Not to Worry

I've gone a long while without writing, unusual for me, and several friends have said that they were worried about me. I did leave off with a dark note three weeks ago, so perhaps the fears grew out of that. An important thing about me: I typically write during a crisis. If I'm not writing, things are probably going smoothly. As is the case presently.

These three weeks have not been without tumult, but the drama has not been about me. My wife has had both parents in the hospital this month, both on the mend at present. The lingering nature of their rehabs, and the effort required by my wife and her sisters to care for extra animals and households, has made me the rock that my wife can cling to. Not a bad place to be, but an unfortunate way to achieve it. I think my shaved legs seem much more minor to her now, relative to the big picture.

My whole attitude has been much sunnier this holiday season, and I am certain that bare legs have contributed. I just feel so much more comfortable with myself. I look right when I am crossdressed. I feel much closer to humanhood now. Many of the little things I've done to assuage my gender pain over the last year seem much less important to me now, like I was compensating for the inability to have my legs shaved. For instance, I have let my arm hair go for weeks. I don't feel as compelled to address it. I will trim and bleach before next Saturday's meeting, but it isn't a major worry now in day-to-day life. I've always been a leg man, and apparently I'm very much a leg girl as well.

So, if things continue to go well, I'll have to write about sunshine and lollipops, or not write much at all. Since you can count my joyous blog entries on one hand, you can guess which way it'll likely go. But never underestimate my capacity to create a new crisis, and something dark to write about.

False Hope

I need to stop thinking that things are going to work out. I've always said that if you expect nothing, then you'll be pleasantly surprised when something good happens. Maybe not a fun way to live, but a good defense against hurt. But I keep crawling out on that limb of late and getting slapped down. Making love with a drunk girl doesn't mean that the marriage is working out.

Today, I made a point of apologizing for misreading her signals in bed Saturday night. She started to cry. After coming home late, she took my bedtime actions as an indication that I had indeed been "hooking up" with someone. She's broken down and sobbed twice now in twenty-four hours. She keeps saying that she's afraid that she has made a grave mistake in trying to trust me again. She calls it misplaced trust. I'm calling my naive beliefs misplaced hope.

She asked today what my idea of a compromise would be. I thought for a long while. Do I start out big, knowing I'll get haggled down? Or do I tell her my honest best offer? I opted for the latter. I want to have bare legs from the first weekend in November thru the first weekend of March. That gives me five support meetings, where I can dress in the fashion that I really want to, in just over four months. This gives her eight months of hairy me. I think this is a generous offer.

But no, it is all about the shaved legs. She just finds it completely intolerable. I asked what her idea of a compromise is. She didn't know. Or she didn't want to say. She's going back to her therapist Tuesday, so I'm sure she'll either change the locks while I'm at work, or throw away all my Leslie things. Okay, maybe not, but I refuse to count on something good happening. I'm going to be ready for a sucker punch. It hurts too much to expect this to get better.

Transgiving: 7 Hugs = 1 Good Night

Saturday's support meeting was the annual Transgiving potluck, my first. I got a couple hours of prep time before the meeting, so I got to get my stuff together. I left the house already wearing about half of my Leslie attire, and already had my foundation in place. I wanted to reduce the amount of time that I tied up the bathroom at the meeting, and I succeeded. Just a quick change from pants to skirt, and some makeup detailing, and I was good to go.

My best friends were all there. I got a lot of quality time with Tina and Shannon, less so with Cassie. I hadn't seen Tina since June, Shannon since August, though I chat with both frequently. I made a point to embrace my friends, because I'm never sure that I adequately communicate how much they mean to me. I've learned so much about friendship in the last year, and I couldn't have done it alone. I was involved in a lot of hugs, and the accident reconstruction team places their best guess at seven, a lucky number for sure. Good food, good company. So good, in fact, that I ran very late coming home. But I left feeling loved.

When I got home, you won't believe it..... wait for it.......the wife was pissed. Didn't see that coming, huh? Shoulda called, I guess. I knew I needed to leave the meeting earlier than I did, but couldn't make myself. Why? Well, I was having a great time with people I haven't seen in a long while. I didn't want to stop being Leslie. And many people were lingering long past the standard end time, and I really didn't want to have to exit in boy mode in front of so many of my peers. I normally wind up being one of the last out of the building, and so I am seen as a male by a few when I arrive very early, and a few when I leave very late. So, yes, I was embarrassed to be seen out of my girl clothes. And my pride, combined with the contract stipulation of not going out in public, made it happen.

Anyway, the wife was angry that her idea of a Saturday night with her husband has been rudely subverted by my tardiness. She was exercising when I got home, then she started applying her makeup in the bathroom. I didn't know she was angry, as we hadn't really spoken yet. I entered the bathroom, grabbed her around the waist from behind and told her that she really is a beautiful woman. She smirked. I was feeling very loving toward her. I had just had a very happy night, in no small measure due to her insistence that I attend my support meetings. A few moments later, she stormed past me, saying that she was going out. Oooookaaay. Where will you be? I'm not sure, you can join me if you want to, she hissed.

We went out to Friday's. She had two Long Island Teas, I had coffee. She wants me to put her closer to the top of the list. She pays second fiddle one Saturday a month, but that's too much, I guess. She also had found a coat of hers gone from the coat closet, which she figured I had "appropriated" for my use this evening. She felt better when I assured her that I knew nothing about her coat, and I honestly didn't. It got more pleasant after that. I let her do most of the talking, as she really needed to vent and decompress. It had been a very tough week with her father in the hospital, and now she had decided that I was breaking the rules. So I just let it play out.

We got home, watched the SNL that we had taped while we were out. She added a Corona to her evening binge. We went to bed and I tried to go to sleep. She kept talking. Eventually she said that she didn't understand why I wasn't jumping her bones. I didn't say so, but it seemed to me that wasn't in the cards, as angry as she had been a few hours before. Much as I would like to be inside the mind (and body) of a female, I may never understand how their brains work. So was this alcohol induced, or a bipolar mood swing? You make the call.

Where do I stand today? Shaky ground is my best guess, but all seems normal. At least until I screw up again.

The Island

Sometimes, it's just impossible to know what another person is thinking. But, once in a while, the doors swing wide and real communication happens.

I wrote about the softening of my heart toward my wife that I felt on Tuesday. Wednesday night I went to bed in the wee hours of the morning. My wife said, "Can I tell you something stupid? I don't hate you." We proceeded to talk quietly in the dark for at least forty-five minutes, embracing the entire time. I told her how I had seen the woman I fell in love with Tuesday, that I had forgotten her. She said that when we had talked earlier in the day, after her therapy session, she had the impression that she had been heard by me, that I seemed to get it this time.
She, too, had warmed to me. I told her that I had been thinking all day about concessions I would be willing to make. I told her about the crossdresser's and wives' bill of rights on tri-ess.org (thanks to Stephanie Warrior Princess!), how it might be a good starting point for our negotiations.

In short, we really talked and we really listened. She expressed some fear about opening her heart to me again, afraid that I might hurt her once more. I told her that I understood why she would feel that way.

So, despite my pessimism, there just may be an island common to our two oceans. It was uncharted, and we don't know yet if it is habitable, but it seems very welcoming after the long storm we have weathered. I've never been one to give much credence to the idea of miracles, but I have to admit that this might qualify. I did not see this coming. Perhaps a phoenix might rise out of this yet.

Thanks for all the prayers and supportive words. They made all the difference.

Minutae of a Marriage

The day began with my wife barely containing her tears. We had to take a car to the shop, and then ride back together. Very tense, almost no talking. We pulled into the driveway, and she asked if I have shaved my legs since the initial removal. I said that it had been a few days, but yes. She burst into tears and said that she guessed that her feelings don't matter. She drove off to her therapy appointment. Within a minute, the phone rang. "You remember that a year ago, you told me you didn't want to live in a sexless marriage?" "Yeah." "You realize that that is exactly the situation you created when you shaved your legs."

She returned from her appointment with more questions. Like, what did my therapist mean when she said that we both feel trapped? In the marriage or in your body? A little of both, I guess. I can't resolve my gender issues within the marriage, and I can't leave the marriage to resolve my gender conflict. She's not buying it. Her therapist gave her two names of couples counselors. And she suggested that along with the suggested list of wants, we should also create a list of "don't wants." We'll have a lot of ammo sitting next to two very short fuses, if we ever get as far as couples counseling.

Later, in the evening, we were watching A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving with the kids. We actually found ourselves having a pleasant discussion, with laughter and warm exchanges. Suddenly, I could see the woman I fell in love with. I don't know if it was reciprocal or not. But in that moment, I wanted to be sitting with her, or better yet, laying with her.

Obviously, I still have more internal conflict about this than I realized. Could she turn on a dime like that? I don't know. If I felt loved, including the Leslie part, I could endure for a long time. It's just that most of the time, I'm not feeling that I matter at all. Selfish? Maybe. But if you can't put your marriage at the top of the list in a crisis like this, what hope is there for the future?

Showdown at the I'm OK, You're Ok Corral

We sorta aired it out today. The therapist treated it like a couples session, but my wife wasn't playing along. She answered a few questions, but mostly asked pointed questions about what would satisfy me, what my end goal is. She remains convinced that shaving my legs against her express wishes was crossing the line. She compared it to a woman getting breast augmentation or a nose job. She seems to believe that the hair won't grow back or something. I'd sure save a lot on razors if it didn't.

She literally thinks that shaving my legs means that I am intent on getting SRS. I don't know that I can overcome willful ignorance of this sort. She wants me to be medicated to treat my anxiety and depression, more than I already am. I told her that I preferred to treat the cause of my depression (hairy legs), rather than treat the symptom (depression).

