A repository of all things. It is, as the title suggests, an attempt to capture happiness felt and explain why, as well as explain why it is not permanent. An aspirational blog of the highest emotion.
This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. 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 "Story So Far" Page above this and the "New Readers" 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!
And here I am. I am rubbish at asking others to take my photo, I wanted to, but I did not. So here I am at the end of the evening instead in an appalling selfie. Oh, and old not smartwatch ahoy!
Last night I went to the in-person support group because my children were away with Tilly to surprise her Dad for a milestone birthday. It has allowed me to (digression klaxon) be me a bit more this week, and I have embraced that and enjoyed it. Even though I didn't go to the vegan favourite my local vegan cafe gaming on Tuesday I did wear mascara that evening and dress as myself. On Wednesday I wore my pencil skirt and new blouse and enjoyed being professional whilst watching crap on youtube. It's the small things. But, last night, I once again put on the mascara, after a bath to shave my legs and chest and pits, and then the white long sleeved t-shirt, the pink t-shirt that I love, my flares and some of my new socks. Glasses on and I walked down the street(!) to the car, went and... enjoyed it.
Basically I am a walking meme machine - in that I can relate virtually anything back to a meme or video or book - and it was actually quite nice. I was everso slightly jealous of the amazing fashion choices on display there, the amazing uses of make-up (some incredible nail work and jealousy inducing use of eye-make-up from a new person attending for the first time) and the community feel. You know me by now, I am good at grand gestures and attending for a little while - it is in the long term that I become hard to stomach and deal with.
I really like this look. I did at the time too. But now? Now I know why I never fancied Carrie-Anne Moss, I just thought her style might look good on me.
Work today was a little more difficult than normal, the crunch is coming and I am struggling as ever to keep pace, but I know that the storm is coming and that I shall weather (ha) it as best as I can. I always do. I was also reminded about the feeling of those first days back at work and that put me in a happier mood as I charged the car ready for the weekend's shenanigans. Then I came home and indulged by watching Matrix Reloaded and really enjoyed it. I have played very much into the meme that the sequels were rubbish but I did recall enjoying the films in the cinema when I watched them (2003 apparently!). And, yes, I thoroughly enjoyed the film and remembering the incredible soundtrack again.
Oh, tonight I'm in my blue jeggings, butterfly t-shirt and I feel amazing. When I got back from the support group last night I very nearly went for a walk because the temperature was forgiving and I felt so at home dressed as I was. I had some of my students say that I was wearing more colourful clothing this year (I am not) and it really buoyed me up because it just proves that observation that I appear happier and more comfortable with myself. Next, honestly, is deciding whether or not I want to try for Carrie-Anne Moss's hairstyle from the Matrix films when I get my hair trimmed in half term (end of October). I mentioned this last night and one of the kind souls there present looked at me, considered, and then said they could totally see it on me. I won't lie and say I wasn't flattered. I still thing it was a well-meaning lie, but now that seed has been planted and we'll just have to see what happens now.
Luckily, FaceApp is on hand to deal with the close-up, Mister Demille.
One thing was very clear today, though, as I drove home and ruminated on the events of the week past: I really would like to not have my beard or facial hair. Like, ever again, I cannot imagine a situation where I would willingly and without qualm go back to having my beard. Having had one for the best part of 21 years this was something of a surprise but not entirely unexpected. When I am inevitably asked what I hope to gain from any potential transition, I guess this is the first honest-to-god physical change and source of dysphoria. Just spotting on the full photo above that I have such dark stubble made me pause. And I wasn't expecting that. In the end, I just want to feel like I did on Thursday night, when I got home, more often. I want to be able to actually go for that bloody walk, but in the daylight and with no stubble and a feminine haircut so that I can code 'woman' enough not to instantly get beaten up on the way out. And, for the first time, I'm wondering if I might be looking at a potential future rather than a ridiculous and fantastical vivid dream just before I awaken.
Sunday - in flares I go for a random walk and buy a blouse for future use at work. I get FaceApp to do the dirty.
