was in the kitchen, I watched it with tea, and I ended up spontaneously dancing to the outro music. It's a show about autism and it is created and performed very much as an autistic person would. For that reason, and the fact that it's funny, I loved it. And, for that reason, I danced. It felt natural, it felt right. I haven't actually danced like that and felt un-embarrassed since... 2005? For a long while anyway.

I'd been to IKEA, where I had been tempted into pink capitalism month with a big rainbow cake by way of a half-price meatball dish with gravy, lingonberry jam and chips. Oh, yeah, I just realised I'd asked for mashed potato. Never mind, it was nice. I had a big sharing bowl of garlic bread which I shared with nobody and thoroughly enjoyed myself. I even went shopping and bought myself some herbal tea because I was murbling about having some herbal tea. This was reasonably costly but I was apparently unsatisfied because today I went to the nearest urban centre and got myself some loose leaf fruit teas because I am an easy mark. They are lovely and I love them. Went for a walk around the local woodland afterwards and played with the timer control on my phone camera to see if I could get myself in shot. It was something to do.

Capitalism Cake, hot chocolate, meatballs, garlic bread and
a cup of tea. I enjoyed it.

Toby got in contact to say that when he hears a Pet Shop Boys song on the radio, he thinks of me, which was nice of him (and entirely unexpected) and I took the boys on a wander over a local bridge (I know how to show people a good time). And it means I walked everywhere in my Chelsea boots today, so that's a thing. The eldest two then watched Douglas with me and enjoyed it because of course they did - it's a show about autism by someone with autism using autism as a lens through which to make a comedy show.

After the last entry on this here place I was enticed out to a meeting of local trans-femmes in a pub by Izzy, which was nice. I got to see her (and completely forget to pass on a skirt I'd been gifted) and saw her in her element - it was quite something (for the avoidance of doubt, I am complimenting Izzy). The ladies there were nice, but I quickly realised just how out of my depth I was. Lovely bar staff, but no stouts (or beer - no, Abbott doesn't count - I am horrifically judgemental about pubs that don't have a stout but have three lagers on tap), lovely people (I got a reference) but there was something else at play. A memo I wasn't getting.

Posed shot eating meatballs.

One of them there revealed she had nearly killed herself with hormones a couple of times, then revealed it again later in the evening but, this time, added that she had done so deliberately and that's why she'd been bumped up the treatment waiting list. Another, her friend, asked me how long I had known but got bored about three minutes into my story and just... drifted off. I realised reasonably quickly, stopped, and then sat alone for a while. To be fair, I don't blame her for doing this, I can get weirdly technical and boring when telling a story - supplying details that aren't relevant and going off on tangents - and I think she had been being polite before I fired the broadside of my life story. As she pointed out, she'd known since she was about four or five and my convoluted 'not knowing but knowing' story wasn't really a good conversational response to such a gambit. More like hitting a cute animal with an oncoming truck and about as offensive in conversational terms. I mean, at one point I did show off my credit card in my name and I'm not entirely sure that goes down well with people who are struggling to maintain marriages and getting out and about part-time on the sly, you know?

Then the suicidal one returned to talk more about suicidal ideation before stopping abruptly, touching my face and saying "ah, you're still shaving. You ought to have shaved before coming out, some of the girls here, they're gorgeous. They've put in an effort," she gestured to Izzy (who was unaware of this conversation I was having!) "and it shows. You know, a bit of foundation and mascara," she ran a hand over my chin, "they aren't going to cover this." She shrugged. "For a night like this, you should put in some effort." She smiled and turned away. I know she thought she was being helpful and kind. Maybe it is I who am making this out to be more than it is. The uninvited touching was, I shan't lie, most off-putting. Fuck off, it's my face.

Sorry Izzy.

The lesbians are coming!
Get the herbal tea out!

To be fair, I hadn't put in any effort. I'd managed to make and eat tea then just head on out. And I had forgotten to apply blusher and highlighter that day for some reason. And I was just wearing the clothes I'd gone out in that day. It may have been that day I got bitten by a horsefly, it may not have been. I don't know. My tights were the cheap ones from ASDA, so I wasn't expecting much. And I know that I can be a bit much. I told my Duran Duran joke (the one I stole from Toby, funnily enough) and was met with incomprehension - it takes a moment - and I did a spiel on anarchism, always a good one to ensure I can kill a conversation dead.

