Nutshell

I don't want my Chelsea Manning rant to be the final entry in this blog, not that this one will be the last one either. But, postscript-wise, I still hate that Gender Dysphoria was implicated in this case. However, what I once thought a cynical last-ditch defense, I now see as sincere, if ill-timed.  And most important, and I hope the only lasting legacy of this case, is that the US military will finally have to address the trans issue with some sort of formal policy. That's a good thing, and long overdue.

So, what's happening now? Hmm...

My running program, so regular last year, is dead in the water now. I dislike running during the day, as I get a serious rash on my hands in direct sunlight, and I hate full-on sweating.  But my night running, which was so successful before, has hit a mental barrier. Its name is fear. I thought nothing of running in my neighborhood at 2am, basking in my male privilege. Now, I feel very vulnerable, so I don't run. Nothing changed, except my mindset.

I really need to be running, too. I have fallen into some very bad habits, eating copious quantities of candy corn and Nerds (little crunchy blobs of flavored sugar, for the uninitiated). Huge amounts of empty calories, and testing my insulin factory with every bite. I don't know that I've gained weight, but any fool could guess that I have.

I think I am pushing down some emotions, which might explain the compulsive eating. In addition, I am chronically underslept(?), unable to pull away from stupid computer games and go to bed.  In essence, I am numb and very sleepy.  Not taking care of myself.  Depression, in a nutshell.

Why not be depressed?  My middle girl is having panic attacks and bombing out of her first semester of uni.  We are bleeding money.  And I haven't had my dressing stress release since the meeting at the beginning of August.  Transgiving is a week from Saturday, and I am worried that the schedule is going to keep me from attending again. 

On the positive side, I have mostly bared my legs, an October tradition.  In the last six months, my wife seems to be more accepting of my sartorial quirkiness.  She makes a point of offering me things before giving them away, which may seem small, but for a long time she begrudged me having any sort of alternative wardrobe. She thought that having just a few items should be plenty to appease my inner demon.  Now I think she understands that I, like most genetic women, have a need to feel fashionable and attractive.  And clothes do make the woman, in my mind certainly.

So that is my status report.  I'm slogging along day to day, with no plan for fixing things. I take comfort where I can find it.  Tonight, I find it writing in my blog.