House of Ill Repair

 It may be years until the day

My dreams will match up with my pay.

                                    "Mushaboom"

                                    Feist

 

I have a feeling that I've used this quote before in the 300+ posts that preceded. As they say,. those that don't know their blog history are doomed to repeat it.

We have lived in this home for nearly 30 years, and it is starting to catch up to us. Routine maintenance has never been a strength -- home, auto, personal, or otherwise. Why do today what can be put off till tomorrow? Most aspects of the house predate us, all the way to 1978 when built. This year, we are splurging on new windows finally, our old ones almosr dry-rotted in places. Had a plumbing issue where a drain pipe cracked under the slab, and was leaking into the downstairs when we used water in the kitchen. The pipe had to be bypassed and rerouted, tearing out a big hunk of wall. The missus is talking about replacing all the toilets as well. When it drains, it pours.

Speaking of drains, my personal temple has had better days. Recurring bladder stones have resulted in procedures twice before, and now a more comprehensive look at the the causation is in order. No pain ever involved in the issue, but flow and voiding are a constant reminder that I am aging. Fatigue and forgetting why I went into a room also serve that function. Too much info, I know.  Sorry. 

My home away from home, the support group, has endured a major hiccup. Covid didn't help, but it was coming anyway. Attendance was consistently around 30 per meeting for the previous year, with many more young people. Along with the greater diversity and energy came more strong emotions and political views. In May, my successor as president was completely burned out from herding all these cats, and resigned without a replacement. I know that the job involves pleasing most everyone, and there is just no way to achieve that. Our parent organization took over the leadership, and finally found a member willing to take on some responsibilityas the face of the group. TransKentucky still exists in Zoom meetings, and might come out of the pandemic as a going concern, but it will look very different when IRL meetings can start up again. I doubt that I will return, but never say never. 

I could get into the house that is my country, battered for four years by a tiny man in a big suit. But the rule of threes precludes me from beating this metaphor any longer, so I will stop there.

Mouse Hunt

Still shaking off the rust:

If you have delved at all into the first four or five years of posts here (and why haven't you?!), you know that my wife's reaction to my sartorial quirkiness has ranged from tolerant to I-wish-I-could-afford-to-get-outta-this-marriage. More recently, she has come to understand that it is not going away, but neither is it a threat.

One indicator is the laundry. I have done the bulk of our laundry for several years, in order to include my underwear in the wash without making her think about my proclivities. Very recently, she has begun grabbing my underwear from its special hamper to wash with everyone else's stuff. No toxic words, no drama, just clean underwear. Nice.

Last weekend, we heard a late night thump in the kitchen. We found one of our cats with a little gray mouse in his mouth. Not dead. The cat kept putting the mouse down, batting and chasing it, then carrying it for a spell. He would not come to us, nor could we entice him to take it outside. 

Instead, my wife screamed as the cat ran to our bedroom and promptly lost the mouse. The next half-hour played out like the 1997 comic masterpiece(?), Mousehunt. We reached under the bed and dressers, armed with small plastic storage boxes, hoping to corner the little bugger. We came close several times. The mouse ran over my bare foot at one point.

We had to pull stuff out from under the dressers and bed in our frantic search. From under my chest of drawers, my wife pulled out a waist cincher and a copy of My Husband Betty. In the past, this could have been the catalyst for some unpleasantness. The new dynamic prevailed, though, and she merely handed the stuff to me without a word or even an eye roll. Not an outward eye roll, anyway. Maybe internal.

And I wasn't terribly embarrassed either. I would have broken an arm diving past her to conceal my stash not so long ago. Now it's just a sidenote during a suburban safari. Be vewwy quiet...I'm hunting mouses.

Oh, the mouse has not been found. Pray for us.

Return of the Mojo

I was reading through some of my recent posts, "recent" only in the geologic sense of the word. I realized that I had left a plot thread dangling. At least one, though I only noticed this particular arc. Plus, it gave me an opportunity to create a post before I missed an entire calendar year!