I just don't do very well in social situations.

Still, it was well attended and everyone seemed to be having a whale of a time. The main organiser of the scene, if not the night, made a point to invite us newcomers to her birthday party coming up - even going so far as to offer places to sleep should we need them. But... Yeah, there was just something about it all that implied I hadn't got a memo. Izzy and another attendee got on like a house on fire (they're both reasonably big on Insta, my phone refused to connect to the internet). I counted over twenty people there at one point - making it bigger than my church congregation on a Sunday.

Anyway, important thing: I enjoyed watching Douglas three times. It did not diminish in hilarity for me and I danced each time. I have herbal fruit tea gubbins and a strainer for the loose leaf stuff. I have put in for a name change with the examination people and cut my nails - almost looking normal now without bits peeling off the tops - left over from when I spent all that time in bed and stress.

Up

Morning. Hair not brushed, glasses 
off, early morning. 

On Tuesday I had a meeting with HR - as related - and it really is just a regular check up to see how things are going. My HR has compiled a list of things that need to be done and included my transition more generally so that she can support me fully. No, really, she's applying organisation to my known capacity to blunder into the dark and really keen to be helpful. I don't always totally see things the same way as her but I have to be honest that she is totally doing it out of genuine concern and a desire to do right by me. Case in point, she has created a gender-neutral toilet (it's the old visitor's toilet, with a gender neutral sign now) because she realised that there may be enbies on the staff who might appreciate it after I spoke about just how comfortable it had been to use a women's loo and how surprised I had been about that. It was a lovely hour, if hard to spare it, and I genuinely felt supported and cared for by my HR person. I'm not sure about her insistence on sending an e-mail rather than announcing my change in a briefing but her reasoning comes from the right place. She even said she was throwing out some blouses after learning I am a size 14 and said she'd pass some on.

That seems to be a recurring (and very welcome) theme actually!

On top of that, I reached out to Toby who I'd found on the Book of Faces last night, realising that a friend request ought probably to have a message to explain who the chutney was getting contact. The message got a response relatively quickly and, despite initially struggling to remember who I was, we had a lovely chat. He's almost exactly like I remember but more of it. It was fascinating, to me, that he'd had a lot of exes respond that they "weren't gay" when he'd come out to them. Now, okay, maybe I'm not a good sample, but I thought that quite a selfish response to the news. And, also, a bit dishonest.

After all, Toby is the same now, from what I can gather, as he always was. If anything, he makes more sense now than he did when we were going out. Looking back at how he appears in this blog it's a wonder that I hadn't postulated that he was a trans-man before, actually. Does that make me straight or bi? Ha! It doesn't matter. It makes Toby attractive and a soul who I appear to continue to look up to and admire. What I'm saying is, it was really nice to have a chat and find him so happy with life in general despite some rather large ructions.

Also last night Shiona was in touch after reading an older post on here and that was very welcome. Coupled with her comment on my last post I am feeling very blessed at the moment!

New boots were picked up last night too, but they may be a bit too small - size 9 from New Look appear to be EU42 sized. They may just need breaking in. The surprising, well, sort of surprising thing is that them being flat actually made it seem harder for me to walk in them. Like, I was expecting a heel or something. I switched to my Chelsea boots for the remainder of the evening. I think I'll take the boots back and invest in a pair of lower-heeled black shoes from Next. Maybe return the Mary-Jane's too? I've barely worn them and you can't tell I have at all at the moment. They are beautiful... but maybe I should trade them in for something that doesn't have 3" heels!

Still not shaved my legs or chest. So, feeling very hairy there at the moment. Pits aren't as bad (I shaved last week) but also need doing. Is this a complaint? No, it's just registering that I can do something about it and no longer feel fear about doing so. That part of this blog where I said I was happy with my body hair? Ha! Apparently not. As Toby said: it's funny how things turn out.

All the way out

Part of the drive Oop North. It was foggy, cold and 
otherwise depressing, but... you know, time to sing. 

