|Oh I would love this to be the view|
in the mirror.
I registered with a doctor's surgery at long last today. Prompted by the trips to the hospital with Tilly and by feeling the elbow I fell on a few months ago and realising that the bone isn't straight any more, there are lumps and bumps there and feeling it made me feel a bit sick and gave me pins and needles. I maybe ought to have that checked out, but I haven't done any work or marking yet and I'm feeling rubbish again. During the registration I did wonder just how much to reveal. I told them about the depression but not about the transvestism but part of me wanted to tell them about the sexlessness because I feel entitled and my immense throbbing privilege needs to be acknowledged I suppose.
Yes, I have been watching Dylan Moran stand-up again. I may be talking like him but in a text format. I suspect it doesn't work so well anyway.
And there was a dream.
|Yes, like this.|
|My favourite shot of the night.|
I felt very much at home like this.
No, that's mansplaining. I am cheating on my wife and on the vows we made when we first got together (let's not bother with the stupidity of pretending that a marriage ceremony means anything extra to those initial vows and sex) and when we first had sex. I am cheating on her just as much as my father cheated on my mother. Difference is simply that I am doing it in a way that is hard to trace and in a way that allows me to be anything I would like to be. And the same is true for my partners I suppose, though in both cases I suspect that they are much what they claim to be.
|I would prefer to see this. No, really.|