A Moot Point

Perhaps my readers have noticed that I expend a great deal of time and energy worrying about things that never come to fruition. I say, why bust up a good pattern?

Mrs. Leslie took my son to his event (Pinewood Derby qualifying heats), and left me at home with the girls. So, I got neither anticipated outcome. No alone time to be Leslie, no bonding with my boy. I'm okay with the latter. We're close, and he frankly didn't care much about this, though he had his best showing ever and qualified for the district competition. He expressed no interest in going to district, however, so it's not a big deal to him.

I was quite disappointed about my perceived opportunity disappearing, on the other hand. I stewed about it all day, and finally addressed the problem with my wife. She laughed, and told me I was dreaming. She said that she had never intended for the girls to go along, and they didn't go last year either. I shared that the last three months have been very difficult, as the house is never empty of others, and I don't feel safe to do my thing. She's sympathetic, but she made no offers or suggestions to rectify the problem. Just something I'll have to deal with, I guess.

As I write this, I am going ahead with my clothing exploration, figuring out what I have that might go into a new(ish) outfit. I mentioned some weeks ago the two items that my wife graciously passed on to me. I have cut the shoulder pads from the red linen jacket, and I think I will find some use for it, despite it being a bit large for me. The garish sweater, well, on the advice of Sophie, I am keeping it. I've worn it some around the house, and I like the way it feels and fits. I also like the cut of it. The design is growing on me. I'm not ready to show it to the world, but with as little as I have, I'd be a fool to dismiss something that doesn't make me upchuck. That's a low bar, but who am I kidding? Beggars can't be choosers.

Feeling Guilty

Today, I have a dilemma. A choice, really. The direction I am leaning makes me feel selfish.

My son is going to a Boy Scout event in the afternoon. Nothing all that important, but still... Mrs. L has already said that I can skip it if I want. Well, I do want to skip it, at least if it means that everyone else is leaving the house.

I want to spend a few hours figuring out what to wear to next weekend's meeting. I would like to put some things together that would be novel, something I haven't worn to previous meetings. I also need to get my face in order. I haven't dabbled much in makeup since early December, and I think I'll be a little rusty. A dry run with nothing at stake seems a wise course of action. Plus I want to figure out what I can do with the makeup brushes I bought. New ways to apply the beauty means putting in some time.

I just cannot do these things when there are others, especially kids, in the house. I have tried to work this stuff in during the predawn hours, but the occasional child appearances have made me decide that that route is a no-go. This will be my last opportunity to do these things before next Saturday.

Anyway, this seems like a terrible thing for a father to choose over his son's event. Maybe if I had something manly that required my immediate attention, but this? Does this make me a bad parent? I'm not sure, but I'm not feeling great about meeting my needs.

It's That Time Again

The Self Medicating post seems to have caused a little concern with some of you. I had not considered that it could be interpreted as taking hormones on the sly. I frequently choose titles that overstate the content of the posting, but I'm usually cognizant of the layers. Not this time! The joke was on me. Now, on to today's business...

Yes, it's everyone's favorite day, Therapy Thursday. My favorite, anyway. Not much in the way of drama to discuss today, just the way we like it.

I shared with M how my wife has been so generous of late. I showed off my necklace and bracelet from V-Day, too. M especially liked the bracelet (so do I).

We also talked about the abrupt changes going on with my support group. M has many trans clients, so she is very interested in this. I am confident that the group will come through this crisis, but it may look very different. M told me that the group has had drastic changes several times over the years, typically when a director has left. We talked about M coming to talk to the group some time this year, and about the possibility of starting up a group therapy session at her office.

I think I have made a convert of my therapist regarding epilating. I am so pleased with the lasting results I am getting. I went three weeks in December and January, and I had to look closely to really see the growth. I'll be done epilating for the summer after next Saturday's meeting, and I will miss it greatly. Yet, I don't expect the same trauma that I had last year at this juncture. I know that come next fall, I can be my preferred self once more.

My new skirts will likely arrive at M's office on Friday. Grrr! I was hoping to pick them up in conjunction with my appointment. Best laid plans, and all that...

