Appreciating My Kids

A happier day: December meeting

Thursday night, in an email to a friend, I shared that I never wanted children.  I love them, they have enriched my life, but they were never my idea.  Even as I wrote it, as I hesitated to hit "send", I wondered whether that was something that should be shared.  Doubts persisted even as I committed to my message.

The universe took notice.

I sent my email at 3:30am.  I went to bed around 5am.  At 6:40, my middle child heard her sister fall, found my oldest lying unconscious on the living room floor.

My middle girl sprang into action, waking my wife and I.  My wife initially was in a bit of a dither, pondering whether to call her sister (a nurse), or to call an ambulance.  Middle girl came in with the phone, asking if we should call 911.  Of course, of course.  Wife was unsure if our girl was breathing, though the heavy rasp left no doubt.  A little labored, but breathing regularly.  Still unresponsive though.

The ambulance arrived within 10 minutes, and they could not rouse her either.  Putting her onto a very cold board to carry her out started to wake her.  My wife rode in the ambulance with her, and she was heartened when our girl said, "Watch TV."  Now, that's normal.

We spent 10 hours in the ER, and our girl got gradually better.  A couple of barfs, a CAT scan of her head, an EEG.  Around 5:00, they decided that she had suffered a seizure.  Take her home, watch her.  It was her first seizure, and we hope her last.

Midday, we started hearing the news coverage coming out of Connecticut.  That a young man had shot and killed twenty children for no apparent reason.  Not that any reason would've warranted it.  A massive tragedy, and another reminder that my family has value to me.

Middle girl was the hero of the morning.  She thought more clearly in the pinch than her parents.  Before I left to follow the ambulance, I found her crying and tried to comfort her.  She had passed her driving test the day before and gotten her license.  Now she would have to drive herself to school.  After school, we had her running some errands for us in parts of town she doesn't know.  She got lost several times, and wound up in tears again.  She had a really tough day.

Her brother, who was out of school, was left to his own devices at home, and he managed to stay out of trouble.  So, another good kid.  We took the two of them out to eat in the evening, wanting to reward them for their fortitude during a crisis.

They both exceeded our expectations, revealing an untapped reservoir of responsibility.

I was bedraggled as the day ended.  We had gone to the hospital after I had slept for a little over an hour.  At 10pm, after dinner with the kids, I laid down in bed, and didn't rise again for 12 hours.

Lesson learned.  Appreciate the blessings in your life.

Reconstruction of the Fables

A lot has gone down since I left all fifteen of you hanging.  The sad thing is that I'm reaching an age where putting a longish story back together after a few weeks is nigh impossible.  Luckily, I had a lengthy chat near the critical period, so I will try to reconstruct from that convo.  Wish me luck.

You will recall that I was very unhappy when last we spoke.  A chat with the above friend helped me gain some perspective, and two days later, I followed up on these with my therapist.  The gist was that I was finally prepared to walk away if things weren't going to improve.  I was out of excuses for carrying on with the charade, other than the financial excuse.  And I was ready to tackle that one on the fly.  My therapist did suggest that I might want to try couples counseling before dropping the hammer.

The missus had an appointment with her counselor two days later.  As it got closer I began to lose my resolve to  ask to be included.  The morning of, I made my play, fearing that explanations would be sought or fur would fly.  Quite the opposite.  "I was thinking I might join you in your appointment with J."  Matter of factly she responded, "So you're tired of this too?"  No tears, no raised voices.  We talked calmly for about twenty minutes, and decided that working on the marriage was worth the effort.

J was surprised to see me two years after my earlier visit.  She thought I should have returned before this.  I said that I hadn't been invited.  Anyway, we sat down and started to hash it out.  I no longer felt that I had anything to lose, so I didn't mince words.  I said that I had reached a point where I would prefer to be alone by myself instead of alone together.  That depression over the current arrangement prompted me to come.  That status quo was untenable.

J did a fantastic job keeping us on task, pulling us away from petty bickering that popped up a few times.  We both stayed calm throughout, outside of a brief bit of temper from me when hairless legs came up.  I barked something about an adult being capable of making grooming decisions for themselves, and the subject was quickly changed.

