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, 13 February 2016

Good Moaning


I want to make a post about positive things. So many people are pushing through the difficulties of their difficult, as in actually hard, lives to be positive and are finding results. On the other hand, I am experiencing more positive things than ever (supportive colleagues, indulgent bosses, even a more romantic spouse) and I am focussing on the negative.

It's been a difficult almost fortnight.

Oh GOD I wish I could dress like this.

Or ever feel like she looks.
I went North in the electric car, but on my tod, and I was surprised by how much I enjoyed the balance of charge and distance - it made driving a puzzle, and one I enjoyed. I won't say it was without stress (I had to avoid work to do this) but it was almost fun. I can't do that with the family, so this week, when we head South, I shan't be able to open windows to decloud the windscreen or pull in at random because I can for a comfort charge or even just change the music to suit the driving conditions. Tilly will insist on having the seat heater on, the children will have their music in the back, the windows will remain shut, the heater will be blowing most of the way and every stop will be agreed to in the tone that informs the listener that it is a disappointment. Woe betide I pull in to find chargers that won't work or in the rain. We may not get indoors, it could take up to 15 minutes just to sort the family out if I need to drive over an access road (thus making it a 20 minute delay rather than 5).

I got to see my godson and all was (mostly) well. It reminded me of when our two were little. It confirmed I do not want another child.

I wouldn't mind being so stressed if I could dress like that.

During the week I paid for not having marked on the weekend. It was tough. And I got a roaring cold, the first in a long time actually. I had a headache, lethargy and tiredness. The latter was so bad that I actually slept in on the Wednesday, messing up the day pretty badly. I ended up challenging a child over plagiarism and then there was a parental complaint (within an hour of the event at the start of the school-day) which took two hours of faffing and stress on the Thursday evening. I failed to mark what I wanted to mark for Friday as a consequence. Each evening was a trial - reading to our daughter has been great since we started Harry Potter (we're on book 4) but she hates only having one chapter so each evening follows the same pattern: mad excitement, leading to inability to get ready logically or otherwise; later start of reading with her squirming and acting silly; rapt attention; disappointed and angry moaning for an hour or so after the reading is finished. It makes working next to impossible.

Tilly has been working both weeks. We haven't spent more than ten minutes together (awake) since some time in January. No, we really haven't - for once I'm not exaggerating. She makes all the right noises though, so that stands as an actual improvement. She was also even concerned about my cold, which, again, is a massive improvement. It's been a long time though and I have found it hard to adjust to the extra attention. I end up getting irritable and huffy and pushing people away. My brain is assailed by my depression telling it that I enjoyed it better when I was left alone. I wasn't, I know, but the initial response is hard to get past.

Except those first four words... I'm not
really sure I get to claim that.
Today, Tilly is in London with her narcissist. I am looking after the children. It has not gone well. The Girlie usually looks for a reason to get upset because she misses her Mummy and, today, I've been too full of cold and tired to work with that. She behaved stupidly at the end of dance and I blew up. I actually, honestly, do not like my little girl. I dislike her. She is spoilt, arrogant and deliberately behaves like an idiot to get away with things. She is, in effect, me. And I don't like me so I don't like her. And this has been building for a while. And I hate it. I hate the feeling: I shouldn't feel like this to my own daughter and I do anyway and it just operates on a feedback loop of horrible nastiness.

And each round just gets worse. I get more vindictive and angry, she gets more determined to do something utterly stupid: playing games with bamboo sticks for plants until one snaps and smacks her in the face; shouting at her brother until he punches her; using her socks as gloves until one gets a hole in it - and all because of me.

Face like a slapped arse?


Gotta be related to my mother.
Tomorrow my mother comes to visit. The Girlie is off sugar, my mother will hear this and instantly try to spoil her with sweets, it's how my mother operates. She was once asked to give her whatever my mother wished to give to her apart from chocolate for breakfast. Can you guess what our daughter was given for breakfast by my mother? It was chocolate. Sure enough she went mad and ended up running headfirst into a wall corner and bleeding. When my mother was told that ice cream sent her crazy and induced hangover-like symptoms for three days afterward she made it her mission to give our daughter ice-cream before leaving - succeeding so often that we actively tried to stop seeing her as much (and we didn't see her often to begin with). My mother is a fucking menace. Luckily(?) I channel my father's terrifying anger and snide put-downs that border on psychological abuse rather than my mother's desire to destroy any boundary that she's given to the detriment of all concerned.

Monday we travel South and we must adhere to the old-style timetable of travel so that we can swim twice a day, see Tilly's mother every day (including the day we travel back) and stay in the hotel Tilly likes. This may not be possible, charging stations are hard to find down there that aren't part of local initiatives that outsiders, such as us, would have to pay through the nose to use. We're dependent on a free charger on a motorway, but it adds about half an hour of travel every time we need to charge and that, you see, is not allowed. I'm not looking forward to it.

I must mark a bunch of stuff I've been putting off. I must write up some trip paperwork so that we can carry out the trips. Neither remaining colleague can help. One is a new father and the other is struggling and thinking of going elsewhere (I kinda need them to stay, so I'm trying to minimise stress and extra work as an inducement).

And then the merry-go-round starts again.

Oh, Tilly asked that we do nothing for Valentine's this year again - we can "be romantic in our own time" she said. Also, she's busy with her book, articles, new business venture and her narcissist. I agreed, of course I agreed, but we're slowly going back to the old rut. You know, in a year, we still qualify as technically sexless. Still, it's more frequent than at any time since Tilly was pregnant with the Girlie. I'm just glad I didn't do what I did last time and buy enough protection for double figures only to have to throw them out when they passed their use-by date by six months.

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