Self Medicating

Nope, I'm not drinking myself into o'blivion. Nor am I popping pain pills, indiscriminately or otherwise. I am, however, taking steps to ward off the ill feelings that have been encroaching, and all without burdening Mrs. Leslie with my issues.

I'm taking small measures to remind myself of who I am, beneath all the extraneous hair below the neck and the lack of hair up top. Tonight, I took a half hour to bleach my arm hair. It's not as good as bare arms, but let's face it, natal women don't usually have bare arms either. Remove the color from the existing hair, and the effect is similar. Good enough for my purposes, anyway.

I also did a bit of etail therapy tonight. I placed a small order from Newport News. They are closing out their winter collection, with some real bargains. I ordered a light brown denim pencil skirt ($14) and a light pink poplin pencil skirt ($12). I had some other things in my basket, but I found my self-control as I was finalizing the order, and removed a couple items. I really have no business ordering anything, but it gives me something to look forward to, and some better options when I get dressing opportunities.

Thanks for the nice comments. I am feeling much better tonight than last night. I hope that my cure lasts me a few days.

Messing With a Good Thing

I am fighting back, but it's a meager effort. It comes out of nowhere. I am having a fine evening, nothing to complain about, when the emotions wash over and pull me out to sea.

Mrs. L is working tonight, but we had a nice dinner with another couple on her break. Good food, good company. Now it's late, I'm computing, and I suddenly just feel so alone, disconnected from the world. There's no cause and effect. It just is.

It makes me want to spill my feelings to my wife. I'm not sure that's a great course of action, maybe pushing more than I should. She's been great in 2010, and I don't want to seem that I'm taking advantage of her good graces. Besides, she'd rather hear tales of brave Ulysses, not tales of weak Leslies. She'd like to think that her husband isn't a bundle of raw emotions, waiting for a trigger. Hell, we'd all like to think that our mates are holding it together well. That's a comforting illusion. Ruining the illusion with truth? That's just cruel.

She has been incredible. We were picking out new glasses yesterday, and, in a private moment, I mentioned that I wanted something gender-neutral that would work both ways. She didn't miss a beat. She knew why and kept it in mind while passing judgment on frames. Today, I told her that my next support group meeting is a potluck, and I have been racking my brain trying to figure out the right thing to contribute. I am neither a cook nor a meal planner. She had several ideas, and I'm confident that she'll continue to make suggestions until I commit to something.

How can I ask for more? I need to lump it and push through it.

The Happy Homemaker

I carry my weight around the house, along with working 45-50 hours outside the home. I'm not afraid of housework. This week, though, my list of chores has increased.

You see, Mrs. Leslie was washing dishes Monday. As she was twisting a sponge inside a coffee mug, the mug broke. She got a nice gash on the base of her thumb that required five stitches. So, the wetter household duties are falling exclusively to me.

On an average day, I leave work around 1am. I frequently stop at the grocery on the way home. At home, I will do some laundry, or pay some bills, along with feeding the dogs. Then I get "me" time till I surrender to fatigue and head for bed. This week, the after work list has doubled, and "me" is taking a back seat. S'alright, I can take it.

I've been wearing a bra to work all week. Jessica Who wrote about starting a 30 day experiment, wearing a bra 24 hours a day. I can't get away with full time wearage, but I'm showing my support (ha!) to the cause, if only for a few days. It's not the most comfortable garment, but the knowledge that I'm wearing it compensates nicely.

Just over two weeks remaining till my first support group meeting since early December. I am ready. These months continue to be a struggle. The inability to be oneself for so long is something I wouldn't wish on anyone. Now I can count days instead of weeks, so that's a positive. The March meeting is going to be a potluck sendoff for Samantha and Keith. Miss Leslie Homemaker will have to decide what she wants to bring.

Score!

As a rule, I hate Valentine's Day. I never have a clue what to give, or how much to spend, or whether to be serious or light. Well, we went ahead and celebrated a day early, as it was Saturday, and she works on Sunday evening.