I have shared previously my frustrations in taking on the presidency of my local support group, TransKentucky. There was no one else to take over when the previous leader burned out and left quite suddenly. I quickly learned why she burned out. I also learned that group leadership is not one of my strengths. I am pro level at long, awkward silences. The meetings soon were attended by only six to eight folks a month, including newbies that usually did not return.

The nadir of my time in the hot seat was the Pride Festival in June 2017. As a closeted transperson, I had to delegate responsibilities to others for this very public event. A proverbial train wreck was the result. We had a tent and a table, with no signage, no literature, and a few very despondent volunteers to answer the occasional inquiry, like "Who are you all?" Not the group's best moment, nor mine. The buck stopped with me, and I readily owned the mess. 

See? Happy.

I eventually served for 18 months as the big cheese. The numbers at the meetings began to pick up, and I was able to add a couple of leaders into my circle of one. Both were very capable and much more charismatic, as well as being unafraid to be the public face of the group. As Pride was nearing again, I made an abrupt decision to hand over the reins to Rylie. It was very sudden. She slept on it and agreed to do it. My spontaneity cost us the other moderator, though. I guess she was offended to have been passed over, but she never said so, and she never returned.

So now I am Rylie's girl Friday, much more content to be in a supporting role. As a bonus, I have been able to skip meetings when I want. I just wrapped up a four month absence from the monthly meetings. This last week I found myself really wanting to go, so I buckled down and did the necessary prep. 

It was great. I had been missed by many, and I was energized in the discussion and the social time afterward. I sought out a sad fellow sitting alone while everyone mingled. I kept watching him across the room, and seeing myself as I was my first 40-plus years, paralyzed by social anxiety and unable to initiate a conversation. I spent about 15 minutes talking with him, avoiding the small talk that I knew I always hated. Maybe I was a little invasive and direct, but he opened up some. I am much better suited to the one-on-one stuff. 

I just thought I should dispel the notion that I might still be president of my group. Nope, and much happier playing second fiddle. I now joke that my time was a caretaker administration, or an interregnum between real leaders. I kept most of the balls in the air, enough to get us into a new period of growth for TransKentucky. For me, growth through adversity.

Things a Phlebotomist Might Say*

"Which arm is best for you?"
"Roll up your sleeve."
"You may feel a little prick."

Nope.

"Why do you shave your arm hair?"

Keep in mind that I live my life as male full time. I had my annual physical recently, and the last part was having some blood drawn. A young woman entered the room, introduced herself, and swabbed the crook of my arm with alcohol. As she wiped, she asked without looking up, "Why do you shave your arms?"

For a couple of very long seconds, I rolled the question around in my head. Is there some medical issue I don't know about? Can I dare utter the truth?

Trying to buy a little time, I blithely asked, "What?"

She repeats the question. What kind of lie might work? I could use my old fave, which is a partial truth, that I really hate my body hair. But that is a symptom of something bigger, yes?

My voice might've cracked a little, but I said, "I'm transgender."

She turned to me and smiled. "Oh, cool! Do you, like, wear makeup? What's your name?"

"Leslie."

"Nice! Are you transitioning?"

"No, that's not gonna happen. I'm president of a local support group, though."

"Outstanding!"

So, I have now outed myself to a stranger in real life. Did not think that was in me, and it was a very uplifting event. I wish I had thought to show her some pics, just to have my ego stroked further.


*If you are too young or foreign to get the reference, this is a typical clue in the bonus round of The $25,000 Pyramid. This clip features the recently deceased Harry Anderson of Night Court fame.

Indulge Me

As a rule, I hate anniversary posts. I have stopped following bloggers who gave me five paragraphs about the seventeenth anniversary of first wearing lipstick.  So today I am being a bit hypocritical, making an exception to my own rule, but I promise there is more content than just a look back.

Not my first wig

Ten years ago, January 19th, 2008, I saw Leslie for the first time. Merely a concept previously, I finally put all the pieces together. The cherry, literally on top, was my first wig. It made a world of difference, as crossdressing man at last resembled, albeit crudely, a sort of woman. It was enough. I pushed down the urge to cry, and just stared at myself for long minutes.