She reiterated that she prefers to end the marriage now, rather than be broadsided in five or ten years when I decide to go it alone. I told her that that might be for the best. I said that I'm not sure there's an island out there that's common to our two oceans.

My therapist likes the whole contract idea, though she thought ours to be a bit vague. She'd like us to return with lists of what we want from the other, to give us a starting point for negotiations. I'm not sure my wife will go for another session. She thinks it's wrong to get couples counseling from my individual counselor. There is the appearance of a conflict of interest, even if it doesn't show itself.

I think my list of wants would have to include recognition of Leslie as a person ( the Israel clause). Freedom to have occasional outings with friends. First dibs on any clothing being given away. Perhaps the freedom to have a weekend at home as Leslie, if we could kennel the kids somewhere. Maybe y'all have some ideas. But I think it's an empty exercise, as the wife won't go back there. She's been real quiet since the session, laid in the bed for a couple hours while I fed the kids. Probably doing some crying, but I didn't get close enough to tell. I think I fired a shot over her bow today, and she's going to have to figure out if she wants to do battle.

Not Bloody Likely

I'm starting to think like a single girl. Tonight, I am fully decked out at home, as the wife and kids are away for the night. It's comforting to me to think that soon, all my nights could look like this.

We have an appointment with my counselor on Monday. My wife will be grilling her about the direction of my therapy. She wants to find out if a divorce is in order. I have concluded that it is, though I haven't shared that yet. I know that I have to explore the feelings and urges inside me.

I know, too, that these actions are completely intolerable to the missus. She said we need to find some middle ground, but didn't define what that might look like. I'm sure it involves me reforesting my legs, and perhaps undoing some other things that I have regarded as progress. This is a place I don't want to go. And she is adamant about me not taking this any further. Middle ground, schmiddle ground.

The complete lack of affection that I have tolerated for two weeks has allowed me to distance myself from the marriage emotionally. The thought of ending it gets easier every day. There's no outright hostility, but it's clear to me that she will not resume physical contact until we get this resolved. And I don't think it will be resolved.

So now I'm contemplating life alone, out in the big world. We have often joked that we couldn't afford to divorce, but it's only funny because it's true. I think I'll have to have a roommate of some sort, and with my proclivities, it would seem that a TG person is the only real possibility. That narrows the field considerably(!). One big positive is that I'll never have to dress at my support meeting once I'm out of here. I can arrive and leave in the fashion I have longed to, as the person I know myself to be in my heart. I was fully prepared to forego a lot of the feminization that I desired, but if I'm on my own, I'll have far less reason to abstain. I'm already thinking about getting permission to start spiro, to negate the effects of these male hormones without developing secondary female characteristics. That's my middle ground.

The wife doesn't really know it yet, but she's opening the door of opportunity wide. The last time we got this close to divorce, I fought my way back into the marriage. This time, there's many more positives in leaving for good. I'm sure I'll have some big news to report Monday night.

The Ultimatum?

It all seemed very clear a few days ago. I was starting to visualize life on my own. It has a lot of appeal. I've never lived alone, aside from a few months of separation twenty years ago. I think I could manage it now.

Things had calmed down after the note exchange. Not much warmth, but civility was present. Maybe the storm was passing. When she returned from her therapy Tuesday, things began to take a new shape. She announced that she wanted to attend my session on Thursday, in order to grill my counselor about what kind of goals we're working on, what path I'm being led down. She believes my counselor should be acting as a mother figure, warning me of the dangers of my decisions, reminding me how much my family is being ripped apart by my actions. I emailed my counselor to ask if we could work the wife into my session. I'm glad the email wasn't read before my appointment, so the wife didn't go. I had a lot to talk about without having to be a referee.

We're now planning on attending the next session together. My counselor is fine with it, and gave us each an inventory to fill out on our marital dynamic. My wife looked it over and couldn't fathom why the info would be needed. In her mind, this is not a couples session, but a pointed discussion about the Leslie problem. She doesn't want to hear any input from MY counselor.

She remains extremely pissed off at me. She keeps talking about all the little things that I've changed in my appearance that she has "allowed." Have I mentioned how upsetting I find the concept of being allowed to change? Yeah, I thought so. She is actually starting to seem more angry, like the more she thinks about this, the bigger the betrayal of her trust.

The funny thing about this whole thing is that, on Wednesday, I realized that I hadn't felt like crying since I shaved my legs. It seems like I've been on the cusp of breaking down every day for two months. The hair comes off, the tension is gone. That's all the proof I need to know this was the right thing for me to do.

But Thursday and Friday, with the renewed enmity between the missus and me, I feel the pressure returning. I feel the tears welling up in me again. I am so conflicted. Finally getting the hair off my legs has been liberating physically and emotionally. I feel so much closer to being myself, being comfortable in my skin. But how can I take that road if it means leaving my family behind? The wife's mind games are starting to get to me, I think. What a stupid trade: my wife and kids in exchange for the opportunity to look good in pantyhose. Who wouldn't choose the latter, right? I still might, but defending my choice is going to make me look like a selfish ass.

How do you tell someone you've lived with a quarter century that the freedom to wear a dress and makeup when you want trumps the future that she had envisioned? She doesn't realize how close I am to calling her bluff. She has had it suggested by her counselor that she is enabling me, that she shouldn't have allowed me to pluck my eyebrows or shave my back. I will not go back to where I started. If there is no budging her from this threat, I see no recourse but to choose life as Leslie, over life in the box. I hope it doesn't come to that, but I see firm resolve in her eyes. She's reached her limit.

So have I.

Standoff

"A very acidic tongue waggled in her head" --Squeeze--

I think we're approaching the end game now. Sunday night she handed me a seven-page note that said many unkind things. Passive-aggressive, selfish, untrustworthy. She is extremely pissed off, and is now talking openly about divorce. At this point, I'm not sure that's a bad thing.

A large part of her note was devoted to how I had violated our agreement, regarding no crossdressing in public. She thinks "it's a large, public change to your outward appearance." And her counselor agreed, so I guess she's found a kindred spirit. Unless I'm running around in a skirt or hot pants, I'm not sure how the public would be aware of my hair status. Perhaps she considers herself as part of the public. I thought of our marriage as a private relationship.

She asked me if I wanted to talk about what she had written, but I declined. I told her I'd rather write a response. And I was just as scathing. Maybe not the best decision I've made, but I had reached the snapping point. I wrote six pages about circumventing her "permission", about revisiting that dark place and opting to do something proactively, about all the years I didn't do the things I needed to do to feel whole and real. I argued that a feminist like herself should be able to understand me taking control of my own body. I burned the remaining bridges, or at least re-ignited the wreckage she left.

We are still sharing a bed, but it's very clear that I am not free to touch her. She's calm now, and talks nicely enough on everyday household things. But she said today, after her counseling session, that the two of us are definitely not on the same page. If I want to continue down this road, the marriage will be over.

I've finally crossed her invisible line now. I do not want to undo the hair, the nails, the eyebrows, the underdressing. She wants to deny me my humanity, and I think that is likely my invisible line.

Whose Life Is It Anyway?

"To be myself completely, I've just got to let you down" --Belle and Sebastian

The elation didn't last long. We had a big fundraiser to attend tonight, black tie optional. These sorts of gatherings are hard for me anyway, but more so this time, as I knew that dressing up and going out and drinking would necessitate the big reveal of my legs. She was feeling sexy, and my stomach was churning, anticipating the coming confrontation.

She bought me a pair of satiny lounge pants earlier in the day, and she wanted me to model them for her when we got home. I told her she might not like what's going on under my pants. She became very agitated when I told her what I had done. She couldn't believe that I would do this with the stress that she's under. I pointed out that I'm stressed also, and this was my way of dealing with it. I told her that there are two people in our marriage, both having feelings and needs. She thinks that I always do what I want, and it's never enough.

She shut down and went to sleep pretty quickly. It's hard to tell if this will be a long term rift (my best guess) or will blow over quickly. I do not regret taking the hair off my legs. It feels different than I expected, but wonderful. I can stand to look at myself now, kinda fascinated really. I did not apologize to her. This is the one short window of the year when I can do this, and I may as well be John Lennon waiting for a Green Card if I wait for her permission.

She sees this as yet another betrayal of her trust. Whether that's a breaking point, I'll find out soon. I keep stirring up the hornets' nest, never figuring out that I get stung every time

Taking the Reins

"Why waste unconditional love on someone who doesn't believe in the stuff" --Fiona Apple--

First off, after I posted my woohoo blast, I realized the possibility of it being misunderstood. It was in reference to the victory of Obama. Not woohoo news for everyone, I know, but it was for me.

I realize that my last blog entry left a lot of people worried about my state of mind, and rightly so. I was in a dark place that night. The comments I received were immensely helpful in clarifying what my priorities should be. And so, I'm starting to take control of my own life.

At least twice before, I've told my wife that I was going to take the hair off my legs. Each time, she bullied me into retaining the hair. So I've decided to take it off, and deal with the fallout. On Wednesday, I clipped the hair below my knees very short. Today, I shaved to my knees, and cropped the rest short. By Friday afternoon, I will have smooth legs.

I feel so unburdened today, so much lighter. I'm reaching a new level, my PhD (Pantyhose Dignity). I find few things less attractive than hair under pantyhose, though one I can think of is my hairy legs without pantyhose. But all that is moving to the history department. I'm dealing with current events now: smooth legs! Bare skin has so much more sensation. I think women have purposely tried to keep this for themselves. Not fair! This is wonderful, and I'm only halfway there.

I showed my handiwork to my therapist today. She was so proud of me! Not specifically about the hair, but about seizing control. I'm liberating myself. A marriage has two people, both with needs and feelings, and it's time that I do what I need to do to be happy. If it gets ugly, I'll ride it out. It'll take quite a bit to get me down now. I'm elated.