We had a lovely meal at her favorite Italian place. I reminded her about a Blackstone Merlot that she had loved another time, and she ordered a bottle. I don't drink the stuff, but I make a point to help her remember what she likes. This pleased her. We had bruschetta to start, tasty salads, pasta entrees, and raspberry tiramisu. A fine meal and good conversation.

As usual, she does most of the talking, especially at the beginning. I am accustomed to letting her wind down for awhile, then pick up the ball if any time remains. Tonight's was a long meal, so I got my chance well into the entrees. I decided to talk about our leadership crisis in my support group, a risky ploy, but it went fine. I described the situation, and she had lots of questions and ideas. She exhibited no discomfort as I called my friends by female names and pronouns. We also talked about the DSM-V draft that went online last week. I introduced the concept of autogynephilia to her, and told her how relieved we are that it seems to have been left out of the document. It was a very frank talk, without confrontation or editing. Delightful.

Oh, and gifts were exchanged. We had a good laugh when we discovered that we had chosen cards from the same series for one another, nearly identical! (Have I mentioned how long we've been married?!) She has been bugging me to arrange some dance lessons for over a year, so I quietly acquiesced. I'm actually looking forward to it, except that I'll have to lead, and my attire won't flow the way I would prefer. She gave me a sterling silver rope chain that I adore. It's very shiny and catches the light nicely. Being a bit of a magpie, I like shiny things.

In the same bag was another package. She said that it was a birthday gift to make up for last year! She said that she wants to feel like less of a louse, since she now knows that it was important to me. It was a sterling silver bracelet, just perfect. She told me that both pieces are men's items, but she got the most delicate things they had so that I could use them either way.

I do believe that she is starting to get it. I'm not seeing the flinching when the dread topic is broached, nor any reticence to discuss openly. Talking about TG issues did not put any kind of damper on her mood. I might just have to bump V-Day up past Groundhog Day on my list of preferred holidays.

Wanted: Leader

I missed last Saturday's support group meeting, but bad news shared there has reached me through an email from my pal Sylvia. Our group president, Samantha, announced her immediate resignation. She is moving out of state to be near her mother.

TransKentucky has been around for about seven years, at least by that name. Last October, we made a big leap by becoming a non-profit organization. We can now take in money through dues in order to have a public presence at Lexington Pride and other events. This wouldn't have happened without Samantha, who did the job mostly herself. She has given the group a direction that it sorely lacked when I joined up.

Her replacement is not readily apparent. One factor is our non-profit status. Our president will have to be someone who is out, willing to put their name on documents. This rules out many of us, including me. And I'm not sure I see anyone that would relish taking the reins. We may wind up rudderless just when we've caught a trade wind. I am confident that the group will survive despite the current leadership crisis, but there may be some major morphing taking place. For now, we'll be saying goodbye to our first and former president at the March meeting.

Sundry Items

-- On the 46th day of Christmas, we finally took down our tree. I missed the fun, as I was at work. It is long past the time that the city would come around and pick up said tree. So, my creative wife used a handsaw to cut the tree into several pieces that would fit in the garbage can, much as one would a body that needed discrete disposal (or so I've heard). All this done under cover of darkness. The neighbors will never be any the wiser. Only our garbage man knows for sure.

-- Got my order of intimates from Soma last week. I use my therapist's office for delivery of feminine items, no explaining mysterious packages at home that way, and the kids won't make any accidental discoveries. Soma was having a huge sale. I got two lovely panties, a camisole, and a very nice bra for less than $35. I have been wearing the bra quite a bit, as it is a much better fit than previous acquisitions. I love looking down and seeing mounds there.

-- I have a newfound passion to practice makeup technique. I got the basics down some time ago, and merely do the same simple routine anytime that I dress fully. Now, though, I have acquired some nice brushes, and I'm eager to see what they will do for me. I have mineral foundation and eyeshadows that haven't been touched. No more tiny sponge eyeshadow applicators for this girl. Let the games begin.

-- I don't have any real evidence to back up my inkling, but I suspect that there will be no more intimacy until my leg hair returns. Epilating has been a godsend, making my legs seem freshly shaven for more than a week. I think that Mrs. L probably believes that I am shaving very frequently, based on the way my legs look. She still isn't privy to the existence of the epilator. I'm past the two week mark at the moment, and I'm just starting to notice the hair beneath my pantyhose. I have some hope that my hair has been permanently thinned, that my summer look will not be so hirsute this year. Growth is much slower and sparser. Love it!