Since earlier this year, since I realised that not only could I be trans but that I would allow myself to be trans - and thus, well, recognising the fact that, yes, I was trans and always had been... since then, I have found myself doing the kinds of things that I have spent literal years avoiding. Because, well, I had sort of given myself permission. Then summer arrived: I went to an in-person support group, I screwed up my courage and went dressed. Then I pushed through and went to my favourite vegan board-gaming local cafe dressed as myself and weathered it - no, I didn't just weather it, I went and really enjoyed being me. I was me, for possibly the first time, out there in the world. Much of the summer was spent being me thereafter, like a damn had broken and the me in me was rushing out into the world. I was looking in mirrors, I wasn't swearing at myself in a morning, I wasn't stressed, I had my ups and downs but, ultimately, I was able to be a bit kinder to myself because I was, well, I was me.
So it was that I went back to work and rapidly built up new practices: I no longer have a beard; I wear an alice band; I wear glasses; I underdress; I have new socks. True, work made things hard - it always does - and the cyber-attack and subsequent shenanigans making me feel more precarious; but mostly I weathered it (felt very down when my tooth exploded) and now my children are away for the week.
I really like the train-wreck hair here, even if the app really struggled with the dimensions of my face.
Tonight, I faced my first failure to launch. I had the option, and the time, to go to my local favourite gaming local vegan local cafe and... I didn't. I came home, started the tea, and applied mascara - dressing in my flared jeans, new white long-sleeve t-shirt and my favourite pink one over the top. I put on my stuffed bra (an old lacy one this time, not one of the recent t-shirt bra purchases) and my glasses and... I'm sat here. Last night I went out (jeans and white top; but a coat over the top and with the same stuffed bra) and bought my tea from the chippy. No make-up... but I did it. And, trust me, I feel so comfortable in mascara right now. Like, I am genuinely shaken by just how much of a difference it's made to put it on and how much more like me I feel. But I haven't gone out, as I had planned, to my favourite local favourite gaming favourite vegan cafe.
Why?
Partly due to the fact that KT is likely there and I'm not ready for her to know about me just yet - she is in contact with Tilly and is likely to 'let slip' what she knows and I'm not ready to have Tilly find out via someone else. And I didn't want to go in disguise enough to do that either.
This one is just... nice.
Over the weekend my Union Rep sent me an e-mail about the NEU advice for transitioning staff. My place of work does not have a policy for transitioning staff. But it does have a policy for transitioning students. This policy states that a student will be supported in terms of clothing choices if the student is over 18 but that the school will not accept name changes or pronoun changes unless and until a Gender Recognition Certificate is provided and, regardless of age, will not change unless parents support the change as well. Parents supporting the change is not enough to allow staff to use new pronouns or names. Staff may, but this will not be supported by the register or by communications from the school. This is all perfectly legal and very conservative. The Union advice is for a much more supportive policy but...
Here I sit, dressed as me, glass or Rose wine on hand, and I think: how long? Next academic year perhaps? Sooner?
I really enjoyed the summer. I really enjoyed the chance to be me, the realisation that I could be me and still function. I found myself exactly where I feared I would be, but, in the end, there was no real fear. Not really. There was just me. And that was wonderful. I caught glimpses of me in the mirror and what I saw there was joy, happiness, contentment. I saw myself as if for the first time. I have slept better these last six months than I remember sleeping for a long long time. And, tonight, as I applied mascara in the mirror, I realised just how much I actually like myself. Sorry, typing that has brought tears to my eyes that I simply wasn't expecting. I'm going to stop typing now.
If I could offer you one tip for the future, sun-screen would be it. The long term benefits of sun-screen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my [writing] has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. Slowly but surely the edifice is semi-rebuilt and I end up feeling not a little sheepish.
I think it's viable to argue that, one day maybe, perhaps, with a following wind and a lot of squinting, assuming a distance, myopia in the viewer and bad lighting: I could probably aim for something that approximates enough the look on the right to bring an image like this to mind.