Pretty Pity Party

The question that comes to mind tonight is simple on the surface. Can one be happy and stay in one's marriage? Of course, you say. Millions do it. But, my question is a little more specific. Can I be happy and stay in my maririage? That's trickier.

What brings this to front of my brain is my own fence straddling. My last blog entry got three comments. All said the same thing, in their own ways: Shave your legs already. The problem isn't going away, it's festering and becoming toxic. Your wife can't or won't understand how important this is to you and your mental well-being. Good advice that I should take to heart.

But there is so much water under the bridge in this marriage. I don't want to portray my wife as a monster, though I often do. My way of getting along with a very strong personality has been to disappear into the wallpaper, not call attention to myself. Like a good football defense, I bend without breaking. And I can sure bend. Some would say over backward. It's what I'm accustomed to doing, and the existence of a marriage after many fractious years is evidence that the strategy works. But keeping the marriage intact has been to my personal detriment, which is the bush that the comments keep beating around. Deep down, I know this. I'm living it, if you call this living.

I'm sitting in a corner. The only way out is to move forward, but I'm frozen in place. I'm safe here, though unhappy. Apparently safe is a higher priority than happy. And truthfully, I don't know that what I want will equal happiness. The lingering doubt is that it will only stir the pot, and make things even more unpleasant for me. I'm not to a point yet where I'm ready to risk it. But something's gotta give soon. I'm reaching a breaking point, I fear. Geez, I feel so alone tonight.

The Tiger or the Lady?

"Couldn't I just tell you the way I feel,
I can't keep it bottled up inside"
"The Way I Feel" Todd Rundgren

I'm sitting here, really unsure as to the reason to be writing, only knowing that I feel a need to. Life is getting intense again, just like last year. The meds are helping, but I still feel like I could start crying at any time. I started to last night, just thinking of how selfish I feel, how stupid my goals seem to be. Why do I feel so strongly the need to pursue something so out of reach? I could wear a suit of feathers and say that I'm a bird, and it would be no less convincing.

I told myself last weekend that I wanted to have my legs bare before this Saturday's support meeting. I resolved this in a week that makes purgatory look welcoming. Seriously, stress levels for me and the wife have been through the roof, related to the school and our special needs daughter. The stress makes me want to attack my legs even more, but my wife is not in a good place to deal with it.

My therapist and I had a long talk on this subject today. When am I going to stop bending to the will of the missus? When do I stand up and declare myself an adult capable of making these decisions without her input? I don't care if she doesn't like the idea. I just want her to sigh, and say, "Go ahead if it's that important to you." Because it is. I have enough grim reminders of my maleness without having to look at curly black hairs from hip to ankle. It's not like she'll ever be offended by the feeling of stubble on my legs. I'll maintain it religiously.

Shaving my legs doesn't violate the letter of our contract, but I sense that it goes against the spirit of the document. I think her aim in introducing the agreement was to lock things in the status quo so we can work through our differences. But if this thing progresses like it did last fall, I'll be a basket case before Christmas. I tried the stew-in-my-own-juices strategy last year, and it did nothing for me, or us. It just made life unbearable for both of us. Could choosing the other door be any worse?

Buyer's Remorse

I have a habit of creating drama where there was none. It's a habit neither newly acquired nor easily disposed of. This might be a case of that, but I'm really too close to see.

You'll remember that I signed my wife's agreement with no stipulations of my own. Very big of me, thank you very much. Now I'm wavering. The last two weeks the feminine urges have been welling up in me, much as they did last fall. (What is it about October!?) And I'm starting to realize just how much I long to go out into the world as my hidden self. I don't know what I would do or where I might go, but I'm sure I would think of something. However, I made a promise not to do that, until April 10th or the end of the marriage, whichever comes first. I feel now like I signed away a basic human right, to be myself. Maybe this is an over-reaction, or an hormonal surge, or a bit of undigested beef. I look back at some of the comments I recieved pre-signing, the suggestions I opted against, and I'm questioning whether I really did give up something with this contract.

I'm starting to wonder how this situation can resolve itself. The missus seems unlikely to open her heart to this, and I'm sure not closing mine, so how can there be a middle ground that we would both see as a happy ending? The Magic Eight Ball says "Ask again later."

As It Should Be

I climbed into my brother's car, and started with a preface. I've wanted to share something about myself for a long time, and it's pretty serious. "You're not getting a sex change, right?" He laughed. "Well...it's not quite that severe. You remember us running around the house in Mom's heels when we were little? I never stopped. I've been crossdressing most of my life."

He was really surprised. I talked, he asked good questions. He complimented me on on my stealth. He never suspected anything. That's what a successful crossdresser has to do. We talked about twenty minutes, till we got to the stadium. When they played the national anthem, he asked me if I would've had to remove my wig, as we did our caps.

After the game, more talk on the way home. Does this mean you're gay?, he asked. Can't come out to anyone without that question. But he didn't care what the answer was, he just wanted to know. It was a good honest conversation, and I told him everything that came into my mind. I commented that he's never really known me, and I hate that. I wanted to change that.

When he dropped me off, he told me that he still loves me and that this doesn't change anything between us. We're still one another's best friends.

I feel like this is a first step toward turning my life right. I am so tired of not connecting with people, out of fear that I will say something that might hint at my dark secret. That's why I so love all the friends I've made since I've found this community. I can be myself without fear, something everyone should have. And now I've embarked on including the people I have history with. I'm not sure who might be next, maybe my wife's sister, the one who doesn't already know. Liberation could become a habit if it always feels this good.

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

I signed it. I mulled over all the suggestions, and talked to my counselor about it. I signed it, and I did not add a word to it. No demands for her. It's just a symbolic contract, with nothing that affects me and my current situation. I don't need to ask anything of her, because I trust her already. I was the one with a secret life. Now I will have to weather six months without meeting strangers from the internet, and having sex with them. Sorry, y'all. I have to ask for sacrifice from everyone in these tough times.

We went out tonight for a movie and a late meal. She wore a short dress and low heels. Yes, I was terribly envious. No, I didn't say so. I actually walk better in heels than she does, but I 've probably had many more hours of practice. She looks great, fifty pounds lighter than she was nine months ago. She's even dabbling in makeup on date nights, something she hasn't done in years. She's trying very hard to rekindle our relationship. If only I could go out in a dress too. That'd rekindle me!

At one point, she was talking about how great it felt to be wearing a dress. I didn't say anything then, but this will come up again the next time she refuses to see why the clothes are so important to me. It's much easier to feel feminine in a dress than in jeans, at least for me. Maybe women can pull up this feeling any time, but I need some tactile and visual help.

This time next week, I hope to be writing about coming out to my brother. Wish me luck.

Fist Bumps All Around

I'm happy to say that momentum is indeed moving in a positive direction.

I attended my support meeting Saturday evening, wearing a skirt in front of others for the first time. It added a little more nervousness for me, mainly because I was hiding leg hair beneath hose and black tights. I felt like I could detect it, but one would have to do some serious staring. I stare at my legs a lot!

After the meeting, the missus and I went to see the new Bill Maher documentary, Religulous. Then we had a late meal. This is a big deal, as we have never previously done anything post-meeting. She's always been rather cold after meetings before, like "I know what you were doing, and I don't approve." And heaven forbid we make love on a meeting night. I think she believed me to be stimulated by others at the meeting, and I would be fantasizing about them during our encounter. We managed to overcome that obstacle as well last night.

Afterward she asked if I was wearing some sort of cologne, as my face had a smell to it. I hesitated, but explained that she was either the smelling the vestiges of my foundation, or the makeup remover I used to get it off. I figured this would shut her down, but she accepted that and carried on.

Her efforts to be loving seem much more sincere than previous detentes. She does seem to really be trying to start fresh.

I still haven't decided what, if anything, I might ask for in our little contract. You, my friends, have given me much to think about, and I am indebted for your contributions. Thanks for caring. I hope you know that I care about your well-being, too.

Sign Here

"Nothing's changed, just rearranged" --Michael Penn--

I didn't have to wait long to find out what she had in mind for our contract. Late this morning she sat me down and handed me a piece of paper. The agreement is for six months, while both of us are in individual counseling, and perhaps some couples counseling as well.

Once again, I'm taken aback by what she believes is going on in my head. The restrictions listed will not be difficult for me to agree to, as I'm not really doing any of them anyway. The relevant items call for no crossdressing in public, excepting my support group, and not violating our privacy on public blog postings. This blog is no longer public, so that's not a problem. And my opportunities for public dressing are miniscule at best.

The surprising material was regarding sexual matters. Sexual activity will be limited to one another (I agreed to this when we got married, and haven't messed that up yet). No meeting strangers from the internet. No emotional affairs via internet or phone. I am truly astounded that this is what she believes I'm heading for. Granted, things have been cool between us lately, but my libido is pretty well nonexistent. I like sex enough to get through it, but I don't really miss it much when it's unavailable. She is really worried about nothing.

I really don't know what I should demand. She's not really tieing me down anymore than I already am. I think I should insert some sort of stipulation for her, but I have no ideas. Her promise on the agreement is to commit to try to improve her own emotional state. Pretty vague, huh? Maybe I should make her promise to read True Selves or something similar, to get a better understanding of the inner workings of my head. I won't sign anything till after my counseling session next week, so any provocative ideas are welcome.

On the plus side, she called me at work tonight just to say she loved me. Let the healing begin.

Contractual Obligation

"Every loser gives up what hurts most" -- Aimee Mann--

A moment of panic today. My cell rang as I sat in the waiting room at my therapist. The missus was calling. She had just left her first appointment with her therapist. She said that she and I need to have a meeting. We have to write a contract, documenting our needs and limits. A good place to receive that call, as it gave me a raw fear to discuss in session.