Anyway, I got to say a lot of things on my mind. Julie said that there was worry that I might be planning to transition. I told them that I think about it, and when I'm stressed and depressed I tend to think about getting as far from my present situation as I can. Nothing much further than changing genders, huh?

We talked about my passive nature, and that it wasn't likely to change.  i pointed out that I haven't been out in public in three years, the blog has been private more than two years, that I am not pushing the envelope out of respect for her.  And that I am seeing diminishing returns for my effort. 

We talked about the lack of intimacy.  I explained that intimacy does not have to lead to intercourse.  I have no such expectations.  I have made myself available, and still she goes to the recliner and the television.  

I'm sure there was much more, but that is the meat of it.  We both felt much better for having unburdened ourselves.  It was agreed that we would have a couples session once a month, while continuing our individual therapy as well.

Reaching the end of my rope finally allowed me to speak my mind without tempering things.  I won't be in that mental corner at the next session (presumably), so I hope I can sustain my bluntness.  Things have been much warmer at home the last two weeks, and the affection feels genuine now.  Good times.

Return to Form

Welcome back, my friends, to the show that never ends...

As always, I am composing this in a corner of the basement, home to our Dell.  The Closer is playing on the TV, the missus is snoring intermittently in the recliner facing the TV.  I find the noise distracting, but turning off the television frequently wakes her, and I want to get this done without interruption.

Since I am silently communicating near a full chair, why not steal a cinematic trope from the Eastwood files?

The Good:  Earlier this week, we finally tied up a bunch of legal stuff.  We now have wills, advanced medical directives, and a special needs trust for my eldest.  This has been nagging at us for the twenty years that we have had heirs, and it is truly a relief to have this off the table.  All grown up, right?  Yeah, sure.

The Bad:  The basement is no longer my refuge.  Our only cable connection is down here, and the missus falls asleep here every night.  The long implied, and more recently explicit, ceding of this space to me as a private haven is gone.  My resentment is growing daily.  Last week, I snapped at her about turning the TV back on while I was attempting to listen to a podcast.  Why do you get to decide that your slumber entertainment trumps my waking pastimes?  I was chapped, for sure, but the reason was a canard. 

I was actually upset about two things.  One, my sanctuary has been taken from me.  Two, next month it will one year since we shared any real intimacy.  We haven't spoken about either issue, at all.  I don't know if she is bothered about the latter.  I think she is oblivious about the former.  I almost~~almost~~broached the subject before she left for therapy last week.  I wanted to apologize for my outburst, and calmly share the real issues that were lurking beneath it.  And I couldn't do it.  Close only counts in dancing and hand grenades, and we are doing neither.

The Ugly:  My funk, my pink fog, is deepening.  I desperately want to change into a skirt and heels as I write, and that's with her in the room.  I am reaching the point where I don't care whether she sees something that she can't unsee.  This nasty bit of passive aggression would be much easier than actually having a frank talk with her, and far more destructive.  What makes me see this as a solution?  What prompts me to lash out like this, when constructive solutions are at hand?  I think I know what I need to discuss in therapy next Tuesday.

After a couple of pretty sane years, I can feel the walls closing in on me again.  I am thinking about my gender much more in the last month than I have for a great while.  It feels like I'm going back to that awful place I was in fall 2007.  I can't imagine that it could be that bad again, but it worries me anyway.  After such a long time of not pushing the envelope with my wife, over two years, I fear that I am going to feel the need to stretch Leslie out again.  My marriage won't withstand that, I believe.  I feel powerless to do anything about it.

Memory Lane Is a Slum

Earlier, I took a trip down memory lane unexpectedly.

I got a call from the missus in the afternoon.  It seems that my boy, just turned 14, had an incident at school that could be classified as bullying.  He was being actively shunned during assigned group work in science.  Maybe that doesn't sound awful, but he was distressed, and he spoke to his teacher about it after class.  Without giving her the details, he asked her if she ever felt that it wouldn't make any difference if she wasn't there.  She didn't give an enlightened response. 

When he came out to the car minutes later, he prefaced his tale by telling his mother that "I'm not suicidal, but...".

