High Anxiety

This has been a crappy week, at least inside. Events have not been conspiring against me, nor have any super villains, yet the pressure within keeps building. I resolved not to write about this aspect long ago, but I've decided that, what with the private blog (and maybe 35 people actually reading it), I'll delve a little deeper than usual.

I have a great deal of privacy at work. As long as I stay in my immediate work area, I am securely by myself as much as six hours a night. And so, I have my best opportunities to be Leslie. It's not a high risk proposition, but even a little risk with one's career borders on the colossally stupid. Still, these parts of me must be expressed, and my home is becoming more problematic as a true option. That is effed up.

I was in a chat last night, and it was observed just how backward this situation is. My home should be the one place where it is always safe to be myself. Well, it just isn't. Twice this week, while I was computing late at night, my boy has wandered downstairs looking for blankets, or whatever. In my perfect world, I would've been full-Leslie when he appeared. Happily, I was not. This is the ginormous flaw in the arrangement that Mrs. Leslie has given her blessing to. It is not a safe situation for me to be me. I have to release this pressure somewhere.

Honestly, working in skirt, heels, bra, etc., allows me to be more productive. I sit for longer periods, and feel more content, less restless and distracted. I see it as moderate risk, high reward.

Moving on, Saturday at 4pm, I learned that Mrs. L intended us to attend a party at 7pm. News to me. Half an hour later, I learned that it was a costume party. This is very short notice, don't you think? I have a real problem with people in costumes. When I'm at my support group, what others might take as costumes are actually people stripped of their costumes and being themselves. I feel so at home there. Disguises are alienating. I don't like interacting with others in costume, and I don't like role-playing for myself. On a related note, I don't like clowns.

As Mrs. L was suggesting lame ideas for me, I started to get quite agitated, which eventually turned into an anxiety attack. I don't want to be Bono, or a Republican, or any other half-baked excuse. Secretly, I started thinking of what I could do in female garb, though I knew she would neither suggest it nor agree to it, especially with two of the kids coming with us. I wanted to be Christine O'Donnell, who is running for Senate in Delaware. She's a Sarah Palin doppelganger, if that means something to European readers. She once admitted to dabbling in witchcraft. One ad this fall had her speaking to the camera, "I'm not a witch. I'm you." I could do this, with our similar look and clothing tastes.

Anyway, I'd have needed approval and several more hours to make it happen. Another pipe dream turned to pipe bomb. I've always said that dressing female for Halloween is not for me, but this time I wanted to do it, and do it well, not campy. So, I wound up going in my normal street clothes. Mrs. L was kinda gothic, long black busty dress and black wig. I did enjoy sitting in the kitchen, chatting with the ladies, so it wasn't a total loss.

The current situation would seem to call for a conversation with the missus. Not sure when that might happen. My therapy has been moved to alternate Mondays, and I am quite ready to spill to her this Monday. I am wound tight.