My fear is that this is all about setting limits for me and my sartorial quirks, an effort to build a cage around my exploration of my new self. Maybe I've got it all wrong. Perhaps it's just setting boundaries as a foundation on which to rebuild our trust. But the cynic in me (and she's always close by) is sure this is going to turn into a Leslie-bashing. I am filled with dread. This will be a rough negotiation even if tempers stay calm.

My therapist seemed genuinely worried about this. She told me not to give up too much, that I have the same rights to my humanity as my wife. If I'm the only one bending, I need to back up and punt. Live to cry another day. This discussion hasn't been scheduled yet, but I will report when the snit hits the fan.

Here Comes the Flood

"Drink up, dreamers, you're running dry" --Peter Gabriel--

I kinda left things hanging here a week ago, and people are starting to write to me, wondering what has developed. Frankly, it is not going well, and I haven't had much stomach to write about it. But I will muddle through this, if only because it's easier than writing a dozen emails.

It's a measure of my current frame of mind that I am not fully decked out at this moment, despite the fact that I have the house to myself till 9am. I made myself try out an outfit for my meeting in a week, but my heart isn't really in it. No hair or makeup. Too much effort.

After the outright hostilities of last week, the watchword now is tension. There is no affection between us, though we're being civil. She said to me that she gets a lump in her throat when I hug or kiss her, like she's not really sure who's embracing her. So I have stopped doing that. I'm not going to add to her sense of being violated. My therapist and I agree that I'm being treated as if I had revealed an affair. I felt that I was creating a blank slate to start rebuilding our marriage. She saw it as admitting a massive betrayal, with all the attendant fallout.

I have learned that I have grossly underestimated the contempt she has for those who would dare impersonate or think of themselves as women. I know from experience that she can hold a grudge for a very long time if she is convinced that she has been wronged. These facts taken together give me little hope that this will work itself out. I have some small hope that when she starts therapy next week, that her counselor will help her see my side.

All this makes me want to dive back into the deep end of the pool and renew my efforts at feminization. If I'm going to be in the doghouse anyway, why not go for it? It's hopelessly passive aggressive, my usual way of dealing with difficult emotional issues. But I'm not at all certain that there's much left to fight for. I would not be shocked if I came home to find her gone one day. She has said she feels stuck in our relationship, so I'd be naive to think she wasn't trying to piece together a plan. I won't leave her, but I am starting to consider what I might have to do if we split.

And that is where we stand.

To Be or Not to Be

Thanks, girls. The comments helped. I see things a little more clearly now. I've spent twenty-four hours wondering how I might be able to back off my feminine quest. I've assured her that there is no SRS in my future, but she wants me to promise that I won't be springing any major changes on her. I could possibly do that, but she considers shaving my legs as a major change. We have very different ideas of major.

I've been made to feel that I should try to shove Leslie back into the box. I don't think she'll fit anymore, but that hasn't stopped me from considering it. I sure as hell won't purge, but I think I can limit myself to underdressing outside the house and support group meetings. I know if we get into couples counseling, I've got to be ready to give up some things. I need to know up front what I can offer without losing me.

I know that if I had had an affair, the trust issues would be the same, and the healing time would be just as lengthy. But I have waited so long to be where I am, the thought of retreat is weighing heavily. I need to figure some things out.

It Was the Worst of Times

It isn't going well. I opened Pandora's box two weeks ago, and the damage may be irreparable. My wife no longer trusts me. And perhaps her trust has been misplaced all along. I thought that if I put all my cards on the table at once, like ripping off a Band-aid, that it would ultimately be less painful than many small reveals over time. I thought that having no secrets would give us a better chance in couples counseling. I was, and remain, naive. I continue to underestimate the depth of her contempt for my "problem."

She was up when I came home from work last night, never a good sign. It took her awhile to get warmed up, but she brought her "A" game. As she sees it, my judgement is not to be trusted. The risk-taking behavior, which includes my recent femme outing with friends, is a grave danger to my family. She will always assume the worst now, if I go anywhere with my friends. She has read some of my friends' blog entries, and thinks that I am taking advice from deluded, self-absorbed, crazy people.

She wants to know why clothes are so important to us. Why can't we just be women in our heads, and dispense with the mincing around in our frilly things? Why the need to do this in public? Isn't dressing in your own home enough? Being a woman is so much more than dressing up and going out and having fun. In fact, she says, real women don't have time for that stuff. They're at home caring for their families, and working.

How do I explain my thoughts to a closed mind? I'm not confident that I can. I told her that if couples counseling is going to be one-sided, like this was, that there was no point in bothering. If everything I convey is just going to used against me, I'll remain silent. I will not be supplying the ammunition at my own execution. At least, no more than I already have.

When I came home from my trip, I had come to the realization that my wife was the most important thing in my world, that I really did love her. And within a month, I have managed to produce a train wreck out of that epiphany. Stupid, and naive.

A couple of good things: She is going to start getting her head shrunk, and heaven knows I've got enough material to get my money's worth in my own sessions for several weeks.

Big Sister Is Watching You

"I'm a loser, and I'm not what I appear to be" --The Beatles--

Be careful, friends. My wife has her eye on you. She spent yesterday evening trolling through all my friends' sites, plus those that left quick comments. Needless to say, she was appalled. She has stated that she would never make an online friend, it's just wrong. And, she gave me a list of the ones she was most offended by. I'll keep that to myself, no need to name names. You know whether you're offensive.

The missus is talking up counseling for herself, and as a couple. We did it long ago, but I couldn't talk freely because I had so many secrets. Maybe this time, with everything out on the table now, and me no longer ashamed of my quirks, it might do some good. My worry is that we'll wind up with someone with a bias against the transgendered, who will side completely with my wife. That could spell the end of us. One good thing about all this, she isn't afraid to bring up the topic anymore. She's spilling her guts whenever the mood strikes. I guess that's healthy. I've earned whatever enmity she has for me. So much deceit, so many lies. I do know that she wouldn't be crying about it if she didn't love me. I'll cling to that thought during the storm.

Worlds Collide

I may have made a grave tactical error. Saturday night I told my wife of the existence of my web page and my blog. Sunday night she plugged a few terms into Google, and quickly found my page. She read the entirety of my blog. My desire to share something with her turned into sharing everything with her. Tonight, we had a long talk.

Several people have recently asked me if I want to get caught. Judging from this, you'd have to think the answer is yes. I opened the door, when she hadn't even knocked. If she was disturbed before, now she feels she doesn't even know me. I was hiding so much from her. Mostly, she questions my judgement. She considers my local friends to be deluding themselves, and always refers to them as men. But at least they're flesh and blood. She assumes that my internet friends are deluded, and may well be fakes, malicious people preying on the naive middle-aged crossdresser.

She drew up a list of things that especially disturbed her, and we discussed them one by one. No raised voices, but a lot of crying, mostly her. I still find myself spinning things. I'm so accustomed to omitting uncomfortable facts with her. But I was honest for the most part, trying to explain my motivation for the risk-taking behavior. It's really hard to appreciate our world, when you take your gender for granted. It's very hard for the wives to visualize the emptiness we feel, the longing, the envy. She finds the love of heels to be ridiculous; no real woman loves heels. The piece I wrote about the joy I felt dancing by myself in a red minidress just made her question my taste in clothes, sounding like a drag queen to her.

Her basic message was that men stay in relationships because it's comfortable, and easier than leaving and living alone. Women stay in relationships because they feel stuck. And that's how she feels now. She is worried that anyone could find my site and connect it to the male me, because of all the personal stuff I have revealed. I'm putting my own gratification before the sanctity of my family. So my blog and lists are now set to friends of friends. And she really doesn't like the idea of me putting up a picture of myself.

She wasn't the only one to get a surprise. She told me that she discussed with her sister whether it was a violation of my privacy for her to read my blog. They decided that it was okay, since it was public, and I had sorta invited her anyway. I asked just how much she had shared with her sister. I mean, I was ready to out myself to her anyhow. Turns out she shared the crossdressing info with her sister twenty years ago, when I first revealed my secret. I never knew. That means when she complimented my ability to choose earrings for her long ago, she knew perfectly well why I had an eye for it. Now I have to look at all these memories through a new filter.

She seems resigned to staying with me, but that's because she doesn't have other options. I don't begrudge her these feelings. I've been trying to wiggle out of this bag of secrets for some time now. I knew how explosive the info could be, but I may have held that cherry bomb in my hand a little too long. She's not angry so much as disappointed and confused. I told her that the knowledge that I have to hurt her to get what I need just kills me. But I can't stop this train.

Just the Facts, Ma'am

"Who can be sure of anything, through the distance that keeps you from knowing the truth?" -- Feist--

Two sessions ago, my therapist challenged me to think about how I might categorize myself on the transgender spectrum. She had her own ideas, but wanted me to provide an unvarnished assessment. Given my recent successes, it's time to get into some deeper discussions.

It's been eleven months since this thing took hold and shook me, eight months since I started getting counseling. At first, I could think of nothing but how much I wanted to shed this male body and live a different life. It ate at me, literally, devouring over twenty pounds in four months. Then I got help. I had never met another transgendered person, to my knowledge. I had never spoken to a crossdresser. The internet asserted their presence out there, but I felt very alone.

Since starting therapy , I have gradually grown calmer, better able to see my situation and feelings objectively. I've come to realize that I am not transsexual, at least at present. I was convinced my bell had rung last October. My mission seemed clear. But now, I realize I haven't the fire in my belly to follow through. Transsexuals, in my experience, are an unstoppable force. They try to protect the feelings of others, but they don't let that get in the way. I'm far too concerned with the feelings of others to transform myself completely.

That's not to say that I've stopped moving in that direction. I want to be more feminine than I am. I want bare legs. I want the beard gone forever. I'd love to paint my toenails! Maybe with time, the incremental changes will prove to be insufficient. Maybe I'll baby step my way to womanhood. But the bulk of the transsexuals I know are driven to get to the goal line, but quick. And I just don't feel it. I don't feel the need to invert my genitals. It would seem very alien to me to have breasts all the time.

