The Other Shoe

"Sometimes I name and number all the things you gave to me,
Your elastic love, this velvet-lined purgatory"
"Next Time Round" Elvis Costello

The old malaise has been creeping back. I haven't been able to pinpoint it. For a few days, I thought maybe I was headed for a breakthrough psychologically. It had that impending feel to it. The spontaneous and sudden desire to cry is rearing its head as well.

Last Sunday, the wife and I had conjugals. Not the best session we ever had, and when we (I) were done, I could tell that she was holding back tears. I said nothing about it, but it weighed heavily all week. On Thursday, I was preparing to go to my counseling appointment when she asked if I had stuff to talk about there. I said that I had some things, why? She said that she didn't have time to have a real discussion, but she has a serious concern that is bothering her, implying that it was about me or us. About this time, I was checking my voicemail, and found that my appointment had been canceled. So, she said she would save it for a time when we can talk.

We all know that it's never a good thing when someone says that we need to talk. Now I wait for the Sword of Damocles, looming large over my pretty little head. I feel the need to speculate about the topic. My legs were freshly shorn when we made love. Is she only now realizing that I am maintaining my legs on a regular basis? I received a package a couple weeks ago, a new pair of heels, though she didn't ask what was in the package. I hope she isn't going to take me to task for buying things, because she has told me repeatedly that she will not help me acquire clothes, that I need to take care of it myself.

I am left to wonder what's up. Everything seems fairly normal, maybe a little tension between us, but nothing major. Is she hiding her feelings? Or is it really not a big deal? You'll know as soon as I do.

The Grand Delusion

"I'm not about to lose this feeling that I've found" --Ron Sexsmith--

I've been basking in the warm, healthy glow of happiness now for two weeks. This could well be the longest such stretch of my life. I don't recall another, and you'd think a person would, if it were so. As a lifelong pessimist, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Tonight, I may have heard it.

I was complaining on the phone about my wife going way over her minutes on her cell phone, resulting in a huge bill. I told her that I understood the extenuating circumstances of having both parents hospitalized in December. She then pointed out that the cushion of rollover minutes had evaporated in November. Why was that, I stupidly asked. That was when you did that thing to yourself, she hissed. Oh. The shaving of the legs. Right. She had to talk to her sister at length because she was freaked out and angry.

So, my wife's favorite word comes to mind: deluded. I had begun to let myself think that maybe she was getting accustomed to my legs. We have regular "relations", she hasn't made any snide remarks. Maybe she decided that it wasn't all that important whether your husband has hairy legs or not, just that he is present and participating in the marriage and parenthood. Tonight, I realized that my legs may have been moved to the back burner, but her feelings are still simmering.

A great philosopher, Tina, was telling me last night that happiness is a choice. I never would've believed it before, but I can see it now that I'm on the right side of the fence. I choose to remain happy. I know that this happiness has an expiration date, as I promised to grow the hair back after my March meeting. Maybe I can still maintain this feeling thereafter, maybe not. But I need to embrace this now, and try to make it a habit. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!

Digging in the Dirt

"You can try to run, but you can't hide from what's inside of you"
"Any Major Dude" Steely Dan

I started my blog last March because I had a desperate need to express myself and be heard. It really started in February. One weekend I picked up a legal pad and starting writing the things that were going round and round my head. The first two entries in my blog were already composed before I opened the blog, and several subsequent entries were fleshed out on paper before I typed them. Eventually, I got comfortable in my writing voice, and started composing on the fly, which is the rule now.

But back before the blogging, I wrote a third piece, which I have never submitted to this forum. It was the piece I wrote that first weekend, and it spilled out of me a few sentences at a time over the course of an afternoon, with little editing. This is the oldest artifact of the Lesliezoic Era, and having run across it last week, I decided the time has come for it to see the light. A lot of the material within it has played out on these pages the last ten months. The extended metaphor is kinda obvious and cliched, but I have a soft spot for this one. Having lowered expectations (I hope), I present:

Two Hearts

I possess two hearts. The heart I've shown the world most of the last thirty years is something I cobbled together from cardboard, corrugated tin, and duct tape. It's genuine, it's handcrafted, it's uncomplicated. But it's falling apart, and doesn't have much value to me.