After hearing this story, my own mind spun back to dark corridors of my time in middle and high school.  I've touched on this in my earliest posts, but this was more visceral.  I just don't want to think that my boy is going to go through the same wringer that I did.  Normally, I remember only the incidents at school, the situations.  This time, I was reintroduced to the pangs of dread, the aching loneliness, the vulnerability and isolation.  Popular kids would have nothing to do with me, literally looking down their noses at me (and that's difficult when I am 6'2").  I was a homely, mumbling, slouching shell of a person.

I knew that I was different, and I was convinced that I was transparent in my differentness.  Surely, my inner weirdness must be visible to all.  How else to explain the treatment?  I have often wondered if the gender issues made me hide from the world even as I walked through it, or if my outsider status made me long to be different.  And what could be more different than being a girl?

My boy is sweet-natured, kind to people and animals, and he has the looks that I never had.  He will be a heartbreaker.  Yet, his peers insist on othering him.  He is socially awkward, though less than I was.  In short, he is vulnerable.  He wants to belong.  He wants to be appreciated for his brains and wit.  He is, largely, like his father.  He has shown no signs of having the gender issues that I have, and I truly believe that I would recognize them.  He has less guile than I did, tending toward truth-telling even to his detriment.

So, I need to talk to him about being on the outside.  Without going into the "whys", I will tell him about my own experience.  And I will let him know that he can ask me anything, tell me anything, and be confident that I will still love him.  He needs someone that understands his situation, and I have to be that someone.

Pro(pecia)s and Cons

A new follower sent me an email last week, and included a question that I thought deserved a broader airing.  Lucky you!  She was interested in the sort of results I was getting from taking Propecia (finasteride).

I have been on the drug for a year and a half now, roughly.  I cannot see that it has produced a single new hair on my head.  Maybe it has slowed the progress of my forehead.  Maybe.  My forehead believes in manifest destiny, and won't rest until it reaches the promised land at the crown of my head.  My scalp is plainly visible through my wispy locks.  If that were my only goal in taking the drug, I would drop it.

I see positive side effects in other areas.  My half-calf barely needs maintenance anymore.  Perhaps the credit for that should go to the regular beatings by the epilator, but I think the drug may be reducing the growth there.  Hard to know, but I like having a follicle-free zone south of my neck.

Of course, finasteride is also used as part of the hormone cocktail given to transwomen.  It is an androgen blocker, which I suppose is why it is used for hair growth.  Blocking androgens was really my ulterior motive in getting the prescription to start with.  My hair was too far gone for any realistic hope of revival.  Reducing the testosterone coursing through my veins was a very attractive side effect, and I think that has been accomplished.

I have written several times that my gender dysphoria has been less of a problem over the last year or so.  I keep expecting to be gobsmacked, but it has remained quite mild.  Only recently did I realize that this emotional leveling corresponds to my intake of Propecia.  I think that reducing the toxic T in my system has allowed me a measure of feminine feeling that my body no longer recognizes as the enemy.  Two thumbs up.

(Warning: Euphemistic single-entendres ahead!)  What about the bedroom, you ask?  The Senator does not have the same spontaneity that he had previously, and for that, I am appreciative.  He has not been invited onto the dance floor by a partner since last October, so it would be difficult to say if he can still do the mystery dance all the way to the coda.  He is still called upon to perform his one-man show from time to time, and he still hits his marks and knows his lines.  This is quite enough for me to support his reelection efforts.

Elixir

The pink fog comes on little kitten heels.*

As has become the norm, it snuck up on me again.  I don't even realize that it's there until I, um, notice it.  That my thoughts have been lingering continually on a very narrow area, and how very lonely I am feeling.  It's sneaky that way.  Like cooking a lobster: start with a cold pot of water, and it doesn't even know that the end is near.

The mini-crisis worked itself out by attending my monthly meeting, just the elixir that I have come to count on.  Our guest speaker was my therapist, and she had prepared a presentation this time around.  Previous times, she had moderated Q&A sessions, which were great, but this was more engaging for the group as a whole.  She has taught Sexual Development at the university, and this played out like a good interactive lecture. 

The company of my friends broke the spell of my dysphoria.  They have problems, too, and that pulls me out of my own self-pitying habit.  My issues are different, but are certainly no worse than many others.  It's a nice little reality check.  Zen and the art of motor-psyche maintenance.

