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!

Monday, 25 November 2013

Toccata and Fugue

In Dee Minor (see what I did there?)

My life in 2020?
Used to be my favourite year, you know, and if this
was to be it I'm not sure I would be able to complain
very much more than I do now.

Well, probably about the loss of my family.
So, Dee was setting her discussion points, as she does on her blog, and asked if there was anything that people still wanted to do. It's 2013, it's been the future since 2000, and one has to ask where all the time went. I left University without indulging myself but having had my first very clumsy relationship and plenty of stalker-like crushes that my male privilege allowed me to get away with in a way that I don't think I'm entirely comfortable with looking back. I have met and married a wife, had a tumultuous relationship with a madwoman who seemed to like me. I have had two children. I have had four jobs, two at the same place of employment, and gained three degrees since 2000. I have bought two houses, rented six properties and lived in three counties.

Why so serious?

Yes Wendy, we all wear masks, in a
manner of speaking...
My Dad was over on the weekend. It was... a complicated way to make a visit happen, but my family are good at that kind of thing. We all make asses out of Uma Thurman with our assumptions but she is yet to come and kill us for it. Anyway, the point is that, after a slow start, my Father offered me acceptance. He's been 'proud' and he's said that he likes my workaholic nature already. Yesterday he offered acceptance. Why? I have a big house that is clean and tidy. I appear wealthy and well-to-do. And I wanted to tell him that it was a sham. Because it is all a sham.

My respectability, my job, my outward persona is all a big fat lie. I am downright messed up. I have messed with my mind so much regarding sex, for example, that it's hard to know where the part of me that is me begins and where the porn-obsessed part ends. What is action from me and what is a learned conditioned response. In terms of job it's hard to know what is an act and what is really me any more - even with a nice place and good students I have an odd duality that I have noticed before and seems to be increasing. Certainly I am noticing it more in the less stressed environment.

Made up, a figment, a dream within a dream...

In all honesty, what else is there?
I am an artifice and I don't truly know what or who I am. I am most at home playing a role. So at home, in fact, that I am beginning to wonder if I ever don't play a role. I want to say that when I was dressed those times earlier in the year and when I was renting for my new job before moving then I was closest to me. But I don't actually know what that means. I was closest to being myself when I was dressed in clothes that do not match my outward gender appearance operating entirely in secret? Seriously? When dressed for a role that is entirely made up, running scenarios in my head that were the most removed from my daily life I was the closest to being me?

Since 2000, well, more 1998, I have been trying to find exactly who I am. I have discovered precious little. I have plenty that I am not, but not much of what I am.

Except, well, in this case it is for boys.

Though, if GID is genetic/biochemical then what is it that
makes someone male or female?
Leslie, wise and supportive, asked what difference a diagnosis of GID would make. Perceptive. Like a diagnosis of Asperger's or Depression or Alzheimer's or Athlete's Foot it would help identify something that is purely me. Something that is a fact. A Fact. That is, something that was not influenced by my own sense of drama, occasion and a desire to challenge. Something like GID or Depression or whatever can't really be faked - at least, not for long and not with any degree of continuing accuracy, unless you are deliberately cheating and then the labels are meaningless anyway - I'm not sure that I could fake anything like that. I would have nothing to gain by faking that because who exactly would I tell? It would be for me. And if you cheat on something that only you care about the only person you cheat is yourself.

Hence my fugue. A bad lesson and a lack of marking and unresolved sexual tension with Tilly and a lingering sense of discomfort from my Father's visit combine and the result is this blog. Well, more kind of an ongoing thing, if you've been here a while you'll know that. And a question, the same question: what do I want?

Without a clear aim how can anyone bring down the Russian government?

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