This only just occurred to me, but leading up to that magic moment, I had suffered for months with a terrible depression. I was working my way out of it by starting counseling and joining TransKentucky. This period ten years later has also featured depression, the worst it has been in at least five or six years. Not as long lived, and largely cleared up now, it does seem to be signaling a need to take a step forward on the Leslie front.

Say yes to the dress!

For someone that dresses only three hours a month, I think my fashion sense and makeup skills have made a real leap this last year. I have some idea what looks good on me now. After being on the skirt+top train for years, I have recently transferred to the Dress Express.

Part of my recovery from the blues was making a hefty investment in clothes. In particular, $80 spent at ThredUp. I love this company. Gently used clothing, or even new with tags, for a deep discount. Yeah, they're secondhand, but that doesn't bother me. Anyway, I got 12 items for that sum: 2 tops, 5 skirts, 4 dresses, and a pair of heels.

All but one item fit, a little black dress that just could not make it around my rib cage. To show how far I have come with my wife, I suggested that she try it on, as I thought it might work for her. She tried it on without it being weird at all. It didn't fit her either, so I passed it on ro one of my minions at TransKentucky. The point being that I was able to be open about clothing, and she was able to hear it. And there was no shouting, no awkward pauses, no stinkeye.

That, my friends, is progress that I thought would never arrive.

Publish or Perish

Looks like the twits on the board have backed me into a corner. I will have to post an update. It's bad enough that they call me Chairman Wow behind my back, but they keeping holding the promise of a golden parachute over my head. Dance, puppet, dance. At least they don't call me Chairman Yow. Or worse, Chairman Ciao. I prefer Madame Chairperson, truth be known.

Anyway, it has been a rough year to date. My wife's father had been struggling with lung cancer for the better part of a year, and finally succumbed a couple weeks ago. The stress of the last three months has finally relented. I think anyone who has watched these slow fades will understand that the sadness is greatly tempered by a sense of relief at the end. Things are largely back to our version of normal now.

The support group is carrying on, of course. Meeting attendance continues to be disappointing, but we will have a new website up in the next few days (fingers crossed), plus the Facebook group is being relaunched as well. I am lucky to have some very enthusiastic members with the talent to address these things. I have the willingness, but little to no knowledge of how to make them happen. Once the website is up, I hope to be able to assist with adding to the resource page, an area that has been sorely lacking.

The nerves I had about leading a meeting have faded rapidly. I don't really give it a thought now. I am more comfortable being me fully, and engaging others. I was always the sidekick before, throwing in a quick quip, the same as in my male life. As Leslie, I am carrying the conversation more, drawing out shy newbies to share with the group, or even one on one. I am embracing the leader role.

I am still unsure how I am going to do the public part of the job. We will have a booth at Lexington's Pride Festival in June, and there are LGBT events at the university too. I cannot do them. I am not a public figure or figurehead. I need to expand my team to include folks who are ready to be the face of the group. I am merely the brains!

Well, I hope this satisfies the board. Until the next arm twisting, see ya.

Announcement

Greetings,

Your friends/corporate masters at LeslieCo would like to apologize for the continuing absence of Dear Leader.

It has been a hectic year to this point. Even when present here on company grounds, her mind was frequently elsewhere. Heading a corporate enterprise like this is quite taxing, except in America, where corporations pay little to no tax. Sorry, off subject.

Our namesake has been occupied with the nurturing of her TransKentucky support group. A new website will be launched soon, and a Facebook group will be back online as well. She did not do this herself, rather found others to do this for her. Ah, leadership.

She has informed the board that she has intentions of writing a genuine blog post in the coming days. Good intentions, road to hell, etc. We'll see. Maybe when she finally takes a break from playing Fallout 3.

Yours in third person,
LeslieCo

Getting my Footing

I have led four meetings now as president of my support group. I am finally beginning to feel like I have some authority and have earned some respect.

The turning point was a couple days before the most recent meeting. As you may know, I work evenings and don't get to bed till 5am. That night about 1:45, a curse-filled tirade appeared on our listserv. This was from a frequent poster, but out of character, especially the length of the missive. She was going on about our most prominent local endocrinologist, and questioning the dosing habits of said doctor. The post was long and repetitive, and essentially accused anyone supportive of the doc's methods to be idiots.