Anyway, Mrs. L has not been at all nasty about any of this, but several opportunities for intimacy have been quietly bypassed. Nothing said, but also, alas, nothing done. With Valentine's Day this weekend, I have to wonder whether I should go the lingerie route. I did that last year, and it didn't get broken in for a couple months. Not relishing a repetition, or a wasted gift.

Earworms

Three passions have I: Transgender issues, baseball, and music. The first is the only one that gets significant play here. The second is of very limited interest in this region of the internet. Music, though, is universal, and that is where I have been taking refuge recently. This past week, I have listened to far more music than podcasts on my iPod, a reversal for me and one likely to continue.

I dabble in guitar, good with chords, infantile with fingering. I sing like a bird (a goose, btw). So I can make music in a pinch, but I prefer to immerse myself in the work of other, more professional artists. With the time I spend reading and writing blogs, listening is really all I can make time for. It remains the soundest(!) cure for gender dysphoria at my disposal.

With that in mind, and in an effort to have new material on my page daily, I have started a little text sidebar to share the earworm that has been stuck in my head. There's nearly always one present. Sometimes it will shift over the course of the day, sometimes one will play continually for days. Usually this is pleasant. Occasionally, I will have something perfectly awful browbeating me, say, "Copacabana" or Terry Jacks' "Seasons in the Sun." Gag! Those are the exception, thankfully. If I can guide someone toward a worthwhile artist, more's the better.

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Is This All There Is?

My writing has been really mediocre of late. For two years and almost 200 entries, I've trudged along, and at times, the prose sang (she said modestly). Not so much recently. I still feel the need to write, but I've just been going through the motions. I've fallen into a formula, and the formula doesn't work for me anymore. Too much has changed.

This blog was built on two pillars: the struggle with transgender identity and the subsequent struggle with my wife. The first reached a nice plateau a couple months ago. The latter has settled into a pleasant truce. So, what to write about? The answer has eluded me.

Today was a therapy day, and I talked with M about my increasing need to express my inner woman, and the lack of opportunities to do so. I often feel that this need to dress is somewhat superficial, that I should be able to live my inner life without the need for an external manifestation. M disagreed. She said that the visual, the tactile, are validating my inner self. To see the woman that I hold inside confirms her reality. To touch my hemline or glance at my heeled foot or notice my made-up reflection, sends a message of "Hey, I'm a woman."

I brought up my unsatisfactory dressing experience of the other night. The thrill just wasn't there, and after such a long break, it should be present. The answer will be obvious to some of you. Again, validation. In this case, doing the dressing thing alone isn't cutting it. Other people need to be involved. My TG friends, store clerks, a movie audience, even Mrs. L would do in a pinch. I've reached a point where the validation of others is paramount. There is a social animal growing within me, and the late night basement routine is getting stale.

So, my internal landscape is shifting, but my writing has stayed in place. I need a new vocabulary for my new paradigm. Small unassuming words need not apply! The language of marital confrontation will be put in storage for a time. A period of external exploration begins now.

Aborted Attempt

I got a short respite from the drag of being in drab tonight. Silk slip, dress, heels, lipstick, earrings, and my lesser, easier wig. I was dressed for about 30 minutes before I thought I was hearing some movement upstairs. What I really wanted was full makeup and my good wig. That might have improved the experience. Anyway, I actually don't feel the least bit relieved for having done this. Grrr. Four weeks from Saturday, my next support meeting. Therapy Thursday afternoon should be a real kick. I'm gonna need a plan, methinks. I'm starting to contemplate doing stupidly risky things, and I do not want to go there.

Good distractions are in the offing, though. Lost has opened its final season, and baseball's spring training starts in a couple weeks. Anything that will occupy my brain is a positive.

I have an idea for a sidebar on my page, something I can update daily. Gonna have to find the right widget to make it work, but that's the good kind of challenge.