So for now, I'm going to keep my safe zone. I can be a male anytime, and I pass easily! Yeah, the arm hair is clipped short and bleached, and the fingernails are unusually long, and I wear stuff that's a lot brighter and more feminine than my male peers, and no one's any the wiser. Or, I'm fooling myself, and I will be outed tomorrow by some observant person.

On a related note, I'm feeling very ready to out myself to my brother, and my wife's sisters. This secrecy eats at me. I'd like to be able to be myself with the people I feel closest to. Not to present as Leslie with them, but to be able to drop the filter that I have to run everything through. Say it loud, I'm ambigendered and I'm proud.

Leftovers

Just a couple of items from my trip, before I relegate it to the annals (that's two n's, pervert) of my history:

--- In my last entry, I described getting a sign from on high(?) telling me not to go dress shopping. The following day, Friday, I was unexpectedly told that I wasn't needed at work. If that's not a sign that dress shopping is on the table, I don't know one. So I concocted a plan. I decided to walk over around dusk, so I could see the layout and situation within the store from the street. When I got there, the store was very brightly lit, and I quickly realized just how visible I would be from the street, if I went in. Despite being in drab, I had fully intended to ask to try things on. But ultimately, my downfall was the fear of being seen inside the store by passersby. A failure of nerve, to be sure, but more a matter of timing than a lack of execution. I remain proud of the firsts I've managed this month.

--- The drive to Maryland was about eight hours each way. My coworker, a very conservative man, made more than a few disparaging remarks about homosexuals on the drives. I think he lumps crossdressers and transgendered into that group, as well. I'm ashamed that I didn't have the courage to call him out on his bigotry. In my head, I was screaming for him to shut up, while outside I passively let him have his say. If I had pointed out that they were just humans being, he probably would have chalked it up to my liberal bent, as we have had verbal dustups before. But for whatever reason, I just felt too exposed to go after him on this subject. Not my proudest moment...

Lessons Learned

I got my end date for my trip. I'm driving home Saturday. Glad to be going back, but Ill miss some things here too. For instance, the ability to come home every night and be Leslie as long as I want. I could choose from outfits hanging in my closet, instead of rummaging through bags and boxes in various undisclosed locations. And I just found it great to be able to leave heels and makeup lying about my room without a worry.

I had fully intended to go dress shopping Thursday. Set my clock early (for me), had a plan, had built up a head of steam after my shoe escapade. The electricity went out at the hotel a half hour before my wake time. The power was out throughout the mall that I had planned to go to. The power came back on about five minutes after we left for work in mid-afternoon. I concluded that the universe, and whoever might be running it, was sending me a message. "Don't do this now."

Actually, I heard it in all caps, shouted. It was enough to make an agnostic wonder.

It was really fortuitous for this trip to come so close on the heels (pun intended) of my first outing as Leslie. I took the confidence gained, and got to bask in it and reflect on it, away from the stink eye that I might have received at home. And I was so pumped (pun again), I parlayed it into another first, trying on and buying heels in person as a male. This is all very exciting for me! Doing a little living...

My best girlfriend Shannon has repeatedly shown me, by example, the power of overcoming your fears. If you know the fear is irrational and unfounded, you just have to push through it. Just do it. Leslie is a lot more courageous than the Charlie Brown mope I was for forty-plus years. I still look more or less like that guy, but Leslie is in charge now. And she doesn't dither. She makes a plan and (eventually) follows through. And maybe it's time to stop referring to her in the third person.

Thinking Aloud

"I can still fly, but not half as high as once I wanted to"
"Space Race Is Over" Billy Bragg

I was chatting with a friend today, when a question was asked of me. I've considered it before, but maybe not so directly. We were discussing the difficult decisions that we transpeople have had to make. "If the world had no expectations of you, what would your goal be?"

If I were single and childless, and an orphan(!), I think I might go for the whole ball of wax. Deep down, I'm convinced that I would be more content being a woman. What it comes down to, for me, is liking yourself. Of late, as I have leapt fitfully forward, I find I like the person in the mirror more than I ever have, which is faint praise, but progress. To like myself at all is a major change.

But I'm not single, or childless, or an orphan. There are many people in my world who would be profoundly disturbed even by the little I've accomplished so far. Certainly, my wife is disturbed by my antics, though she's keeping it more to herself now. I dearly love my wife, despite some of the venting I have done here. She's the only partner I've ever had, the only person I ever dated. We've been together since high school. And I won't leave her, unless I get an ultimatum. I'll do my best to shield her as I explore the world of Leslie, but I don't think I could surrender that part of me now, not like I did before.

When we were about 24, we separated. Not ostensibly about the crossdressing, but she was upset by it. I immediately started collecting the artifacts I would need to make crossdressing a much bigger part of my life. I didn't know it till recently, but that episode was the first time that Leslie tried to break loose. I just thought of it as a shameful impulse at the time, and wound up back with my wife, committed to being a man and a husband, and soon a father. But my insides had been crushed. I was sleepwalking through life for twenty years. A lot of memories are not vivid, because I really didn't have emotion attached to them. It's like they happened to someone else, and I got a briefing, or watched a tape of it.

Well, I'm done with that. I can feel now. I look in the mirror at the end of the day, and through the eleven o'clock shadow and the receding hairline, I see Leslie. My heart flutters, the hair on my arms stands up, and I smile. I'm clueless about how far I need to take this to be content. I just know it's further down the road.

Shopping in Drab

"Everyday I get closer to the place inside where I can be normal too"
"Normal Like You" Everclear

The plan has been executed. I bought a pair of heels in drab in broad daylight, and lived to tell the tale. It was exhilirating.

This is not a place where you can hide in the racks. The shelving is low, so they can keep an eye on you. I was browsing deep in the bowels of the women's section, in full view of a warehouse size store. Standing around the 12s and 13s, there was no doubt that I was shopping for myself. And when I stepped out of my shoes, and started slipping my stocking (literally) feet into heels, the commitment was full.

Just like going out dressed the first time, the hardest part was over once I passed through the door. They've got force fields on them, or something. I have to push myself through, but once in (or out) I relax a little. Too late to turn back, so enjoy the ride.

Thirteen was their largest size, so the selection wasn't what I had hoped. Nothing in the way of slings in my size(damn!), but slings were everywhere around me, taunting me, offering themselves to dainty-footed girls. I had to settle for a small collection of pumps. I wound up with a pair of black open toe pumps in size 13 with a kind of faux satin finish, 3-inch heels. They'll look great with my favorite black skirt. Hell, they look great with the boy clothes I'm wearing now. Gettin' my gender freak on.

Dare I walk over to the Dress Barn tomorrow morning? I'd love to pick up an inexpensive LBD. Yeah, I know you're supposed to buy the dress first, then shoes to match. So sue me. I'm a new girl.

Road Trip

The call came down: Maryland needs transwomen. So off I went.

Well, sort of. I have come to Maryland for work, probably for a couple weeks. I'm so glad I had my outing last weekend. I couldn't have stood another delay. Most of Leslie traveled in my suitcase, all but the hair. I knew I wouldn't be going out anyway. I can't risk being seen by my coworker. I travel a couple times a year usually, but I've never brought more than a few undergarments with me before. But now, Leslie is such a large presence in my everyday life, I can't see leaving her home that long.

Around the corner from the hotel is a large shopping center. Off Broadway Shoe Warehouse is calling my name. I'm so tempted to slip on some pantyhose, and go look for a pair of black slings. Really, there are a lot of shops catching my eye, Victoria's Secret among them. I have the advantage of real anonymity here, not the false sense I have at home. Lexington may have a quarter million people, but it has a small town feel to it, and you're always running into people you know.

So, I have clothes and makeup to play with in my room, and more free time than I'm used to. How could anything other than trouble ensue?

Okay. Yeah. It Was a Milestone.

As Suzi noted, I composed the last entry at a very late hour. Rather than being wired, I was physically exhausted and emotionally spent. But I felt I had to write it down while it was fresh. It was a great day. Eating out as Leslie has brought a grin to my face more than once today. My heart always sings when I get to be myself, and it had been almost four months since my last hair-to-heels experience. Tooooo long...

I promise I'll put up a picture when I receive it (them?). I'm at Tara's mercy till then (and likely not the first). When she took the pics, she said she had stolen my essence. I can only imagine the craven things she might do with someone's essence. I know I'm not objective about my looks, and the internet would be a duller place if only "beautiful" people posted their pics. So, I hope everyone's expectations have been properly lowered!

I'm very touched at the outpouring of stories and encouragement. What a great bunch of girls I have looking out for me, online and locally. So many people care about me, and incredibly, what I take away from it is to take myself less seriously. I'm lucky to have several gals mentoring me. God knows I need propping up sometimes.

So I guess I'm a different person today. I accomplished something I've dreamed about for a quarter century. Damn, I feel old when I say that.

One Small Step for a Kinda Woman

"Lipstick is a sign of my declining mind" -- Ani DiFranco--

It wasn't starting in a promising way. Family matters had me running an hour behind. Shannon had emailed me to say she couldn't come to the meeting after all. A sinking feeling was coming on. Unwarranted, as it turned out.

I had to change into Leslie with more haste than I would've liked, once I finally got to Cassie's. But after donning the uniform, the tension eased. The nerves were gone. Maybe a few butterflies left, but only the pretty ones. And at last, the new wig had its maiden voyage. She comported herself very well. I felt much less self-conscious and more prettier(!?).