Within fifteen minutes, I had a reply posted. I told her that she had made her point several times. That I don't have a dog in the fight, as I have never started HRT, but that the doctor is a friend of the group. That I don't question her right to dissatisfaction and even anger. However, if she cannot share her feelings with a civil tongue or without insulting her peers, then she would lose her posting privileges. Given no immediate second salvo, I was hopeful that this was someone having a bad day, and was now sleeping it off.

Early the next afternoon, there was a response. This time her ire was directed at me. She questioned why I supported this doctor. She wondered how I could be president if I am allowing people to see this horrible doctor. She said that I don't care enough to warn new transitioners away from this doctor. That is when something in me snapped. Maybe I grew a pair.

I wrote a long post of my own, sharing how I really never wanted the presidency, but as the last tran standing in leadership, I had it forced on me. This group's existence is way too important for me to walk away and leave it rudderless. I wrote about the many challenges that I face in my regular life, and that I get no reimbursement for this thankless job. I bit my tongue several times, and kept the message coherent and civil (no small challenge).

Later in the day, she quietly asked to be removed from the group. I won the battle without disgracing the office. I felt...presidential.

This was reiterated at the meeting. I decided to mention the event, as everyone had been reading it, and many had weighed in. Several supported the view of the banished party regarding the doctor's practices, but they did so in a tone that was respectful. Mostly, though, I was complimented on my tactful but forceful handling of the situation.

I even got to try out my new status at the meeting, when two members got into a shouting match regarding Trump and Clinton. I yelled over them to knock it off, take it outside or stop arguing about politics.

The only way I could feel more presidential is if I tweeted my order at them.

Smooooth

Post without a pic? Pshaw!

Coulda gone better. Much, much better.

I felt that events were conspiring against me as the week progressed. I kept throwing nagging reminders up on the listserv, and had a total of four RSVPs when Saturday rolled around. It's not odd in any walk of American life for people to ignore the response aspect of party planning, so I let it roll, with misgivings.

The event was scheduled to start at 7:30. I had warned folks that Kentucky would be starting a football at precisely the same time, just a few blocks away.

Around 3:00, I got an email from the manager of the Pride Center, our location. The owner of the building had decided that he needed to get his parking lot repaved before the cold weather really set in, and the only time available was that day. So, now we were without a parking lot, at a time when the lot across the street is parking cars at $10 apiece for the game.

I look tired....

I sent out an email suggesting parking at the shopping center next door.

I ran into very little trouble driving in and parking next door. Others reported terrible issues with traffic, and no foreknowledge of the game situation. Why bother sending out notices that no one notices, hmmm?

People trickled in. We had nine, including me, at 7:45. Time to surrender to hunger, and hope some more make it. We made it to eleven folks an hour later. That is a tiny turnout, and a very strange meal. The good spin is that there were four newbies among the group, and I think it was a positive experience for them.

I kept up a good front till the eating was done, but began flagging thereafter. I wasn't really involved in the conversations, and the din was making me shut down. I made it through to the end (as I had to), but it was exhausting. Really makes me appreciate Sylvia's efforts now.

One of the latecomers has been with the group almost as long as me, and stayed after the meeting. She volunteered to help out with leadership stuff in the future. I definitely am going to need some assistance. I have never done anything like this before, but I am determined not to let this group crash and burn on my watch.

Stuck in Neutral

I think the blog standard should be at least one entry a year, or you have a derelict site. This post will double that dubious standard for the year. Yay for me!


So much happening in my life, and so little of it is relevant to this blog. The world spins dizzily 'round me, but I don't seem to be moving. One daughter has moved out with a roommate; fingers crossed that she succeeds as an independent person. My youngest just got his first job, and is starting to consider school to be more than a hobby.  Mother-in-law has passed the two year mark with us, and my wife insists that she will be out by the third anniversary. We are both beyond ready for that.