5am and off to bed.

* (apologies to Carl Sandburg)

Clever Title Eludes Veteran Blogger

Odds, ends, out-takes, mis-takes:

• I am off and running, at least a little.  I did my first walk/run a week ago.  I then twisted my ankle the next day mowing, so the follow-up was delayed a bit.  Friday night I went again, and I was pleased to find it a little easier, perhaps because I was pacing myself better.  Just last night, I went a third time, this time joined by the missus.  She is in better shape than me, but running is not something she ever ventured into, worried about her knees.  It went well.  I find myself looking forward to my next run, thinking about it often.

• Our June meeting was a Friends and Family Potluck, encouraging our members to bring along the people that support them.  I invited my sister-in-law.  She had to send her regrets a few hours before it, as she was moving, and her help was only available at that time.  I also invited the missus, but she kind of blew it off.  I didn't expect anything else, but wanted to be able to say that she had been asked, in the event that her sister did attend and mentioned it to her.  Maybe we'll actually cross that bridge in the future.

• Both my daughters attended the school prom in May.  My wife was helping my middle child with her makeup that evening.  Near the end, my wife asked for our daughter's mascara.  She said that she had none, and had never worn it.  This sent my wife on a mad scramble for a tube, as she seldom uses it either.  (She also knows that one should not share a tube.)  As my wife was searching beneath her bathroom sink, I went off to my cache of cosmetics.  As I anticipated, I had several.  I came back up to wife, handed one to her, and whispered, "Unopened, never used."  She took it from me and used it, but I think she was a bit uncomfortable that I had the ready solution.

• We have been doing a massive cleanout of our bedroom for a few weeks.  The missus has filled seven huge garbage bags with (mostly) her clothes, to be carted off to the Goodwill.  We had to deal with some of my feminine things in the closet, mostly heels and hosiery and handbags.  She questioned the immense quantity of pantyhose I had on hand, but otherwise she was able to detach emotionally and deal with things without judging.  It was very nice to be matter-of-fact about such things without reprisal.

That's all that comes to mind tonight.  Thank you for persevering.

Storm Clouds

Take cover!  Metaphor coming!

My meeting a couple Saturdays ago pulled me out of my funk very nicely, if temporarily.  I felt pretty normal for the better part of a week, and I got plaudits for my handling of Mother's Day activities.  But now it's sneaking back in around the edges.

During hurricane season, storms form along the west coast of Africa.  They travel slowly across the Atlantic, building strength, taking shape.  Some never become much of anything, losing steam, veering off into the North Atlantic to die.  Others, though, thrive in the warm waters, soaking up water and thermal energy, and then slam into nice towns like Wilmington, North Carolina, or Fort Pierce, Florida.  They wreak havoc.  The whole east coast watches the weather updates obsessively, knowing this could be the one that takes out their town.

This is my hurricane season.  I get periodic inklings, I track their progress, I hope this one will pass.  I see the ocean swells and tidal surges, and wonder if this is the one that makes landfall.  The storm a couple weeks ago came close, but only skirted the coast.  I feel another one coming now, and I am on high alert.

When I started writing this blog, gender thoughts were a constant companion.  I thought of little else, and I had to write to release the pressure.  That pressure has been absent for a couple years, and I really believed that it might be over.  Nope, I can feel it building in me again.  This post is a relative rarity now, one that I felt I needed to get out.

Honestly, I don't want to be in this situation again.  The first time around, it nearly killed me.  The unrelenting urge to change, the dysphoria, the terrible drive to take risks, all that stuff made me miserable, largely because I felt powerless to follow through fully and in a healthy way.

I want a waist.  I want curves. 
I want the pink fog to dissipate.
I want bare skin, from my cheekbones to my toes.   
I want a life that I could celebrate.

I want to write passionately about something
Without it being a complaint.

The Great Pretender

Feeling a bit lost at the moment.  No idea what I want to write, or how to organize the thoughts, but I will try to make some sense, for myself and for you, dear reader.

