I had occasion to listen to Ludovico Einaudi in the car loud today, on the way back from work late as I was attempting to get the stuff ready for the interview I have tomorrow. If you haven't heard it before, then press play on the video below and close your eyes. It's worth it.
It's the music I associate with freedom and liberation. In my head it's someone running home, through open fields with a flowing dress/ribbons or something and hair in the wind, it's sunny and the clouds part from a grey scene to reveal what I describe. Long grass, pollen on the breeze. So much for the imagery inside my head.
The interview. I was tempted to get my favourite knickers out again, but they need a wash and airing before I can wear them again, and the selection in the local supermarkets is not really for it. I ended up buying those boots though, yesterday and I forgot to say.
Again I find myself wondering why. I read back to some of my first entries and realised that, back then, I was writing cogently and in detail about things. Many of the things that I thought I hadn't covered at all I had in fact covered and done so in a good way. No point detailing again. I bought the boots: £7, can't complain, a quarter of the original price. They're size 9, a little too big when I've tried them on, but there were no size 8s remaining. I'm not sure why I bought them. I'm not sure why I tried them on. It's warm here at the moment, the summery weather is surprising given the fact that it's still March and it also means that I can't go wandering dressed outside: too many people are still out and about when I would do it. Also, Tilly's mother is over.
It is stress, I know that's the trigger. But stress on it's own does not explain why I gravitate towards cross-dressing. Or buy boots that are designed for winter at the beginning of summery weather from a store that does cut-price fashion. You know, the fashion of being cut-price, not fashionable items at a lower price. My recent reading showed me many people that sound remarkably similar to the first few posts on this blog, and the later stuff, until about the middle of the Christmas period, when I seem to change slightly. But now the stress is back. And I'm acting out again. I've had to move the shoes that I love so much from the back of the sofa, with Tilly's mother here we'll need to pull it out to make a bed - something we don't do if I sleep on it. That means I'm back in the main bed tonight but no provision has been made for it, why it should be done for me I'm not certain.
The power isn't the same this time around though. It was really hard to cope with it back in July and in October it was something that I was almost compelled to do. It calmed down by the beginning of January but it's rising in pitch again now. I stowed the boots and my shoes in the cupboard by the dorr and, of course, Tilly went in there to look for a ball for the children today apropos of nothing. Did she look in the lower section, with all the, y'know, balls? No, she searches in the top, narrowly missing the boots and the shoes in her searches. I have to wonder if this is Him Upstairs trying to convince me not to go that way - the risk of discovery is huge and I know that Tilly has convinced herself that I'm not still doing it again. Why? Is this what I'm avoiding looking at? Is this something that will be cyclical? I know I'm ignoring things, I know that I am attempting to be honest but also that I am not being completely honest even with myself.
The knowledge that I own the boots makes me happy. The thought of dressing outside in the combination of them and the dress makes me happy. Just imagining it. I read my Salad Ballad poem today. I forgot... I forgot what it said. I've posted here, but I didn't actually read that damn' thing.