Like I said, I am mostly stationary. I am sure that I have forward gears. I have used them before. When I started blogging, I was moving much faster than was comfortable for those around me. Now I languish. I dress fully one day a month, at least when I get to the meeting. This is not forward motion. This is gunning the engine, redlining it, with the parking brake engaged. My makeup skills are improving, but there is not much satisfaction over all.


I think I have been to five of the ten meetings this year, but that will have to change. My pal, Sylvia, who has been acting director of the group for about three years, has resigned her position. She will be staying away from meetings for awhile, dealing with a case of burnout. That leaves me, dear friends, to lead this dog and pony show.

My first selfie: Future director of TransKentucky.

This is waaaay out of my comfort zone. I will be leading the November meeting, which is our Transgiving potluck. There is more physical organization of the space than actual leading for this one, so, small favors, baby steps. It is three weeks away, but the old social anxiety wells up in me if I think too long about it. I suppose I need to grow, and this might be a good step in re-engaging in both meetings and my feminine life.


If you're really nice, I might even share how it all turns out....

Back in Bidness

She's back, and she's bad.

Six years, almost exactly, since this blog went private. If you have been locked out during that time, the posts kept coming, though the frequency faltered.  You only missed about 120 posts, about a third of the blog.

The truth of the matter is that the smaller my audience became, the less interested I was in sharing my thoughts. What good is a thought only shared with oneself? Fine for some, maybe, but not for this girl. Deep down, behind the wallflower male facade, lies an attention junkie. My fixes have not kept pace with my need.

I have been considering this move for a long while. Months ago, my therapist wondered why my blog was private. My answer: at the behest of my spouse. I was doing damage control. I have the backing of my therapist now (she is also my wife's therapist, btw), and the time seemed right to step out into the warm glow of the internet once more. Plus, Calie asked me to write a piece for T-Central, and what better way to re-launch my brand? 

If you are new to this blog, there are essentially two topics that get play here: my struggles with gender issues and dysphoria, and the tension that all that brings to my marriage. Sounds fun, right?

If you are returning after a long absence, welcome back to my world, and know that I have missed you. I can already feel the writing urge bubbling in me. I look forward to being an active member of the Blogistan community again.

Yep, Still Here

Outside my August meeting

The delays are over.  I did leave y'all hanging in January, and thank you to my friends that gently reminded me. We had a LOT of snow (though not up to Boston standards), and my grandmother died (at 102), but the real reason was lack of gumption.  I just have a terrible time sitting down and writing.

When I left off, I felt increasingly dysphoric and was about to have a solo counseling session for the first time in two years.  I have since had two solo sessions and one couples, and I am feeling much better.

The solo sessions have been a revelation.  Understand that I have been seeing this counselor with my wife for well over a year now, and I am now having one on one with her.  The perspective really changed.

Last summer, when we talked about me shaving my legs because I had to relieve my stress somehow, our therapist led an impartial conversation.  Now, I have been told that she had wanted to stand and pump her fist in excitement for me. She has always wondered why I didn't just go ahead and do it, and was delighted that I finally did. I guess I'm not the only one that thinks my wife is a little pushy.

For our second session she had given me homework, a list of twenty-four basic human needs.  She wanted me to assess which of these needs are being met in my life, and which are not.  This is not just about the marriage, but all aspects of my life.  I came up short in a lot of places.

In the marriage, there is a lack of intimacy, less sex than I would like, and often feeling unheard.  None of this should be a surprise to the attentive reader. But I was told that all this is on me.  I have to ask if my needs are not being met.

Aside from that, I have a desire for attention that used to be filled here when this blog was public and visited by a couple hundred folks worldwide each time I posted.  The therapist thinks I should be able to have a public blog, though I would need to try harder to exclude identifying material.  I still wonder how the missus would feel about that, but it sounds like it might make it back into the discussion.  Fingers crossed!

Slipping Back

I have been denying it for a long while now.  I have been slipping back into the hole again.  Two weeks ago, I had an evening where I felt much like I did seven years ago when my gender issues hit the wall.  The deep sadness, the single-minded obsession with my gender failings, the constant bellyache, and worse, the knowledge that I have been here before.

I was on the plateau of "good enough" for several years.  It had a good run.  I didn't notice that the terrain was no longer level. Sure, I have had ugly spells frequently, but less severe and shorter-lived, usually just an hour or two and it was past. Now I'm worried.

