Words of warning and welcome:

This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. Obviously it started out as a blog about my cross-dressing but it has developed a great deal since then. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.

It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the New Readers' Page above this and the tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!

Thursday, 16 February 2012

Up and down

Ideally you need to find a copy of the Pet Shop Boys Up and Down and have it playing in the background of this post.  I think it's been effectively purged from youtube but I have a copy on the extended single of Did you see me coming and on the album Format which arrived in my grubby mits today.

It should be obvious by now that I'm a. in therapy and b. not getting very far with it.  The problem appears, to me, to be that being compassionate seems to involve a lot of excuse-making to justify or explain away aberrant behaviours.  As explained in another post(s) I am an angry person who tends to find irritation in just about anything and everything.  This is a reaction to something, and generally I turn it all inwards.  Lately I have been attacking my love of dressing in female clothing.

My dress.
I did that today, by the way, in that dress I got from ASDA.  Still like it.  I love the feel of it as it twirls about my legs and the feathery brush of the hem across my thighs.  I also like the way it hangs around the neck, it doesn't feel as tight and uncomfortable as my T-shirts do around there and I don't have a terribly thick neck (just a very prominent adam's apple), and arms.  It has short capped sleeves that are elasticated to cling slightly, and it's a pretty nice feeling.  It also does a great job of hiding my bushy underarm hair and trapping the fetid stench of sweat that emanates from there (I had only just had a shower and applied deordorant and I could smell the fuckers).  Finally, the high waist is also elasticated and gathers nicely.  Ideally it would be a tad lower but I am rather tall for women's sizes.  One day I may have to bite the bullet and order a dress made for a bloke from one of the stores I know about online.  But I digress.

On Tuesday Tilly and I had a long talk about my anger and its source.  It ended up with us cuddling on the sofa and her saying that she didn't think I was a bad person, rather a good person who was finding things hard.  I also started sleeping in our bed again.

A couple of nights of being woken by a screaming boy and scaring Tilly by my expression of sheer anger in a morning from dealing with our spawn and that doesn't seem very tenable.  I can do it at the moment by dint of not having an alarm and the fact that I'm on holiday.  The moment I go back to work I suspect I was going to go back to the sofa anyway.  As it is, I suspect I shall be back there tonight but, this time, it will be my choice.  There's little point on me being in the same bed.  We can talk, sure, but not when Tilly's trying to get our son to sleep and is stressed about her own endeavours.

Mrs Doasyouwouldbedonby, for it is she,
from the Water Babies.  Not how I remember
her from the film, it must be said.
Then there's the 'good person' thing.  I'm not.  I don't care about other people because I don't really care about myself.  I don't see the point in caring about the emotions of others because they don't see the point in caring about me.  The stricture is "Do as you would be done by" but I suspect more people live as "Do unto others before they do unto you", so I'm amending mine to "Do as you are done by".  And there it is.  The fact that I've even decided that this is a good idea and the fact that I am an arrogant ass combines to mean that I'm not a terribly nice person.  I revel in the failure of others, I am judgemental and I do not suffer fools.  When it comes to dealing with things I create or have a hand in then my natural inclination is to destroy them.  I exult in the destruction of things, figuratively and literally, I love to plough them under and salt the earth.  I obviate things, obliterate them.  And the stupidity and evil of others makes me want to repay them with evil of my own.  I have righteous indignation and I do think of myself as better than others.  In that regard compassion is a weakness, a prop and a crutch, something for the stupid and lame to use to make their sense of entitlement feel less evil and wrong.

I embrace my wrong and my inequity - I see myself for what I am and I make no excuses and heed no forgiveness.  I do not strive to be better and fail, I strive for nothing and cannot fail.  I have achieved everything that I ever set out to do: go to University, trick a woman into bed.  I have done these things.  I cannot make my wife happy.  I cannot build better children.  I want them to fear me, to do as I tell them when I tell them without pissing about because they're pissing themselves in fear.  I want kinky sex, for free.  But I recognise that these things are not only unlikely but that they are also poisonous and wrong.

I guess I'll either leave, or die, whichever is quicker.

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All comments are welcome, I have a thicker skin virtually than I do in real life!