I'm not in a terrible way, but I do feel it building in me.  There's a melancholy prevailing that has been known to turn into something worse in days of yore.  After a very quiet winter on the depression and dysphoria front, I find myself being visited frequently by both.  Neither are extreme, as I said, but I am unaccustomed to their presence.  I suppose I have gotten spoiled over the last year or so, enough that I thought maybe I had reached a plateau that would be adequate to my needs, and those of my marriage.  Au contraire, mon cheri.

I am in half-calf mode now, epilating halfway to the knee until October rolls around again.   It barely registers as aiding my condition, but no-calf would be far worse, I guess.  My wife and I continue to go through the motions, being parents and roommates pretty successfully, really, but the lack of intimacy is wearing on me, and I don't see it changing.

I have been in denial about a lot of things, things that have been issues for as long as I have been writing on this blog.  I had myself convinced that the worst had passed, but I am no longer certain of that.  The blinders have been slipping off slowly, but the signs have been there all along.  I have been eating junk near constantly at work, in part to stay awake due to the ridiculous sleep habits I have embraced for far too long.  I sense that I am taking years off my life, but I feel powerless to change it.

My brother ran his first marathon last weekend.  I've never run further than a tenth of a mile, but the idea of running holds some appeal for me, at least until I actually try it.  I do wonder when I would have the time to run.  I cannot sacrifice any more sleep, and working less isn't an option either, so it would seem that the excessive computer time should take the hit.  I find it hard to imagine any serious reduction there, but it is really the only place that is flexible.  I dunno, my resolve to change will have to strengthen considerably, but the notion is getting batted around in the back of my head.  I hope it can survive the beating.

Hmmm...more coherent than I expected.

Embracing the Stereotype

I hate to admit this, but I had a blast at last night's meeting.  I know that's the basic concept going in, and I take great joy in seeing my friends.  It's just that...well...

The topic of the meeting was makeup.  We go to great lengths to present high-minded, thoughtful agendas at our meetings.  And this seems so superficial.  Yet, it was fascinating!  Color, and contouring, and liquids vs. powders, and covering the beard, and brushes, and so much more.  Rebecca used to manage a MAC counter in Atlanta, and she knows her stuff.  I learned so much, and she was great with the wisecracks.  A quick wit and an artist.

She did two makeovers while we watched and asked questions.  Cassie got subtler daytime makeup, and Vanessa got a more glamorous look with smoky eyes.  Both looked marvelous, but the main point was to demonstrate technique and choices.

I've always figured that my wife imagines my meetings as a bunch of overly made-up men, talking fashion and brushing one another's wigs and practicing their campy walks.  In fact, I bet many folks would assume that. I don't want people to think that of us.  I want them to know that we are serious, usually sober, thoughtful people, which we are. 

And now I find myself, against all personal tenets, wishing that every meeting could be this feminine discussion and bonding.  My inner killjoy (very strong!) thinks that makeup is a silly, slight subject.  My heart, though, understands that makeup is what allows me to feel like myself at these meetings.  I can't hide my face behind clothing, at least not in this culture, so I am left to feminize it as best I can.  The difference can be startling, as most of you ladies know.  Makeup can make or break your presentation, build or destroy your confidence.  That's a lot to ask of an eyeliner.

Now I must order some primer and bronzer and a full coverage foundation and some kohl pencils and a better set of brushes, and find some time to practice the sweet science of makeup.

The Night the Earth Stood Still

The news is out, and my American audience has surely heard.  Now, in cultural backwaters like the UK (I kid!), you mightn't have heard that my UK, the University of Kentucky, won the national championship in basketball Monday. 

Kentucky is roundly hated in the basketball world.  It's one of those teams that you grow up with and love, or else they are mortal enemies of whatever team you root for.  Would Manchester United be an apt comparison?  Notre Dame football seems similar as well.  The school motto should be, "Don't hate me just because I'm beautiful," words that roll off my own painted lips often.

The contempt of their peers is, in a way, respect.  Who hates bunny rabbits?  Well, we don't really respect them, either.  I was born here, and got two degrees from Kentucky, so last night warms the cockles of my heart, right down to the bone, the cold, cold bone of my Kentucky heart.  (I never studied anatomy.)