My true heart is made of a shiny metal. Not a heart of gold, but silver or copper, maybe. It's built to last, but it's been in storage for many years. It's tarnished but functional. I was born with this heart. It's original equipment.

My wife has really only known the cheap knockoff. She's attached to it. It's the heart she fell for. I'd like to retire this heart, put it out to sea and set it ablaze. A person only needs one heart. My wife doesn't want to know my true heart. You see, my true heart is female.

Why hide my true heart from her for so long? Fear of rejection. Fear she would think less of me. Fear that it would break her heart. I hid it from myself until very recently. How can you not know your own heart?

The fears are coming true. She rejects the idea of me being female. She thinks less of me for believing this silly notion. And ultimately, her heart will be broken. How many years must I be an imposter, lying to her and the world? I'm not fooling myself anymore, and it's getting harder to fool others. When do I start living for myself?

There you have it, my most ancient relic. As Tina told me recently, I've come a long way, baby. And I've reached a much better place.

Sunshine & Lollipops

I realized today that after saying that I don't do joyous blogs, I went and posted just that. Well, let's continue that trend.
I am still on a high from Saturday's meeting. The euphoria is nowhere near as intense as my first dressed meeting or my public outing, but the effect is longer lived this time. I feel as if I've arrived. Finally. I feel much more serene, and sedate, for that matter. I've concluded that bare legs were what I was after all along, and the rest was frantic overcompensation for their absence. If the wife had just said yes a year ago, a lot of this heartache might have been avoided...maybe.
The "pink fog" has mostly lifted now, and I'm seeing things much more clearly and calmly. I was talking to a new member at the meeting Saturday. She lives in Northern Kentucky, and said that she never goes out there or in Cincy. It's just too risky. And it dawned on me that she was right. My behavior the past year has been outrageously risky at times. I have much to lose, and my wife was within her rights to be furious at me. What was I thinking? I wasn't. I was acting on my impulses, consequences be damned.
I feel like I've matured significantly in the last week, a sensation I've never had before. Maybe the Leslie persona has reached adulthood. No more teenage acting out. My confidence is at a new level. I still want to do things to further the Leslie cause, but I think I can do them temperately now, a major departure. I'm feelin' so good, I'm gonna cut my therapy to every other week! Now that's mental health...

Dopes Spring Eternal

"Dont give up, you have friends" --Peter Gabriel

Saturday night was my support meeting. I did enormous prepping (and primping) in the days leading up to it, but by Friday I was having doubts about my attendance. My wife and her sister made a trip to Cincy to clean up the duplex of their mother and late sister. She said that she knew my schedule and wanted me to go to my meeting. But I know her complete lack of a sense of time, and feared that she would run very late.

We've been leaving my 13-year-old daughter in charge at home with increasing frequency, but I really didn't want to have to lie to her about where I was going. The wife insisted that I go, so I just left my cell number with my daughter and said I'd be back later. My real fear was that I would return from my meeting before my wife got home. Vestiges of eyeliner would make a great name for a band, but it would an unfortunate source of questions if noticed by the wrong parties. As it happened, the wife got home just before me, and I got a chance to remove the last bits of makeup without an audience.

The meeting was a smashing success. Part of my diligence in preparing for the meeting was a result of deciding to wear my favorite dress. All the planets were in alignment. Eyebrows thinner than ever, smoothest legs yet (really getting the hang of it finally), only one big zit. Paint it black, call it a beauty mark. Without a shred of modesty, I grandly say that I've never looked better, so you know that I was feeling pretty good, too. Sad to say, there is no record of it, as my photographer did not make it. This leaves me with a dilemma, whether to wear the same thing some other time or just let it go. I don't want to look like I only have one dress! What's a girl to do? *sigh* Anyway, I had my social hat back on again, and had a grand time.

When I got home, the wife wanted to go to Starbuck's and talk about her very unpleasant day, which I won't go into. She never asked about my event, but then she didn't have anything critical to say about it either. No spews is good news. So, nothing was said to mitigate the good feelings I took away from my meeting. If this continues, I may well cut my therapy to every other week. Huzzah!

Oh, my brother came down at Christmas. I have emailed him many of my best blog entries to indoctrinate him into my world of Leslie. Things were just the way they've always been. Lots of talk about the Reds and Wildcats, plenty of random competitive wordplay, many inside jokes. We're still best friends. He, above all others, understands that I'm still the same person I've always been.