The Varnished Truth

Last Saturday, I sorta had the house to myself. And I did what anyone in my situation would do. I transformed. First time I've done the Full Leslie at home since January of '08. Sad, huh? Well, the intervening months were sad, but Saturday was not.

Okay, not a huge deal, I guess, to anyone who's not me. What excited me about this was painting my toenails. I haven't played with nail polish in at least 15 years. I love the color, the shine, the smell of brain cells dying. Mmmm, lacquer... I did this in preparation for next Saturday's support meeting.

The missus returned with the progeny Sunday afternoon. I'm sure she was wondering why I was wearing shoes all day. Not at all like me. I successfully hid my toes from her for two days, but that game was getting old. Tuesday, I just decided to be my usual barefooot self and see what happened. I spent roughly twenty minutes with her before she noticed. (I guess she doesn't pay attention to feet the way I do!)

"Your toenails are painted..." "Yep." "How are you planning on hiding that from the kids?"

We went on with other topics, as before. No more mention, though I still expect more discussion. I could see the wheels turning.

This has been great for me. This gives me something visual to hang my brain on, distracting me from the infernal, eternal leg hair. My technique won't get me a job in a nail salon any time soon, but the results are good enough to more than satisfy this part-time girl.

Life Out of Balance

"If wishes were cattle, I'd have a ranch" --Lucinda Williams

I've been flirting with renaming this blog. "Sad Sack Stories." "Confessions of a Mope." "Oh, Pity Woman." I don't like where I've been steering this vessel. I'm thinking that I need to change my tack.

One of my favorite films is Koyaanisqatsi. It's a Hopi word that means life out of balance. Another definition offered by the film is "way of life that calls for another way of living." And that's where I think I am.

I invariably label myself a realist, a pragmatist. Adapt to your environment. And I tend to blend in very well as a result. But I've come to realize that with my wife, I'm living in a dream world. I've been thinking a lot about Renee's comment on my previous blog, about false hope. I am putting way too much weight on my wife's acceptance of my condition. She will likely never accept me in the way I would like, and it's foolish to wish for her to do so. I have frequently given the advice that you can't change others, only yourself. And I now realize, finally, that this also applies to me.

So, the time has come to stop holding out hope of her changing, and start making some decisions about what I need to do. Work with my therapist on some realistic goals that don't hinge on my wife's attitudes. I'm not sure what that will look like, but it's time. If she comes around, then fine. But I can't drag her, I can't force her to change. Time to be authentic.

On the positive side, the missus came to me tonight in the nightie I bought for her on Valentine's Day. We are, at last, back in the marriage bed, if ya know whut I mean. I was beginning to think I should become a nun. She genuinely missed me, and I've been ready to be with her for weeks. That's a great burden lifted, for both of us. Love rocks!!

Anticlimax

"I wanna be cool, tall, vulnerable, and luscious"
"Perfect World" Liz Phair

The suspense is over. I finally had to ask what the birthday gift idea was. Oooo, pinch me! It's a DVR! Well, nothing could acknowledge my inner feminine nature more than the ability to record television digitally. Sarcasm aside (for now), this amounts to disguising a household purchase as a gift. She actually likes this for herself. We got a new back door for her birthday. And we all get to use it!

So, I'm disappointed. Maybe for Father's Day I can get some shapewear or makeup. "Here, Dad, be all you can be."

Sorry, a little bitter. Just venting. Life goes on, if you call this living.

Expiration Date

So, the end of my six-month contract has come and gone, without a mention from the wife. Maybe she's forgotten it. Maybe she feels that I broke the agreement a week into it when I shaved my legs, and figured it was a dead issue after that. The world may never know.

It's been six weeks now since I laid down the leg razor. Still waiting for my love life to be renewed. She may be waiting for me to make the first move, but after the rejection I encountered while my legs were still bare, I find myself hesitant to initiate. Who am I kidding? I've never been comfortable initiating. She's always hated that, makes her feel undesirable. But I'm not assertive in that way. I always feared rejection to the point that it caused me physical pain. As I've let Leslie take over my thinking, I do have more courage than before, and I have initiated lovemaking a few times. But I expect that will remain a rarity. A natural submissive, I suppose.