Up visiting my mother and I arranged to see a couple of old friends from school - possibly my oldest friends actually - and... well, I was worried that Gary, might be a bit sarcastic if I came out. But, as one of my oldest friends, I knew he had a right to know. Oh, yeah, eldest was not positive after a PCR, so that's why I'm Oop North with me mother and off seeing friends.

I needn't have worried. Shiona, Gary's wife, said she guessed when she saw my hair plus glasses. Gary offered his actual congratulations, then simply continued (later bestowing one of the highest honours he can in declaring me an honorary Cumbrian) as if that was perfectly normal. Tim, who was also there, was unsurprised but had not expected it - turns out that Toby, my ex and a friend of Tim, is a trans-man. As Tim said: "it makes sense that you were a couple, actually". And... I guess it does. Wish I'd known enough at the time to spot the signs though. Oh, and Tim reminded me of Robin (now Jessica) and I related how I'd asked a lot of questions. Tim laughed, he remembered that I'd talked with Robin a lot but hadn't realised the reason. To be fair, I sort of didn't either.

The night before I came north.
I... quite like this shot. Not the most
flattering of selfies, but arguably honest.

Shiona was incredibly excited that I would likely be visiting over Easter in full Joanna mode and encouraged me to do so and, when I confessed that I didn't want to make waves, explained that she didn't think I would make many waves actually.

It was... entirely positive. Very affirming. Much happy. Wow. </comic sans>

Discussions with my mother have been more frustrating, in that she is clearly less happy with my decisions, and does not really want to understand the process. She's opined that if I'm not planning on surgery to my genitals then I can't really be a woman (women don't have a penis) so she doesn't understand why I wouldn't be looking at surgery. Also, she doesn't understand why there would be a wait of years to get hormones, doesn't accept any of the reasons I've suggested as to why that is the case, and isn't terribly bothered that Gender Critical people exist - they don't know me, they aren't in power, what's the issue? It's... frustrating. She doesn't understand and doesn't really want to, which is not a bad thing (this sounds like she's awful, and she's not) but... yeah, frustrating.

No Face App shenanigans. Just me.

I'm really looking forward to my visit to see Indy and his family in full Joanna-mode. Gary, Shiona and Tim all asked what I'd like to be known as and I couldn't quite bring myself to say Joanna. I mean, I did to Shiona and she said she liked the name. Hopefully, the test-run will confirm my choice (I have used it here for over ten years now, used it a lot on Google+ and have revived my Facebook account with the name, friending Kirsten and her husband with it) and allow me to feel more comfortable identifying with it. I already use it exclusively at the support group, but this will be the first foray into my... well, the rest of my life.

Oh, and I spent the journey north trying out some voice-training exercises to 'feminise' my R1. Heat from fire, fire from heat. Joining Reddit was probably a bad idea. Though, to be fair, I do enjoy the memes and have enjoyed the instant dopamine hits provided by saying something supportive and gaining upvotes for being nice.

Christmas with the children went well. Tilly gave me some candles (nice!) and has a second, small, present that she couldn't find to pass on. She was keen to 'think outside the box' and, honestly, I think it was the most supportive I remember her being - largely because she knew what she was supporting I guess. Eldest was keen to use the limited amount of Italian she's learned (mainly in order to avoid doing Geography homework) to tell me that I was a woman, and kept correcting others (including me) if they misgendered me. Which was... nice, if strange. So, if I added "he says" as I do when calling myself out for saying and not doing, she'd pitch in with "she says" without thinking. Bless her. I guess she's more used to it than I am!

I see this as a positive image.

What I Want

May I take a moment and be unrealistic, selfish and a bit of an ass?

On my way out yesterday.
Alas, I do not have those glasses.

Thank you.

As ever, the challenge is: what do I want? It is the perennial question asked by anyone who tries to help, be they a therapist, a good person or a friend. And it is the one I have always struggled with. However, having mulled a bit on the question as applied to my journey forward as a trans person, I think I have some answers that, whilst unrealistic and selfish, are at least honest.

1. I want not to have to shave. Or, rather, not as much. On my face I mean. I want to have less hair on my chin, an end to stubble (I don't get much but it is more than those blessed with a girlhood rather than a boyhood and all that entails regarding hormones and puberty).