So, anyway, Cassie, Kim, Cindy and myself all went out to an Irish restaurant. Cassie is friendly with the waitress there, and had given her a heads up about who was coming. My biggest worry there was not being seen by a hostile public, but making sure my wig wouldn't smell like corned beef tomorrow. I'm surprised long-haired women can eat without tieing their hair back. It was not a busy place, and I stayed calm inside, except maybe a little quiet panic walking in and out of the place. There wasn't a lot of staring. We were mostly ignored. Yay! So now I've been out as Leslie. In hindsight, not that big a deal, but I'm very happy to have done it.

I was thrilled when Shannon showed up at the meeting. She brought her camera as promised, but the batteries were dead. I didn't care. Just glad I got to spend time with my friend. And Tara took a picture of me. I glanced at it and all I could see was boy-me in drag, but maybe I'll like it better when I get it. I am no better at posing for pictures as Leslie, apparently, than I've been as a male. It probably would have been better to do a candid shot of me chewing or yawning. No forced smile. If it's not completely hideous to me, I'll post it.

The wife was a little pissed when I got home. I guess I haven't adequately communicated the end time of our meetings. She had a totally wrong idea. So I feel I'm in the doghouse a bit, but I did apologize. She hasn't yet asked me about my experiences tonight. Maybe tomorrow. I would like to share it with her. I'm certain I'll look back on this day as a milestone.

Piling On

"Just 'cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there" -- Radiohead --

How much tragedy can a person endure?

It's not a rhetorical question. I really want to know. In this instance, I'm not bemoaning my own situation, but that of my wife. In the last eight months, she has endured an extraordinary number of stressful events. The litany:

Her oldest sister died suddenly. We adopted a dog and two cats belonging to her sister, that we have neither room nor money for. My wife's workplace burned to the ground two weeks ago, leaving looming questions about her employment and our income. Oh yes, and her husband announced that he has a burning desire to be female.

Today, the (recently ex-) husband of another of her sisters shot and killed himself. At this point, we don't know why, or if there was a note, but he had been laid off last week. I spoke to him about that on Saturday, and he was in good humor, more upbeat than he's been in some time. It's clear to me in hindsight that he had already decided his fate, and he wasn't feeling the burden of an uncertain future anymore.

All this stuff makes me feel incredibly selfish in adding to my wife's emotional load. I've been caught up in my impending fun this weekend. My wife apologized to me today, before the suicide news, because she's been quietly angry about my desire to go out in public as Leslie. I hadn't realized it was bothering her. She's very worried about my safety, and about the risks involved if I were recognized by someone. Is it right for me to follow through with this, when she already has so much on her plate? I don't know. I've got some thinking to do.

Leslie Time

"I couldn't have one conversation if it wasn't for the lies, lies, lies, Still I want to tell you everything till I close my eyes"
"Bad Reputation" Freedy Johnston

A few significant things since last time:

Tuesday, the missus was looking high and low for a couple of denim skirts she used to wear before her second pregnancy. Guess who had them... A year ago I would have feigned ignorance, and I considered it this time. She left the room, and when she returned I had the skirts laying on the bed. She put her hands on her hips and said, with some amusement, "You appropriated my skirts!" (Who talks like that?) I pointed out that I appropriated them some time back when I thought she was never going to see size 12 again. She's lost about 30 pounds since Christmas.

She then asked if I had appropriated a sundress that was missing. I told her (truthfully) that I had not, but I would keep an eye out for it.

Sunday, I finally got around to bleaching the hair on my arms. Please try to stifle your yawns, this was important to me. I did it with the full knowledge of my wife, and no argument from her. The results were a little uneven, and not as light as I would like, but it'll be better next time. On the bright side, a more subtle shift might ensure no one notices at work. Like I care. Many thanks to Shannon for pointing me toward this option. I never considered anything short of complete hair removal, but I think I'm going to like this a lot. The wife was interested in seeing the results, and offered no criticism of any sort. Go figure!

For about a week now, I've been looking for an opportunity to drop my female name in conversation with my wife. The chance came Wednesday. She was wrapping up her talking points, and asked if I had anything to talk about. (She has started asking this on occasion. Most welcome!) It went something like this: (apologies to Jenn -- theft is the sincerest form of flattery)

Me: You know, you were right.

She: About what?

Me: I should have gone to my meeting last week.

She: I told you so. What changed your mind?

Me: I'm just feeling a strong need for some Leslie time.

I wasn't looking at her when I said it, but peripherally I saw her head turn toward me quickly when I said the magic word. But she didn't follow up on it. I got the idea to do it from The Silence of the Lambs. The girl in the well tells Buffalo Bill her name in an attempt to humanize herself to her captor. Now, my wife is not a serial killer, and I am not her prisoner (debatable?), and if anyone was assembling a woman suit, it would be me. But I hope giving that part of me a name will make it more real, more tangible to her. Less of a concept, more of a person.

It's becoming easier to talk about this stuff with her, and easier to be honest about it, too. Life will be a lot nicer if this is out in the open for the long term. (And with this, I have used my parentheses allotment for July.)

The Crux

This morning, she wanted to talk a little more about my desire to go out in public. She's worried that being in a new, exciting, fun situation, and feeling misunderstood by my wife, that sexual misconduct might occur. She says it's largely a trust issue, what with me hiding much from her for so many years. That's fair. She wanted to know about the sexual orientation of my friends. Don't really know them that well. I'm sure they cover the spectrum. Note to self: Wife does not approve of sexual activity with others, especially "men." Check.

We talked more about my desire to have her meet my female self. I want to show her that I don't look completely ludicrous. I want her to know what a different person I am as a woman. She doesn't see it happening and feels I'm pressuring her into something she doesn't want. I told her that I really don't expect it, but I'm still allowed to hope for it anyway, and I will continue to express that hope if asked. She doesn't want to meet the woman that, in her mind, I had a twenty year affair with. She's jealous and resentful of that woman, who stole much of my sexual energy. I've made it clear that that aspect is done. This is no longer a fetish for me.

I think it's a very good sign that she initiated more discussion on the topic. At least she seems to realize that we will have to deal with this, as it won't go away. She's being straightforward about her concerns, and seems to be hearing my responses. Fingers crossed.

Suspicious Minds

Tonight we talked.

When I mentioned my plan yesterday, her first thought was that the numbers didn't add up. There was something I wasn't telling her. I know I'm a terrible liar, so I told her that Cassie and I had been planning to eat out before the meeting. She didn't freak out. She was deeply resentful that I can't find time to go out with her, but manage to arrange something with a friend.

She also doesn't understand why I need to go out into the public arena. Frankly, I don't know. She thinks this means that I want to live as a woman, and I'm going to spring this on her in five or ten years and leave her in the lurch. The truth, I said, is that I can't imagine living as a woman full time, or SRS. I see myself living somewhere between genders. Probably a more androgenous or metrosexual look that would allow me to slip between boy and girl mode more easily.

She was surprised by my decision not to go to the meeting. She approves of my attending them, but hates that it takes away one of our few nights together. She didn't get why I wasn't going. This is my chance to dress, with like-minded people, in a safe environment. My decision was based on a lot of things, including absence of close friends, a perfectionist streak working against me, the unbleached arm hair necessitating a last minute wardrobe change (long sleeves!), and having to throw my gear together at the last minute. Just not worth the effort. And, she believes, a passive -aggressive desire to hold her responsible at a later date. There's something to that theory as well.

I did explain that I need more safe time in female mode, that I haven't been able to fully engage in three months, that our "arrangement" isn't sufficient. She believes that leaving me to my own devices in the basement in the wee hours of the morning should be safe enough. But I see a kid barfing or bleeding in the middle of the night, and Dad being needed. Or a child having insomnia and wandering downstairs. I might be able to whip off a wig and throw a blanket over my clothes, but there's no way I could indulge in makeup. It's just too risky.

She believes this to be tolerant, but I still feel I'm fighting her to get this, and what I'm getting isn't enough. I don't know how far I need to go down this road, but I haven't gotten there yet. I tried to explain that there's a lot of gray between the two gender standards. Not sure she believes that's where I'm headed.

There was more, but we talked over an hour and covered a lot of ground. This was the most open I've been with her. I decided to share quite a few of my secrets with her. She was a little upset a couple times, but mostly it was calm and mature.

So what I've learned is: create a crisis, suffer the consequences, have the heart-to heart you wanted in the first place as a reward for creating a crisis. A perfect circle, perfectly dysfunctional.

When Is It My Turn?

My life is like a shop-vac, it sucks and blows.

I knew it was coming. I put it off till I couldn't anymore. I had to tell her that I wanted to be away longer than the usual meeting length. Why do you need to do that, she asks. Well, I'm planning on dressing at a friend's apartment, because the bathroom at the meeting site is really not designed for such. Why would you need to leave that much earlier, just to get dressed? OK, I probably don't have to leave that early. So, would you be willing to let me go out and have fun for seven hours while you are responsible for the kids? (That's a rhetorical question--she doesn't want an answer)

And that was the end of the conversation. I couldn't tell her that Cassie wanted to take me to a quiet little T-friendly restaurant, so I could get my first public outing under my belt. Because she would freak out.

All I want is to wring a little bit of joy out of my pathetic life without having to hurt the one I love. I just want permission to enjoy myself for a few hours a month. I'd love to include her, but she has ruled that out. I desperately need to spend time as "myself", whoever the hell that is. I'm never going to figure it out at this rate. I haven't dressed completely for exactly three months today, and that day was tempered by "the note" she dropped on me as I left for my meeting.

When do I get to be happy? I just finished bawling for a half hour, ten feet below and 20 feet west of my snoozing wife. I'm that close to her, but I could just as well be on Mars (well, Venus) for how disconnected I feel from her. I keep hiding huge chunks of my double life to protect her, but I can't tell her I'm protecting her. So the little I have to reveal, I get punched in the proverbial gut. Do I have a martyr complex, or what?

