I Just Wanna Hear Girls Talk

Thank you, ladies, for all the encouragement.  Nice to see comments always.  Your rich reward is a photo of me.  I spent a couple hours tonight uploading and cropping and color correcting three meetings' worth of pics.  Some even please me.  This shows you my summer look, with my short black bob.  This is from July, the first time wearing it.  Feel free to Photoshop me into the cover of Band on the Run.

I had to attend the wedding of an obscure cousin last Saturday.  I have spoken to her perhaps three times in twenty-plus years.  Now, we all know the effect of going to a wedding in drab.  I was terribly worried about my ability to withstand the envy I would be feeling.  It turned out okay, though.  My favorite aunt was in from Washington, D.C., and I spent a lot of time talking with her.  I spoke extensively about battling social anxiety, and how without close family nearby, I would have been paralyzed.

Aunt T confided at one point that she had been on the dance floor earlier, and felt her pantyhose sagging.  She made a conscious effort not to tug at her waist, knowing that the video would almost assuredly capture it, making for a fabulous laugh lasting generations.  I wanted to tell her that my pantyhose were staying up just fine, but the opportunity to share never presented itself.

In addition, she and I and my mother had a lengthy discussion about bridesmaid dresses.  T told us about a hideous dress she wore for her best friend's wedding, and my mom shared that she never got to be a bridesmaid, as her best friend eloped with no notice.  That sort of girl talk helped keep me at ease.

We learned Sunday that we are going to be hosting my wife's family for Thanksgiving this Thursday.  To say that we don't need this "privilege" right now is an understatement.  It will be a late afternoon meal, hot on the heels of my family's noon meal. 

My family will be serving turkey and ham, corn pudding, potatoes au gratin, scalloped pineapple (wonderful!), and we will be bringing an almond poundcake that is to die for.  My wife's family will be eating a vegetarian meal, including sweet potatoes (ick), and the very special meatless loaf.  It will be grand.

I'm sure I will have something to report after the events, but we have major housecleaning to do before that happens.  No french maid options available to me either.  *sigh*

Hint Taken

Rumors of this blog's death are mildly exaggerated.  I had not realized just how long it had been.  No promises this time around about writing regularly; I know better.  So, let's hit the high points of the last six(!) months.

I left off talking about hair.  I have worn Vanessa's short, black wig to all my meetings since June.  I have quite a few pics, but just as this blog has lain fallow, so has my Flickr.  I need to upload images and color correct them before I thrust them on an unsuspecting tiny audience.  I love you ladies too much to inflict that kind of pain for my own vanity.  They will appear soon, she promised.

I have not been to a meeting since September, due to my boy's band tournaments.  They placed second in the state, btw.  The upshot of that has been the absence of any dressing opportunities in the interim.  That, my friends, is a major bummer.  I have been distracting myself with Rock Band (made a new character named Bethany Peachfuz), and a lot of Netflix (mostly Walking Dead). 

My boy now sleeps in a crudely modified corner of our basement, as my mother-in-law moved into his bedroom in early September.  Quite an adjustment, as you can imagine.  She plays her TV very loudly at all hours, has an ancient cat that likes to pee outside the litter box, and came with a beastly old Corgi that smells like sour milk on his best days.  Strangely, I've come to like my MIL more than I had before.  Very flawed, but she is grateful to us, and can be funny and charming. 

Still, the stress of the preparing the house for her, and bringing her into the already crowded fold, was very stressful for me.  Some time in July, I started taking the hair off my legs in the shower.  The missus did not mention it, but I talked about it at our next counseling session.  She had, of course, noticed, but she did not,and has not, complained about it.  I think she understands the sacrifice I have made in welcoming her mother.  Major husband points for me!  I now shave my legs in the shower everyday, and I do not intend to return to the land of the hirsute gams ever again.  That concession to my stress has gotten me through all this.  Well, that, and doubling down on the underdressing. 