The missus and I have yet to speak about the ugly things she said a week ago. All seems normal and loving, but I fear that may be her "pretending that everything is okay." How long has she felt this way? Why can't I detect it? I feel much more connected to my own emotions, and I think I read others better now too. But not her. Maybe I'm too close to the subject, or she just knows how to hide things from me. We could both teach each other some tricks in that field, I bet.

She says she wants to spend over $100 on a late birthday gift for me. She is convinced that I will love it, but seems to want to reveal her idea, just to be sure she's not throwing money away. I would be shocked if it is anything that addresses my Leslie-ness in any form or fashion. But I find myself with fingers crossed, hoping that maybe she is starting to realize how important her acknowledgement of my very real feelings would be. I'll share the surprise when I find out.

A Well-Traveled Path

It seems we've been over this ground before, but like The Three Stooges lost in the woods, we keep coming back to the same place.

Saturday, the missus and I snapped at each other several times. Overreactions every time. The whole family has been sick, and patience was thin. She suggested that we go out after her shift was done. I nearly declined, as I was tired of reciprocal shouting.

We got a table, and the first conversation I offered was met with utter disdain, like she was listening to the ravings of an idiot. The talk got quite heated several times. At one point, she complained that I wasn't holding up my end of the conversation. I told her that was because I was pissed at her, and didn't really feel like talking to her.

Anyway, it came down to her saying that she's tired of pretending that everything's okay, and that she has no feelings for me. But later she tells me that she wants to get me something expensive for my birthday. Why, I think. If you don't like me all that much, why do you want to go through these motions? I'd be much happier if she bought me a $10 pair of clip earrings, and put in a box that said "To Leslie". Or why not just skip gifts completely, and sock away the money for a divorce lawyer?

On my birthday, she brought home soup and a sandwich from Panera, and a small cake. Just for show for the kids? Maybe, I don't know anymore. It could have been fatigue talking Saturday, or being tired might have allowed her to speak her truth. Time will tell.

Forty-Five Today!!!

And those exclamation points, it seems, will be the full extent of the celebration...

Mum's the Word

The input is appreciated, and it changed my direction. I was leaning toward a minimalist version of my issues to my supervisor. But the most compelling arguments all said to pretend it never happened. So, today I went in with a cheery demeanor and a chipless shoulder, intent on talking about anything but what was on my mind. And all's well so far. Thank you much.

Outed as an Idiot

As things have been relatively calm of late, my subconscious has decided to stir thing up a bit, so that I might have something dramatic to write about.

I've been reading Kate Bornstein's My Gender Workbook, and it's a great book. It's not a great book...to leave at your (shared) workstation last Friday, only to find it on another nearby desk Thursday. I had not missed it, as it lives under my driver's seat, away from the family's prying eyes. I was out sick Tuesday and Wednesday. Now I'm unsure how to proceed.

I don't know who found the book, but it had been found by someone. I don't know if they set it aside quietly, or had a big group hoot about the unknown owner, or a hoot specifically about me, the last person working there. I retrieved the book after the place emptied. I work alone most evenings, so I had a lot of time to think.

No one said anything that I could remotely take as a knowing remark. Either remarkable sensitivity on their part, or maybe the finder realized this wasn't joke material. I should mention that the station I share is with my supervisor (important, no?). I've known him for fifteen years, and we share a lot of pop culture/sports common ground, as well as finely tuned senses of humor.

The question: Do I take him aside, and confide in him (sworn to secrecy, of course)? Or pretend to know nothing, though the book disappearing tonight points the finger at me? Is damage control even possible? Am I better off leaving an unknown number of people to wonder what my story is, or do I take a chance and share with my supervisor, at least to find out how the discovery went down?

And this certainly adds a new dimension to the pierced ears that were likely coming this summer... Any and all input is welcome. I'm deeply divided on how to handle this.