My best friends Shannon and Tina aren't going to be at the meeting, and my enthusiasm has waned completely. And this emotional upheaval has occurred during the time I was planning to bleach my arm hair. I'm probably going to just skip the whole thing. Then I can really revel in my suffering. I'm big into S&M (Sulk & Mope), a real peach to be around.

Sucks and blows...

Learning Curve

"I'm wearing the shoe till it fits, then I'm calling it quits" -- Aimee Mann --

I'm feeling much freer to talk about my TG life with the missus of late. She's very nicely opening the door, asking if there's anything I want to talk about. Today she even asked about my therapy session. She has never expressed any interest before in the content of my treatment. I'll address anything she's curious about if it keeps the talk flowing.

My friend Cassie called me tonight. Last month she offered to let me dress for our meeting at her apartment, then go out for a bite to eat before the meeting. I had to cancel abruptly on short notice when the wife boiled over. Cassie kindly made the same invitation for the August meeting. She's very understanding and forgiving.

I got in trouble last month because I made my plans without consulting my spouse. Not this time. I told her that Cassie had repeated her invitation. No fireworks, but she is clearly worried about me doing anything out in public. She is again making noises about taking the kids to Cincy that weekend. Maybe, maybe not. Regardless, I'm going to run any tentative plans by her. She deserves that consideration.

I'm so used to hiding everything about my other life. It's practically a reflex to deny the facts or change the topic. I'm having to relearn how to communicate with her. The other day, I was making a grocery list, with her rattling off items. I told her to slow down, as I hadn't learned shorthand in the steno pool. Then I quickly added that I had mastered the dress code there. This joke would not have been made a month ago, but my comfort level, and hers, has risen. If I can manage not to screw this up, my life may be pretty tolerable. And isn't that the American dream?

Pros & Cons

Fears are starting to creep back in. It's easy to talk big two weeks before something, but as it gets closer, the negatives begin to loom larger.

The positives: I'm confident I'll be able to wear short sleeves, because the bleaching test area worked out nicely. If the wife and kids are out of town, I have extended Leslie time. I have tentatively arranged to change clothes at a friend's apartment, so I can get the makeup and hair right and arrive at the meeting as a woman.

The negatives: I've never been out driving as Leslie, and this will be in daylight. I'm losing my nerve about going out afterwards, which doesn't bode well for how I'll feel Saturday. And I'm still not very confident about passing, even with nice hair, as I'll still be well over six feet tall (and that will never change!).

I'm reaching the conclusion that attending support group meetings was a big step for me, but it's a molehill compared to going out in public. Group meetings are really just an extension of the closet. It's almost as safe as my bedroom, and there's little risk of criticism or judgement. The public is going to be less forgiving. I'm fairly thin-skinned and emotionally delicate, so I fear I'll shrink into myself at the first negative comment. The nagging negative thoughts are always right below the surface, waiting to spill out. I don't think it will take much of a push to go back there, despite how far I've come. A little success would go a long way toward putting the demons to rest.

Letting Hope In

"You can make it in your disguise, just never show them the fear in your eyes"
"Stage Fright" The Band

It looks like my planets may be aligning. My wife and I had believed she would have to work Saturday July 5th. Tonight she calls me from work to say she isn't on the schedule. I didn't say it, but this means I can go to my monthly support group meeting. A minute later, she says she might go to Cincy that day with the kids. I could scarcely breathe as the possibilities swirled around my head.

Leslie might just make a public appearance if I don't have to come straight home. It might even start during the daylight hours. Maybe get my picture taken.

I feel the hope building in me. That scares me. I'm setting my self up for a crash. My wife is notorious for changing her plans at the last minute. I can get all my ducks in a row, and she might decide Saturday afternoon that the trip isn't feasible. It's happened before.

I need to stay grounded while making preparations: bleaching my arm hair, getting some wig maintenance lessons and products from Pamela, maybe see if anyone will be bringing camera equipment, choosing what I might wear. I have to contain myself, or I won't sleep for two weeks. My heart is pounding just contemplating it all.

Lamaze Delivers

"When will you discover who you really are inside? Follow any other reason and you won't be satisfied" -- Matthew Sweet

I spent four quality hours Friday with my new wig. The hair just makes all the difference.

All in all, a pretty good week, on an even keel emotionally. And with that came a great desire to be one with Leslie. Not in the usual catch-as-catch-can throwing together of a few femme items. No, I wanted the whole enchilada. Didn't get it; I never seem to have time or opportunity to do makeup. But I came close enough to satisfy the craving.

I dressed, I danced, I strutted, I frolicked (Or was it cavorting? I forget which). I wore a blood-red lace lined minidress. With the wig, I just felt so complete, so real. I spent a lot of time gazing at myself. I can feel my confidence growing. The new hair softens my face. My eyes don't look so deep-set. It's not an unattractive face. I worked on my smile, got to about half the wattage of Tara's grin. I'm starting to really want to get pictures made. I'm tiring of being a faceless cartoon.

It occurred to me that Leslie is having a growth spurt. The ages of six to 43, the time of wishing and crossdressing, was the gestation period. Last October, labor began when the urgent need to change took hold. The mental contractions continued through mid-January. Then Leslie was born on January 18th. Awkward, tentative first steps. This new child needs nurturing. Take her to a counselor. Show her off at support group. Build her self-esteem. Now I think she's entering her teens. Wants to show the world who she is, what she has to offer, create an identity. (This tortured metaphor is brought to you by your friends at Blogco. Ask your doctor if blogging is right for you. Side effects may vary.)

These are the thoughts that enter one's head when staring too long at one's own reflection. Probably excessive, but harmless enough if you don't do it while driving.

This Note's For You

I'm happy to report that handing the note to my wife wasn't required. After the family took me out for Mexican, she invited to the basement to talk while she did laundry. She was pleasantly surprised that I was concerned about communication. She says she's been conditioned recently to think that wanting to talk means I want to make some drastic change in my physical appearance, a la removing all body hair. So, we talked.

I told her that I'd put it off as long as I could, but it was killing me to hold it in. She laughed when I said that I was trying to achieve some feeling of normality, calling that unlikely in my case. She asked if I was going to pick her brain about fashion tips or my winter palette. I said maybe. She cried hard thinking about her sister's death in March, so many tasks still left undone. We discussed the note she dropped on me on my birthday, saying it still pretty much sums up her feelings and worries. We talked at length about my recent bout with depression. I told her that I've decided to go with bleaching my arm hair, given the debacle with shaving my upper arms.

In short, we had a good, long, calm give and take about where things are. There's still plenty that went unmentioned. I'm glad I didn't have to divulge the blog, as I'm not sure she would approve of airing dirty laundry. I didn't tell her about my wig purchase last week. Really, she doesn't want to know stuff that would upset her. But she says the door has always been open to talk about my friends and the like. I beg to differ, but if she wants to believe that, I'll let her.

Not perfect, but a real step forward that could ease tensions on my end. I'll continue to try hard not to upset her, because her emotional plate is very full. I don't want to be a burden to her. Just an equal partner.

Whose Day Is It Anyway?

Well, I tried. I thought that I'd be able to entice my wife into a conversation as a Father's Day gift. She didn't want to do something that would make her stomach hurt, so we watched a movie together, as she had planned for us. Spoiler alert: Harold and Kumar do make it to White Castle. Thankfully, it wasn't Sophie's Choice or Schindler's List, because the tears were at the ready.

Today, she has gone with the kids to see her dad, so I started writing. I'll share it with you:

How are you doing? What's on your mind? Is everything all right?

These are questions that convey concern for another. The answers to these questions create a sense of shared intimacy. That intimacy is the foundation of a successful relationship. These questions are at the heart of the problems in our marriage.

I don't ask these questions very often, but frankly, I don't need to. The answers to them are the content of practically all of our conversations. And that's fine. That's what I signed on for all these years ago. These conversations make us closer. I like knowing the ins and outs of your experience.

But there's a gaping hole here. I have been living what I will modestly call an "interesting" life. I'd like to share details of it with you. Not to make you feel bad, but because I need to feel that shared intimacy with my wife. We don't talk about my life.

I'll give you an example. Last week, I had a very rough time emotionally. My therapist has recently noted that she's seen me slipping into a bad place for weeks now. And I finally made it there last week. I fell into a heavy depression, mitigated somewhat by the Zoloft. I slipping down a hole and you didn't know anything about it, because you didn't ask those questions and I was uncomfortable volunteering the information without an opening. When I learned that my weekly session had been dropped from the schedule, I had a complete meltdown at work. My fallback, my release valve, was gone. We talked on the phone several times that night, and I held it together during those conversations. But I was dying inside with the desire, the need, to spill my guts to you. The invitation never came. We talked about the things on your mind. And that's fine. But it's incomplete. Without the face-to-face possibilities with you or my therapist, I fell back to the internet.

I wrote about my situation on my blog. Yes, I have a blog. Writing about my experiences has been very therapeutic, and I've forged a bond with a world much bigger than the inside of my head. There's a commonality of experience, a shared path, that makes us a community. There are many personal variables, but the standard story is essentially a sitcom formula: Boy meets girl, boy is girl, friction ensues. Like a sitcom, except nothing funny ever happens.

So, I wrote about the dire place I felt I was going, the despair that I was feeling. And the online community responded. My friends shared their stories, their empathy, some offered phone numbers because I was clearly desperate to talk to someone. They came through in a big way because they've been there themselves. They know the pain I'm feeling. But the one I wanted to talk to was you.

We chose one another 26 years ago. We've lasted through thick and thin (a lot of thin) against great odds, I think. I freely admit that I made egregious mistakes regarding disclosure of the truth, and the timing thereof. I wish I could change the way I've handled things. But until we can afford to buy that wayback machine, we're stuck with our present circumstances.