Thanks to Calie and Rhiannon for pulling me back onto the writing bandwagon.  I needed a swift kick in the ass.  Pics soon!

Love you all,
Leslie

Attempting Upbeat

Last night, my son, the freshman trumpeter, played in his school's spring concert.  My favorite was Sousa's Liberty Bell March, which you slightly-less-classy schlubs may know as the theme of Monty Python's Flying Circus.  I love that piece, of course, because of Python.  The band nailed all three pieces, and we had a great view of our boy.

And now for something completely different....

Out of increasing boredom, I changed things up a little at my May meeting.  I have been wearing the same hair since late '08, and my advancing age is making me a little self-conscious about the style.  It just so happens that my sister-in-law passed down a wig to me over a year ago.  It was one of her two cancer wigs, and happily, she no longer has that need.

I tried it on once, and it was so tight that I honestly couldn't get it on properly.  You see, she has a woman-sized head, and I have an enormous man-skull.  But boredom won out, and I tried it again.  It took a lot of upper body strength (thank you, testosterone), but I managed to get the wig on my head.  I fiddled with it, and wore it for awhile, and decided that I would wear it at my meeting.  Herewith, the result:

I had to keep pulling it down in the back, but I liked the look, and felt more natural. Plus, warm weather and blanket-style hair hats are a bad combo. This was much cooler than my usual 'do.

Late in our meeting, long-time member Vanessa dropped in with an announcement.  She is moving to Seattle.  The airline that employs her offered her a full-time position out there.  She brought several big bags of clothes and shoes, plus her wigs.  Several of us went through the clothes and laid claim to our favorites.  I got three skirts, and a bunch of tees that will be great for layering.  A terrific haul.

Vanessa has a lovely attached hairstyle now, and doesn't need her wigs any longer.  She had me in mind for the wigs, and we reached an agreement on price very quickly.  One is the same style as my usual Leslie hair, but has blonder highlights. The other is a short black style.  Both are large and fit so much better than my existing coifs.

I am chuffed about having new hair.  Some ennui was setting in for me.  I guess natal women go through the same thing, tiring of their look and searching for another that might work.  Well, if it's good enough for the genetic ladies, it's good enough for me.

Lastly, a curtsey for Joanna, who has been on my mind a lot.

About Time

The day of my April meeting, I turned fifty. Fifty. Other milestones have largely passed barely noticed.  I remember twenty-nine being difficult. Fifty, though, has caused a lot of reflection, more than expected.

I truly feel mortal now.  I feel kinda old, too.  I'm not, but that's my perception.  People in my family typically live past ninety, so there's a good chance I'm just a bit past middle age. 

At fifty, I feel two things very strongly. One, that I am very fortunate to live in comfort and safety, with a wife that loves me, and children that are essentially good, caring people.  And two, that I regret the decisions that led me here, and would trade it all to be living a dramatically different life.  It's hard to integrate those two notions.  So much to be grateful for, and a flippant desire for something completely different.  Regrets, I've had a few, but then again, too few to mention.

Of course, you know I will now mention them. You all know the principal regret. I had no business pulling someone into marriage with me without benefit of the knowledge that I was harboring a deep secret, a second self that caused me shame.  All the other regrets fall like dominoes from that mistake.  I should have spoken my truth when it could have spared her feelings and mine.  However, fear won the day, and the war, for that matter.

That's all the darkness I want to dig through for now.  I will try to balance it with a happier post soon, and there is upbeat stuff to report.

In Recovery

Turns out that I was included in Wednesday's counseling session.  We were both well-served by it, as well.

The communication boycott was over when I got out of bed at the crack of noon.  Just like a normal day.

In our session, we both aired our grievances. And we were both called to task by the therapist at different points.  The crux is that we have both been dealing with extraordinary stress, and the weak link was our bond.  All of our energy has gone to daughter and sister.  I promised to watch my tone, and to try harder to be supportive when she is venting.  She promised to take more of an active interest in my emotional state, and to try to respect my limits when I tell her I need a break from the listening.  A very good counselor, it turns out.

