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!

Wednesday, 3 February 2016

The Truth Will Out

My youth.

Not the setting, oh no, the show. It was something we watched
as a family for the longest time. Both my mother and my
grandmother, before she went batshit crazy, would watch and
trade notes on immediately afterward.

Back when it was only on once a week.
My mother always liked watching soap operas, especially Coronation Street. For someone who prided herself on how sharp and intelligent she was, at least as far as I knew at the time, I was amazed that she would deign to watch them when the plots were paper thin and the characterisation largely asinine. One day, probably after my father left, I asked her why she insisted on watching them. Now, I knew that she read Catherine Cookson books and that, sometime around the age of 12, I'd tried to read one of those myself in an exchange to have her read Terry Pratchett. I was less than impressed with what I found, but did not connect the nature of these to the soap operas. I should have done. Point is, my mother said that she liked the soap operas because "the truth will always out" - bad people lost and had their comeuppance eventually and the good were rewarded. It was a simple, easy, accessible and strong morality on Coronation Street when I was growing up. She then proceeded to show me this happening from that point on. I have no idea if that is still true of the soap operas of today, in these days post-Breaking Bad and the concept of the anti-hero becoming very mainstream and small screen I confess that I do not believe many places will hold to the original pantomime of simplistic morality play, but I digress.

And these look lovely.
No pressure, no big happenings, a nice home life. The truth will out. It is how my life is. And I am failing. I can't seem to keep up with work, I can't organise my time well - I've been asked to be godfather and will visit the god-child this weekend: I haven't organised a present, nor card, nor the route beyond the basics. I haven't planned trips at work. I haven't marked the coursework. I forgot to mention last night's parents evening to Tilly. I forgot that I was supposed to be playing a game with some friends tonight and have lost all the stuff for it, somewhere.

My heart is beating like it used to do all the time between 2010 and 2013. It is not a welcome feeling. I was up late this morning, very late (6.30am), and I just feel like I'm watching the wheels come off  my wagon again. Except that this time there's no handy thing to blame.

I was reminded of Toby's suggestion that I buy and wear capris or pedal pushers today, it's a convoluted journey, and finally got to looking up what they look like (they were largely how I imagined, but I'd never looked at actual pairs). In my present mood and state I rather wish I could travel back to when she suggested them and say yes, go out and get a couple of pairs and wear them. It was a doomed relationship, I don't miss it, but I wish I could have done that. The chance was there. I can never change what is past.

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