2. I want to be able to wear a dress or skirt to work, to a party, out to the fucking shops, when I please and without raising eyebrows. Indeed, to have the option to wear sensible shoes with a slight heel or tights or socks, you get the idea. I want to be able to 'code female' enough that people literally don't care if I dress a bit femme or go trousers and a jacket.

3. I want breasts. That's it, just breasts. I'd prefer them to be mine rather than surgically enhanced and I can't explain this at all. I don't want to play with them, I don't want to fondle them, I just want breasts. I admit it: I always have. There's nothing rational about this at all. They would be mine, and I would look after them, care for them and check for lumps. That's it.

3a. I want to wake up in a morning, in my nightie, and come to with breasts hanging on me. Just to know that they are there and feel complete.

4. I want sex where I'm not bothered about my penis. You know? I like how it feels, I do, and I like it when people touch it and play with me - not my penis, with me - so that I can play back. If I don't have to see the penis that would be a bonus. The objective for me has been to have a fun time and not worry about whether or not I finish, safe in the knowledge that we have a couple of hours (or, rather, we both of us want to play, I have children, I get it, we don't get hours). That was the attraction with Toby, it really was, there was no rush - no urge to go anywhere. I loved it when she went all the way with my hands and just... yeah. She could do stuff back but that was never the point. And I liked that.

5. Honestly: just giving someone an orgasm would be fine.

6. I want to be loved, yeah, I want just a little respect. I just want to be loved. Tell me what's wrong, with that?

Huh, when I thought of this post I thought the list would be wilder, longer and more ridiculous. Reading it back, despite my best efforts, it seems restrained and... well, anti-climatic.

A bit of FaceApp again, still on the way
out to meet the family.

There was joy, there was fun, there were
crowds capable of spreading COVID.

All in all, a pretty good night.

However, this is not what I shall be saying to the GP when I have my appointment to discuss gender issues on Monday. Oh, yeah, I booked an appointment back in September, drunk on the feeling of that first couple of days back when I came out to more people and enjoyed that feedback that was positive and lovely. And it was. It has continued to be so from those people. No, I shall focus on the experiential and the focus will firmly be on how the dysphoria has affected my life, what it has stopped me doing and why I need to be referred to a GIC. I shall try and explain living knowing that my whole presentation is off and not right to someone who has never experienced it and do so with the right attack on mood. Or, maybe, I shall go off-script and simply report the euphoria of wearing a blouse, the comfort of a bra and sleeping with stuffed bra in a nightie - how it has almost doubled my REM sleep and restful sleep over the last few months compared to any other point in my life.

I accidentally wore my glasses answering the door to Tilly tonight when she came to pick the youngest up to take him home. I've been wearing them around the children since the time I mentioned it here (last week?) and I just forgot I was wearing them. Apparently my coming out to her was a genuine shock, we discussed this yesterday evening, and the fact that I hadn't realised was pretty indicative of our relationship, she was also deeply shocked when I was diagnosed as ASD. She'd been thinking about the implications. The only one she shared was would I need to be called 'Mummy' by the children, to which I was able to assure her that, no, 'Daddy' was fine and no one said that role had to be filled by a bloke. We briefly discussed coming out to the children: Tilly would prefer we wait until after surgery or hormones or whatever, or after that, only revealing when I had to. I did ask. When I suggested that I meant earlier she countered "there you go again, you asked my opinion and then instantly came back at it - why not just say what you think?" Maybe she has a point.

On one thing we agreed, the Middlest will be the toughest of the three to navigate through this transition. Honestly, though, I don't have a timeline or end-point in mind. Apart from the breasts and dressing points above, I mean, they are genuine (if unrealistic) aim points. I realise that the hair on chin thing will take longer and be expensive, like really expensive, and will likely not ever really be done. Hell, the breasts thing will likely never happen. I'm 41, I don't have a decade or so to wait and I can't afford to go private on the hormones. I'm never likely to code female enough to not raise eyebrows when dressed - I remember the laughing man on the way to my favourite local gaming vegan cafe back in July - and so... yes, these are unrealistic and potentially self-defeating goals. Points 4-6 are simply beyond my reach, and perhaps always have been.