When UK won the semifinal game Saturday, the whole campus area erupted in riots.  Cars were flipped, couches were burned in the streets.  Multitudes were arrested.  Imagine if we had lost!  Monday night, the celebration was enormous, but the police were better prepared, and the school warned that there would be academic consequences to any student misbehavior.  The riot was much more subdued, a riot tempered by respect for one's fellow fan.  A nice riot.

Tuesday will be a day of parades and people skipping work.  Not me, mind you.  I am far too mature to be taken in by Wildcat Fever.  Wildcat Rash, maybe.  Mostly, I will sit back and observe others, as I have done all my life, and scratch every now and then.

A-Neut'rin' We Will Go

Our newest cat, Tab Hunter, had his orchiectomy yesterday. Imagine his surprise when he awoke to find the eight breast implants, and us calling him Tabitha. A little forced feline feminization. He should pass well, as he was already quite beautiful.

I kid, I kid. Our vet is one that comes to the house, so Tab's operation was on the kitchen table, just like Desmond's a few months ago. And with that, I won't have to worry about tendering any dinner invitations to you nice folks.

I promised a report on last Saturday's meeting, and I'm sure all ten of my readers won't let me rest until I fulfill that vow. The meeting had a short tutorial on wig care from Cassie, combing and washing methods and such. Quite informative, really. I learned that I should definitely take my wig into the shop for a re-stretching of the cap, as it gives me headaches and tends to ride up in the back. Can you say ill-fitting? Sure you can. Guess it's a good thing I don't wear the darn thing more than four hours a month, huh?

We then had a lot of social time to mingle and converse. Our meetings have been so chockful of content lately that we haven't been able to just be social for some time. A nice change of pace, and very healthy for the bonding of the group. This meeting was again well-attended, with around 26 or 27 folks. This was unexpected, as the agenda was largely blank. Coming to hear a speaker is one thing, just coming to be there is quite another. I think we must be doing something right.

The leadership has been working valiantly toward getting a real website up and running, as I've mentioned previously. Sylvia has created a great logo, actually a bunch of variations on a theme, and I think it's a winner. When we finalize it, I will share it here. She is quite the artist, and not a bad photographer either, as you see her handiwork above. Of course, a lovely subject is a plus.

As I write this, I am wearing a new pair of girl jeans. I love the fit, though I confess to a lack of coordination buttoning and zipping with a different hand. I don't remember my other girl pants being reversed, but I can't swear to it. I feel that I could wear these in boy mode, but I would hate to stretch out the back pocket with a wallet, and the front pockets are very shallow. They would hold a lipstick pretty easily, but not everything I'm accustomed to carrying. I would need to accessorize with a man purse. Not quite ready for that, I fear. And my world's not ready for it either.

Maybe the vet could give me a bargain rate on an orchiectomy. The jeans would fit even better then.

Say Goodbye to My Little Friend

As the calendar turns inexorably to the warmer months, a young woman's fancies turn to...what?

I dunno. I'm neither young nor a woman. I do know that it's time for a transition. That's right. It's time for the hair removal implements to be put away once again, for the slash, burn and tweeze habits to be put to bed for a summer hibernation.

That's not totally true. The half-calf (tm) will make its quiet return, but the frequency of maintenance will be drastically cut back. Translation: Take a little off the bottom when I can no longer stand it. I am done with skirts till next November, probably, unless I do something with opaque tights next month. My gams aren't prize-winning, but I love to have them on display. As a lifelong leg man, nothing says feminine to me like a well-turned ankle, even my own.

We had a fantastic meeting last night, but I will save that for the next post. Sylvia will be sending me the latest pics, so that I might illustrate my post. We are finally on the road to having a proper website for the group. We have almost zero web presence, and feel like we are not serving everyone that might need us. If you can't find us, we can't help you. A website with the right tags embedded will help us pop up on search engines (and that is the extent of my knowledge and understanding). Making the world a better place, one deeply confused person at a time.

St. Monday / St. Valentine's

Nobody can say what the matter is,
I'm trying to recharge my batteries.
--Billy Bragg, "St. Monday"--

Time for my monthly epistle, no? Monday was very nice, as my usual workmate was taking a day off. I like John, but a day without his repetitive questions is like a vacation for me.