We have been seeing a counselor as a couple for some time now, and this last time I talked some about how I felt on my bad day.  She offered to see me one on one, and I agreed.  Truly, couples sessions are 85% the missus going on about our lives and kids, and 15% me quipping and adding grace notes to her thoughts.  Seldom have we concentrated on my problems, and that is usually fine.  But now I am scared, and I need to talk it out.  It has been two years since my former therapist went back to school, and it is time to get back on the horse.

I am really quite excited to have it all about me again in therapy.  My appointment is this week, and maybe I can report some realizations after that.

I Just Wanna Hear Girls Talk

Thank you, ladies, for all the encouragement.  Nice to see comments always.  Your rich reward is a photo of me.  I spent a couple hours tonight uploading and cropping and color correcting three meetings' worth of pics.  Some even please me.  This shows you my summer look, with my short black bob.  This is from July, the first time wearing it.  Feel free to Photoshop me into the cover of Band on the Run.

I had to attend the wedding of an obscure cousin last Saturday.  I have spoken to her perhaps three times in twenty-plus years.  Now, we all know the effect of going to a wedding in drab.  I was terribly worried about my ability to withstand the envy I would be feeling.  It turned out okay, though.  My favorite aunt was in from Washington, D.C., and I spent a lot of time talking with her.  I spoke extensively about battling social anxiety, and how without close family nearby, I would have been paralyzed.

Aunt T confided at one point that she had been on the dance floor earlier, and felt her pantyhose sagging.  She made a conscious effort not to tug at her waist, knowing that the video would almost assuredly capture it, making for a fabulous laugh lasting generations.  I wanted to tell her that my pantyhose were staying up just fine, but the opportunity to share never presented itself.

In addition, she and I and my mother had a lengthy discussion about bridesmaid dresses.  T told us about a hideous dress she wore for her best friend's wedding, and my mom shared that she never got to be a bridesmaid, as her best friend eloped with no notice.  That sort of girl talk helped keep me at ease.

We learned Sunday that we are going to be hosting my wife's family for Thanksgiving this Thursday.  To say that we don't need this "privilege" right now is an understatement.  It will be a late afternoon meal, hot on the heels of my family's noon meal. 

My family will be serving turkey and ham, corn pudding, potatoes au gratin, scalloped pineapple (wonderful!), and we will be bringing an almond poundcake that is to die for.  My wife's family will be eating a vegetarian meal, including sweet potatoes (ick), and the very special meatless loaf.  It will be grand.

I'm sure I will have something to report after the events, but we have major housecleaning to do before that happens.  No french maid options available to me either.  *sigh*

Hint Taken

Rumors of this blog's death are mildly exaggerated.  I had not realized just how long it had been.  No promises this time around about writing regularly; I know better.  So, let's hit the high points of the last six(!) months.

I left off talking about hair.  I have worn Vanessa's short, black wig to all my meetings since June.  I have quite a few pics, but just as this blog has lain fallow, so has my Flickr.  I need to upload images and color correct them before I thrust them on an unsuspecting tiny audience.  I love you ladies too much to inflict that kind of pain for my own vanity.  They will appear soon, she promised.

I have not been to a meeting since September, due to my boy's band tournaments.  They placed second in the state, btw.  The upshot of that has been the absence of any dressing opportunities in the interim.  That, my friends, is a major bummer.  I have been distracting myself with Rock Band (made a new character named Bethany Peachfuz), and a lot of Netflix (mostly Walking Dead). 

My boy now sleeps in a crudely modified corner of our basement, as my mother-in-law moved into his bedroom in early September.  Quite an adjustment, as you can imagine.  She plays her TV very loudly at all hours, has an ancient cat that likes to pee outside the litter box, and came with a beastly old Corgi that smells like sour milk on his best days.  Strangely, I've come to like my MIL more than I had before.  Very flawed, but she is grateful to us, and can be funny and charming. 