What I'm asking for, I guess, is that there be more give and take. I love talking with you about the difficulties you encounter, and trying to help you think through them. But I need the same consideration from you, some reciprocation. I need to discuss the successes and failures of myself and my friends, just everyday mundane stuff, the details that make life interesting. Without the opportunity to discuss a large chunk of my day-to-day life with my spouse, I'm feeling more and more disconnected from you. I need to feel the intimacy that naturally follows from easy, and hard, communication. I need to feel a sense of normality about my life, strange as it must seem from the outside. I need you to at least feign interest in my mental and emotional state. Or, ultimately, we have nothing.

I really do love you, and I just want to feel closer to you. Can we talk?

I didn't want to have to write this, but it seems the only way I'll get my point across. I'll let you know how it plays.

Brief Happy Note

"Some people like to make life a little tougher than it is" -- CAKE --

The rollercoaster of this week is reaching a crest now. I picked up my wig today. It's even better than I'd imagined. I spent about three hours dressed (sans makeup), and just kept breaking into spontaneous grins. I got goose bumps every time I glanced at my reflection. "I know that girl!
Where have I seen her before?" Actually, I greatly resembled my oldest daughter. I've always thought I would have turned out much like her with the right hormone infusion at puberty. Suspicion confirmed.

This, even without the makeup and with the hairy arms, was the Leslie-est I've ever felt. I was in a windowless room, with storms raging outside, but the sun shone on me tonight. I wish this could last.

Some Relief

"In the end, compassion has to be the greatest family value"
"King James Version" Billy Bragg

I guess it's always darkest before the dawn. I got a reprieve from my therapist. There was a cancellation today and I got in. Very productive, and very much needed. I'm number one on the waiting list for next week, and we scheduled me every week thru December. No more snafus!

I'm still not sure of everything I want to say to the little woman, but we did work out a gentle way into the conversation that I think I can pull off.

I was also lucky to have someone working with me in the office tonight. I got to concentrate on the Reds game instead of my own worries. I think I get into trouble with only my own company at work. Too much opportunity to ruminate.

If you can't tell, I feel better now. Not out of the woods, fer sure, but not despairing either. The comments and offers of phone numbers were unexpected and gratifying. Thank you for caring. I keep underestimating the value of this community to me. You recognized a cry for help and leapt into action. That's pretty special, and an example I hope I can emulate.

The Dam Breaks

"I don't want to be the hollow man" -- REM --

The tears finally fell tonight at work. At least for a few minutes.

I've been hanging on this week, struggling with my emotions, but feeling a little better each day, knowing my counseling session was coming up. The whole litany of issues I've expounded on here have been spinning 'round my brain. I think it weren't for the Zoloft, I'd be as depressed as I was last winter. That, of course, is why God created Zoloft.

Tonight, it's getting close to 8:00, and I haven't gotten my usual confirmation call from the therapist's office. I start getting a sinking feeling, and call over there. My gut is right. I have no appointment this week or next week. So now I'm on waiting lists. I mean, I only have sessions every week at the same time. How hard can that be?

This could not be more ill-timed. I am so desperate to talk about this crap in my head. Forgive me, I love the correspondence with my friends online, but it's really not the same as face to face communication. So, the great irony, at least from my perspective, is that I'm unable to talk to my therapist about my inability to talk to my wife. My head hurts.

Well, the frustration and anger about potentially holding all this in for two more weeks put me over the edge. The tears fell. Self-pity wasn't enough, but a splash of anger acts like lighter fluid. Nice to know I can still do it. But I really didn't get the relief, or release, I'd hoped for. This was quiet mewling where I need catharsis. If I have to wait another two weeks to talk, I may get several more opportunities to unleash the flood, because I feel like I'm slipping down a hole. I do not want a repeat of last winter.

Duh! A Realization

I think I've figured out what was bothering me, making me want to cry. I think the fact that I haven't had an opportunity to be Leslie, from hair to heels, since April 5th, has caught up with me. Every little reminder that I wasn't getting to realize my true self was triggering a deep sadness.

I thought that figuring out the cause of my recent emotional instability would unleash the flood. Instead, it calmed me. I know the problem and I'll try to find a solution. Like, I don't know, maybe dressing! Not this half-assed stuff I've been settling for lately, underdressing just to stay in touch with the real me.

At the last minute, I managed to go to my support meeting Saturday. I went in drab, at least in part because of the oppressive heat. I shared my real first name during introductions, since I was in boy-mode. Tara had suggested recently that it was safe to open up more to the group, so I did. I was very gratified that everyone continued to call me Leslie, despite my outward appearance. Coming in drab now, after establishing my female look with the group, was probably seen as more courageous than my first stammering, ashen appearance in February. I even got my first hugs from group members. I really feel a sense of belonging there.

I'll save the tears for another time.

Random Notes: Joy and Darkness

Since I can't seem to trigger a good cry, I'll go with the second-best choice. I'll try to purge some of these feelings by writing them down.

-- Listening to the radio a few nights back, a favorite song came on, a salsa-flavored ditty by Kirsty MacColl titled "In These Shoes", about wearing a pair of killer heels. I was dressed at the time and began tripping around the room (the light fantastic, I mean), in my own 4-inch pumps. I spontaneously fell into a fast three-step with crossovers. I felt so graceful and feminine, and I wouldn't have embarrassed myself doing this in public. I didn't sprain an ankle or pull a groin (in either sense). Dancing is way out of character for me. When I dance in guy-mode, it's not pretty. Picture Al Gore with hiccups.

-- Envy is an ugly emotion. It is consuming me. I'm seeing so much success around me. Girls with courage and confidence, passing well, enjoying life, advancing their transitions. I'm thrilled for them. Really. And my comments and support are sincere and heartfelt. But I covet their success. I want to navigate this world with the apparent ease and grace they display. And I simply don't have the tools. It's eating me alive. Envy is so petty and juvenile. I should be beyond this.

-- My wig has come in! Her name is Heidi, and my avatar reflects a pretty good approximation. I've been into the shop to try it on. I love it. Store owner Pam is keeping it for now, stretching it out some, and she's going to trim the bangs a little. A real wig at last at age 44. One item checked off my life list. Now to wear it somewhere....

-- So about this strong desire to cry. I wiggle my hips as I walk; I feel an urge to cry. I glimpse my hairy arm; I feel like crying. I casually touch my hose-clad leg; I wanna cry. WHY? My therapist says it sounds like I'm grieving. This sounds right to me, but it begs the question: What am I grieving?

Maybe the realization that my male self is slowly dying. Maybe the difficulties in birthing this new creature called Leslie. Maybe the bell tolls for my marriage. It's probably some of all these. I just know the emotion comes over me like a wave without telling me what I should be crying about. If I knew the source, I think I could break down.

I came close Thursday night. I was thinking back to my first encounter with Leslie in January, the day my life changed. Likely the most profound twenty minutes I've ever spent. It changed my perception of everything before it, and forever altered my goals for the future. And now, almost six months later, I have not been able to share this critical moment with my life partner. Maybe I never will. That's a tragedy worth crying over.

Raise the Double Standard

I'm not feeling very good about myself today. Therapy has a way of sending me there. We're asking tough questions now. And the toughest issue is figuring out how to have an overdue talk with my wife.

My fear is that it won't be a peaceful discussion. I need that in order to function in a conversation. The thing is, my wife gets to talk with me about anything in her pretty little head. And despite my resolutions to be completely honest with her, I find that you can lead a horse to the truth, but you can't make her listen.

My therapist said today that she's seen me sliding into a bad place for several weeks now, and she was worried about me last week. I can only imagine how she feels after today's session. She's suggesting we set a deadline for the wife talk, because this is eating at me.

What do I want from her? I really just want to be able to mention my friends and their progress or problems. I'd like to talk about my friend with terminal cancer. I'd like to share my success at starting, sustaining, and nurturing friendships online. Just the mundane things that couples discuss, that I don't get to. I've been with her for 26 years now, and she still doesn't really know me. For 25 of those years, that was my doing. Now it's on her. I just want to connect with my life partner on an equal footing. That's not too much to ask.

And if I can't talk with her, I wish I could figure out a trigger for a good cry. I need to wash some of this away so I can think more clearly.

Paging Heloise

And an avatar shall lead them.

My avatar now better represents a short term goal of mine, that of creating some photos of Leslie. I hope she will inspire me to get it done. A change is better than a rest. And now for something completely different.

I used a depilatory cream on my biceps a couple weeks ago. Not bad, I thought. But the maintenance is proving problematic. I'm unable to get a close shave here, with persistent stubble, and a nasty rash about half the time. It looks like my upper arms have been in a biking accident.

My arms score about a seven on the Robin Williams scale. If this small area is any indication, shaving the entirety of my arms will make me as prickly as a cactus. Unacceptable! Am I doing something wrong? Are there any special tricks for special gals I should know about? I wanna be smooth!

Overthinking the Avatar

This avatar thing is just a stand-in, till I get the courage to commit my image to film and share it with the world. But the avatar is the only visual representation I have here, so it's doing a lot of work symbolically. Today I realized I have it all wrong.

Stephanie Warrior Princess commented here the other day, and I subsequently visited her page. This is someone who knows how to live, and embraces the world. Her avatar is an excellent reflection of who she is. So what about my gal over there?

My female self lives a very quiet, lonely existence. So I put my avatar in the most remote place made available, Easter Island. I thought I was choosing this locale as a bit of quirky whimsy (a specialty of mine). But no, I was isolating my avatar just as I isolate myself. It's a good thing there wasn't an Antarctic research station available, or a Mars lander, because that's where she'd be.

So, in the hopes of changing my karma and retrieving my mojo, I plan to change the avatar. Maybe she can lead me to a better place if I let her mingle with other people. I wonder if there's a transgender support group background?