And now, the world is transitioning into Tuesday. It's the marketing department's designated day for professing undying love. I have done so by purchasing dying flowers. Mixed message, you say? Perhaps. I will suggest that we go out to lunch, and hope that she hasn't made a less perfunctory purchase for me, as that would be embarrassing for both of us.

We are often on different pages when the gift-giving holidays roll around. I tend to spend more on her when we are in an iffy period. She spends more when I am charming the pants off her. I guess my approach to this holiday indicates that I am flush with love for my spouse. Today will be the test to see if my perception is wrong. I'll let you know eventually.

Had a meeting a week ago, though, alas, no pictures. It was a very exciting meeting, as we had several guests in the field of speech therapy. The university will be forming a group to train transpersons in changing their speech to match their preferred gender. The main thrust of the project is to give students some experience with a demographic they might not otherwise come across, a group with unusual and challenging needs. One of the leaders has done something similar in Albany, New York for three years, with excellent results.

They hope to have a group of eight to twelve each semester, and I think we will have no trouble providing that number for their project. There is an upfront $50 fee, for a scoping of the vocal cords, ensuring there are no physical issues before work begins. After that, it is $20 a week for a Monday night 2-hour meeting. I would love to get in on this, but I work in the evening, and I cannot skip out of work every week. Just as well, as I don't have the money for it, and really, I have nowhere to be that I need to have a good female voice.

Anyway, don't worry about me. I am getting along fine with the family, and the dysphoria has been modest all winter. I am having my head shrunk only once a month, and even that seems beyond my needs at the moment. It could all coming crashing in any minute, but for now things continue to sail along smoothly.

Later, girls!

I Owe Ya One!

Hey, girlfriend! We haven't spoken in a long while. Totally my fault. I've missed you, and thought that there were several things that deserved to be shared with someone, and, of course, I thought of you first.

I've been thinking a lot about transitioning. No, not me, silly! More the way that things change around you. A friend dies. A friend for years disappears, either bored with her old friends or completely smitten with new ones. Another friend goes underground for awhile, and still hasn't reemerged. But then, a new friendship forms through the support group, and a half-forgotten pal comes out of the woodwork ready for long chats. The cosmic balance restored.

Our oldest black cat, Dr. Hook, gave up the ghost last month. More to the point, his kidneys gave up and we had to take him to the finish line ourselves. We are perfectly capable of giving fluids, and have done so for several cats, but Hook was a terrible patient. No matter how weak, he fought us tooth and claw, essentially refusing treatment. Couldn't let him suffer, and couldn't render aid, so the only option was the big sleep. We have a pretty high bar regarding euthanasia, but he managed to clear it.

The gap he left has been filled by two other strays that have entered our lives. Desmond, a tailless gray, has been with us for four or five months. And in November, we pulled a four-month old kitten out of our front bushes. I named him Tab Hunter. The Tab part was no problem living up to, but he earned the second part of his name this week. He killed a mouse in our basement, the first we've had in 19 years here. And last night, he and Timmy managed to catch another twice, letting it get away both times. I think that mouse is on borrowed time.

Christmas was grand. We spent too(!) much, but I think everyone was happy. I bought the missus a garnet necklace that nicely matched a pair of earrings she's had awhile. I have been busy flying sorties with WWII fighters in my new video game. I'll be trying to take out one of Hitler's Norwegian heavy water plants in my next mission.

Had a great support meeting last Saturday. A rep from the local police department came to talk to us. I was very impressed that he never betrayed any uneasiness, talking to an odd looking crowd. He was very professional and informative, and I hope he learned a little about our population, too.

I didn't think I would be able to attend. Mrs. L had arranged an outing in the early evening with some friends, and she really wanted me to spend time with her. Her friend, though, backed out when she realized that she had a schedule conflict. I had gone ahead and prepped for the meeting on the off chance of going, and it paid off completely. My car was already packed with everything I needed. The picture is from the meeting, of course, and if you look closely at my left calf, you'll see the nasty scratch that Dr. Hook gave me toward the end of his term. And new earrings I bought myself for Christmas (not on my calf, look higher)!

Well, I hope all is going well for you, girlfriend. Don't be a stranger!

Love,
Leslie