Still, the stress of the preparing the house for her, and bringing her into the already crowded fold, was very stressful for me.  Some time in July, I started taking the hair off my legs in the shower.  The missus did not mention it, but I talked about it at our next counseling session.  She had, of course, noticed, but she did not,and has not, complained about it.  I think she understands the sacrifice I have made in welcoming her mother.  Major husband points for me!  I now shave my legs in the shower everyday, and I do not intend to return to the land of the hirsute gams ever again.  That concession to my stress has gotten me through all this.  Well, that, and doubling down on the underdressing. 

Thanks to Calie and Rhiannon for pulling me back onto the writing bandwagon.  I needed a swift kick in the ass.  Pics soon!

Love you all,
Leslie

Attempting Upbeat

Last night, my son, the freshman trumpeter, played in his school's spring concert.  My favorite was Sousa's Liberty Bell March, which you slightly-less-classy schlubs may know as the theme of Monty Python's Flying Circus.  I love that piece, of course, because of Python.  The band nailed all three pieces, and we had a great view of our boy.

And now for something completely different....

Out of increasing boredom, I changed things up a little at my May meeting.  I have been wearing the same hair since late '08, and my advancing age is making me a little self-conscious about the style.  It just so happens that my sister-in-law passed down a wig to me over a year ago.  It was one of her two cancer wigs, and happily, she no longer has that need.

I tried it on once, and it was so tight that I honestly couldn't get it on properly.  You see, she has a woman-sized head, and I have an enormous man-skull.  But boredom won out, and I tried it again.  It took a lot of upper body strength (thank you, testosterone), but I managed to get the wig on my head.  I fiddled with it, and wore it for awhile, and decided that I would wear it at my meeting.  Herewith, the result:

I had to keep pulling it down in the back, but I liked the look, and felt more natural. Plus, warm weather and blanket-style hair hats are a bad combo. This was much cooler than my usual 'do.

Late in our meeting, long-time member Vanessa dropped in with an announcement.  She is moving to Seattle.  The airline that employs her offered her a full-time position out there.  She brought several big bags of clothes and shoes, plus her wigs.  Several of us went through the clothes and laid claim to our favorites.  I got three skirts, and a bunch of tees that will be great for layering.  A terrific haul.

Vanessa has a lovely attached hairstyle now, and doesn't need her wigs any longer.  She had me in mind for the wigs, and we reached an agreement on price very quickly.  One is the same style as my usual Leslie hair, but has blonder highlights. The other is a short black style.  Both are large and fit so much better than my existing coifs.

I am chuffed about having new hair.  Some ennui was setting in for me.  I guess natal women go through the same thing, tiring of their look and searching for another that might work.  Well, if it's good enough for the genetic ladies, it's good enough for me.

Lastly, a curtsey for Joanna, who has been on my mind a lot.

About Time

The day of my April meeting, I turned fifty. Fifty. Other milestones have largely passed barely noticed.  I remember twenty-nine being difficult. Fifty, though, has caused a lot of reflection, more than expected.

I truly feel mortal now.  I feel kinda old, too.  I'm not, but that's my perception.  People in my family typically live past ninety, so there's a good chance I'm just a bit past middle age. 

At fifty, I feel two things very strongly. One, that I am very fortunate to live in comfort and safety, with a wife that loves me, and children that are essentially good, caring people.  And two, that I regret the decisions that led me here, and would trade it all to be living a dramatically different life.  It's hard to integrate those two notions.  So much to be grateful for, and a flippant desire for something completely different.  Regrets, I've had a few, but then again, too few to mention.

Of course, you know I will now mention them. You all know the principal regret. I had no business pulling someone into marriage with me without benefit of the knowledge that I was harboring a deep secret, a second self that caused me shame.  All the other regrets fall like dominoes from that mistake.  I should have spoken my truth when it could have spared her feelings and mine.  However, fear won the day, and the war, for that matter.

That's all the darkness I want to dig through for now.  I will try to balance it with a happier post soon, and there is upbeat stuff to report.

In Recovery

Turns out that I was included in Wednesday's counseling session.  We were both well-served by it, as well.

The communication boycott was over when I got out of bed at the crack of noon.  Just like a normal day.

