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!

Saturday, 8 March 2014

Pick up the Pieces

Awww yiii-eah!

Once upon a time there was a tape in the family car (showing how far back this was) and it had a piece of music on it that I rather enjoyed. The whole tape was pure awesome, but this particular music put me in mind of that part of Superman II (I think) where Superman had gone evil? Maybe that diner in the first film where he gets punched and then goes back at the end and socks the bully? I think. Anyway, today's activities very much are picking up the pieces (the music was called Pick up the Pieces).

My predecessor has left a mountain of shit. Basically, badly marked work that is to be assessed on a national level. This wouldn't be so bad, I can mark quickly and accurately after all, but for the fact that they've completely fucked up the mark scheme and thus taught the students the wrong method. This means students who ought to be hitting top marks (and they really should) are... uh... hitting the kind of marks that mean they fail. And I must fix this. We also have a sleepover ongoing. Boy is still ill (so is the Girlie for that matter, but we're ignoring that so she gets her friend to sleep over). Tilly is still ill. I'm dosed up on energy drink and two pints of Pepsi, hence my blogging tonight.

EDIT - Ah! It was Superman II. The fight and the end of the film!

If you come here just to check on my status, that's probably all you'll need from my following rant. Hence the line break to save your sanity!

Tilly has added the duct tape.
You know, symbolically.
There's also that whole conversation from last week still werbling around in my head. The comments on the previous post to this one, where I asked for studies and whatnot, are also very pertinent. Calvin points out that the cross-dressing is what I do to feel happy as well as a stress response. Certainly this is true since September - there was a modicum of stress (and I reverted to type to be maudlin and melancholy) - but the dressing I did was simply to enjoy the experience, to luxuriate and be happy. The clothes that I have since bought to feed that habit were also bought in times of calm, because I liked the clothes and not because I was being spiteful (knickers and camisoles aside) and the intention to dress was to be happy and to enjoy it rather than to deal with stress. But illness and tiredness and general shittiness has reared its head (as it always does) and thus the week has been lost without further discussion. My experience in this regard tells me that it could be months before another opportunity to actually discuss anything and, in the meantime, my mentioning it (as I did tonight) will add up to convince Tilly that I am labouring the point. It is similar to when I am feeling ill, if I mention it more than once over, say, a fortnight period then I am moaning. Mentioning sex more than once a month is considered to be harping on about things...

Yeah, that's the look.

There's a little more screaming, crying, hitting and
incoherence with the Girlie, but this is roughly right.

Maybe this is more common than I think. Well, okay, it
is very common. But not with us.
However, at the moment there is also stress. The Girlie has had an attitude that totally stinks over the last fortnight, she has been insane. Okay, our parenting must take full blame for that lately, but it doesn't diminish the stress and the difficulty of dealing with the fall out. Her current sleep over guest appears to be the font of the method and the language (not foul, just the syntax and the structure of sentences) that Girlie has used to be so foul but there is the illness that's come on to help crank up the shitty. The fact that the Boy is very much growing up and able to voice his own views (and so we've been able to do things for him for a change) is no help and may have provided the spark of Girlie's ire. That has made home a difficult place to be and a harder place to work. So my marking, always slow and laborious, has taken something of a hit.

Yep, that's me reading through
the shit I've been left.
What is this I don't even.
Now factor in the current situation. I had been avoiding doing the marking because I knew it would be bad. I only had the papers to look at around Christmas and then had the mocks (of various year groups) to get through and reports and the day to day essays and stuff. I got round to them today. It is worse than I thought, much worse. It explains the arrogance that I have been met with when applying the examination standard with these students, if this is what has passed for high level stuff... It scares me, because I'll have to fix this if the students are to hit anything approaching decent grades come the final examinations. This work accounts for a sizable chunk of their final grade, enough to make the difference between grades, sometimes up to two grades, and that will affect results. Results I shall be held to. there's no point crying that I wasn't here, I must fix it. There's a lot that I question in the way this sort of work is handled at my current place of work and I worry what may be expected of me in terms of how far I might be asked to go. This is stressful.

And yet... I don't feel an urge to dress. I mean, obviously, there's the low lying urge going on. Obviously, if I were given the opportunity, I would, but it's not all-consuming. It's not something that I'm clinging to like wreckage from a sinking ship as it was this time three years' back. So, my motivations aren't entirely stress-related. It's too late for a beer now. I didn't have one last night. I can't have one before going back to work. Fuck, I've missed that opportunity.

Ah, I'll stop, I think I'm just needlessly ranting now. And to think, I thought I may get round to writing actual fiction this weekend. Ha!


  1. I wonder if this change in the way you are thinking of (desiring) dressing is because of your posts here. I don't specifically mean your most recent posts, but the whole idea of writing out your thoughts about dressing in a (semi) public way. I know for me, the whole TG fantasy was something I thought most often about when I was feeling stressed. But when I joined the capping community and talked about it in a more thoughtful and open way... it changed. It went from something that I think about, fantasize about, and feel guilty about, to something that I accepted as part of me.

    Nowadays when I feel dark or stressed, my mind doesn't turn to TG fantasies. I think it's helped me as I was using that as a crutch. Now when I feel stressed I tend to look at what's stressing me out.

    I'm sorry to hear that things have been going down that stressful path for you. I hope that these issues take a turn for the better.

    1. Ah, indeed, I am well aware of the change mainly being from talking about - in my perception of things. However, being slightly more... autistic? than average means that I can also recognise that I wouldn't even have dressed at all were it not something I felt was positive.

      Put another way, my first dressing experiences were overwhelmingly positive and unconnected to stress (either through combating it or through a celebration of not having any - stress wasn't really part of it). The sexual element, the frisson, was there, certainly, but my first full dressing experiences were without that - it was just... comfortable.

      So... yeah. Writing here has certainly helped that journey but bear in mind that this place started at what was probably my lowest ebb and recounted an experience borne mostly of stress and depression. Ergo, from reading this, I probably create a slightly unrepresentative picture of my journey.

      And yeah, my job comes hand in glove with a very particular kind of stress. As does everyone's (and yours!).


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