We are back on good terms.

Just like old times, three posts in four days.

Colder Indoors Than Out

I misspoke at the end of the last post.  We have gone from a cold war to a VERY cold war.

The silent treatment is a real rarity for my wife. It has happened in short spurts before, but always leading up to a big confrontation/accusation.  She quietly took herself to bed a moment ago, which surprised me.  We had set up a couples session for Wednesday, but I noticed earlier on our wall calendar that only her name is written for the appointment now.  I suppose this is a subtle message to me that she intends to go alone.  It would seem to be an excellent time for an impartial party to hear our grievances, but so be it.  Wish I still had my own counselor.  I could use a sounding board.

Divorce is the word that keeps running through my thoughts.  I don't really know how it could play out, but I would not oppose the idea.  I don't even feel all that threatened by the idea of having my secret life revealed malevolently.  Shame is not a big factor for me any longer.  Certainly not to the point that it would sway me.  Plus, I think she would remain intent on keeping that issue away from our son's view.

I sound really blase, don't I?  I don't mean to. 

I feel enormously stressed, preoccupied.  Being passive is second nature to me, and taking the reins here doesn't feel right.  Plus, you know that I am conflict-averse.  Why invite a fight when avoiding one is easier?  This feels like a winding down of our rocky journey.  We are both stubborn asses. 

Everything Old Is New Again

I think the primary theme of this (almost) six years of blog is deja vu.  History keeps repeating itself.  The names and situations shift a little, but the conflict follows predictable plot lines.

My previous entry was a breath of minty-fresh air.  If I had followed up quickly, I could've stretched it into a series of upbeat posts.  Couples counseling was uneventful after I did my reveal to my daughter, and I managed not to use the words "told you so" or "nanny-nanny-boo-boo" when describing my feelings about the success of the venture.

But all is not well.

My daughter has continued to have her college problems, combined with severe depression.  We finally got her to a psychiatrist last week.  We had been seeing a nurse practitioner for her meds previously, and were not satisfied with the results (or the difficulty getting an appointment, even when the meds weren't helping).  The shrink was terrific, took his time getting to know her and the problems, and let her decide the direction of treatment.  She is now on Zoloft, like her parents, and her mood is visibly better after just a few days.  She still won't do her school assignments, but one victory at a time, right?

Another major stressor here has been my wife's oldest sister.  You may recall her as the sister that knows my secret and is quite supportive.  Well, she has a lot of mental issues, primarily bipolar and ADHD, and she stopped paying her bills last March.  This includes a mortgage, extensive medical bills, and the taxman.  We finally learned of all this around September, and everyone has been scrambling since.  She tells me that she thinks constantly of suicide, but won't because of how traumatic it would be to her parents, nieces, and nephews.  Not a great reason to carry on, but it'll do.

My wife is deeply involved in this, and she tends to vent about it.  I have told her several times that I don't care to hear her critical remarks about her sister.  I've heard it repeatedly, and it is toxic.  I don't want to play anymore.  Last night, I barked at her on the phone.  A flurry of texts followed, calling me unsupportive and lacking in empathy.  No, I just disagree with the rudeness toward her sister, and I am allowed to disagree.  I will quote my favorite part of the convo:

She:  I am not trying to provoke you. I am telling you how it feels to have conditions & limitations put on me as to what I am permitted to talk about with my spouse.
Me:  Put those same words into my mouth please.  That is my life story. Get down off the cross.

We are barely speaking tonight, and I am fine with that.  She needs to understand that I have stress too, and I rarely get a chance to discuss or vent it.  I don't regret firing the first shot, though when it all blew up, my initial response was, "And the next day, he received the divorce papers."  No LOLs forthcoming.

So, the long Cold War is once again a hot war.