In our session, we both aired our grievances. And we were both called to task by the therapist at different points.  The crux is that we have both been dealing with extraordinary stress, and the weak link was our bond.  All of our energy has gone to daughter and sister.  I promised to watch my tone, and to try harder to be supportive when she is venting.  She promised to take more of an active interest in my emotional state, and to try to respect my limits when I tell her I need a break from the listening.  A very good counselor, it turns out.

We are back on good terms.

Just like old times, three posts in four days.

Colder Indoors Than Out

I misspoke at the end of the last post.  We have gone from a cold war to a VERY cold war.

The silent treatment is a real rarity for my wife. It has happened in short spurts before, but always leading up to a big confrontation/accusation.  She quietly took herself to bed a moment ago, which surprised me.  We had set up a couples session for Wednesday, but I noticed earlier on our wall calendar that only her name is written for the appointment now.  I suppose this is a subtle message to me that she intends to go alone.  It would seem to be an excellent time for an impartial party to hear our grievances, but so be it.  Wish I still had my own counselor.  I could use a sounding board.

Divorce is the word that keeps running through my thoughts.  I don't really know how it could play out, but I would not oppose the idea.  I don't even feel all that threatened by the idea of having my secret life revealed malevolently.  Shame is not a big factor for me any longer.  Certainly not to the point that it would sway me.  Plus, I think she would remain intent on keeping that issue away from our son's view.

I sound really blase, don't I?  I don't mean to. 

I feel enormously stressed, preoccupied.  Being passive is second nature to me, and taking the reins here doesn't feel right.  Plus, you know that I am conflict-averse.  Why invite a fight when avoiding one is easier?  This feels like a winding down of our rocky journey.  We are both stubborn asses. 

Everything Old Is New Again

I think the primary theme of this (almost) six years of blog is deja vu.  History keeps repeating itself.  The names and situations shift a little, but the conflict follows predictable plot lines.

My previous entry was a breath of minty-fresh air.  If I had followed up quickly, I could've stretched it into a series of upbeat posts.  Couples counseling was uneventful after I did my reveal to my daughter, and I managed not to use the words "told you so" or "nanny-nanny-boo-boo" when describing my feelings about the success of the venture.

But all is not well.

My daughter has continued to have her college problems, combined with severe depression.  We finally got her to a psychiatrist last week.  We had been seeing a nurse practitioner for her meds previously, and were not satisfied with the results (or the difficulty getting an appointment, even when the meds weren't helping).  The shrink was terrific, took his time getting to know her and the problems, and let her decide the direction of treatment.  She is now on Zoloft, like her parents, and her mood is visibly better after just a few days.  She still won't do her school assignments, but one victory at a time, right?

Another major stressor here has been my wife's oldest sister.  You may recall her as the sister that knows my secret and is quite supportive.  Well, she has a lot of mental issues, primarily bipolar and ADHD, and she stopped paying her bills last March.  This includes a mortgage, extensive medical bills, and the taxman.  We finally learned of all this around September, and everyone has been scrambling since.  She tells me that she thinks constantly of suicide, but won't because of how traumatic it would be to her parents, nieces, and nephews.  Not a great reason to carry on, but it'll do.

My wife is deeply involved in this, and she tends to vent about it.  I have told her several times that I don't care to hear her critical remarks about her sister.  I've heard it repeatedly, and it is toxic.  I don't want to play anymore.  Last night, I barked at her on the phone.  A flurry of texts followed, calling me unsupportive and lacking in empathy.  No, I just disagree with the rudeness toward her sister, and I am allowed to disagree.  I will quote my favorite part of the convo:

She:  I am not trying to provoke you. I am telling you how it feels to have conditions & limitations put on me as to what I am permitted to talk about with my spouse.
Me:  Put those same words into my mouth please.  That is my life story. Get down off the cross.

We are barely speaking tonight, and I am fine with that.  She needs to understand that I have stress too, and I rarely get a chance to discuss or vent it.  I don't regret firing the first shot, though when it all blew up, my initial response was, "And the next day, he received the divorce papers."  No LOLs forthcoming.

So, the long Cold War is once again a hot war.