In my dreams, maybe.
There have been ructions: my father phoned on Wednesday, he has bowel cancer. It sounds... bad. We arranged that I would take the eldest two down next Sunday, so he can have a face to face chat with me. Given his tone... I suspect it'll be about wills and potential death. He doesn't have a prognosis yet, but the doctor commented that the tumour is "big and bleeding". The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.
The HDD came back unmolested, no problems, they scanned for the malware and found nothing and so looked no further. My laptop has the malware and, though I told them I needed no data from it, they've sent it away to save the data. This data is mainly student work downloaded from online storage so I absolutely don't need any of it. Oh well, they were trying to do right by me, I just wish they hadn't! I'm on a loaner laptop, about twenty years old but at least it works.
Oh, yeah, bought some new trousers that might not match the jacket, but may match the idea being shot for...
The tooth has been seen. Temporary filling applied, I'm suspicious of it and eating on the other side of my mouth, but at least it no longer aches. I have an appointment to get a proper filling in November. Apparently it was the filling that failed, not the tooth, and it took the side of the tooth with it when it went. It was a decade old I guess. And, at the same time, the blister is slowly healing. I've been able to walk rather than hobble for a couple of days: hurrah!
On Thursday I had a chat with Miss Warrington. I have been getting steadily more excited about the new Matrix film now that I have had explained to me precisely how the first film (and, indeed, the sequels) are, in fact, a trans allegory. It's... well, it's kind of obvious now I look at it (surface level: living in a world where things seem off but not knowing why; the red pill is oestrogen; Trinity is filmed to be attractive to lesbians. Going deeper: the relationship twixt Neo and Trinity is not a hetero one at all; the posters merge Trinity and Neo's face a lot; Cypher was supposed to be a woman outside the Matrix and a man in it - hence the conversation with the Agent, it's transition regret - there's more, but that'll do for now). But, that aside, I really enjoyed the first film (and then buried how much I liked the follow ups in the welter of bad press) and the trailer reminded me about how much I enjoyed it. I mean, I was friends with a bunch of sci-fi geeks when the first one came out and went to see it with them at a Film Society showing for the first time. We discussed it a bit, you might say, and of course I played with the idea of being in the Matrix but being a woman in a pod with a male avatar - because of course I did and I read the fanfic that did that different ways. Been using scenes for my whole career (the fight and jump program scenes) with Sixth Formers after their first essay: "everybody falls the first time".
Surprisingly enough, Real Life Comics sort of sums up my thoughts (emphasis on sort of). It's been doing that... a lot?
Anyway, Miss Warrington was also talking about the trailer and on Thursday we were able to have an actual chat at the end of the day. Her day off is Friday this year. She took the first half hour to talk about Her week and the students She was teaching, how Her lessons were going, Her recent switch to more colourful and playful clothing. And then we talked about the film a bit (Her dress had white rabbits on it, as did Her earrings). Then She asked after me. I didn't mean to, but I shared the reason for the blister - She laughed, called me a glutton for punishment, but then made some recommendations for shoes. Alas, we got no further as we were interrupted by Alice and thus segued back into the Matrix until Alice started talking shop and I took my leave. Daughter to Dance, then shopping, missing my usual Thursday night gaming session (I only got home at 2145).
Wore the pink accented glasses to work every day but Thursday (went with blue to match the tie, but it didn't feel right, so went back to pink), and my bralette on Thursday and Friday. Got changed into my flares most nights, been in my nightie and stuffed bra every night apart from Tuesday and last night (goodness, I wasn't prepared for how much of a part of my routine that has become) and... Yeah. Leaned into the whole Mx thing and I do feel soooo much better than I usually do at work. My hair is now long enough that I can do a high ponytail to keep it dry when not washing it. I... I like that. And even when it's unbrushed and messy I feel like I'm looking at myself in the mirror of a morning. With everything, that has been a real tonic. I even had a chat with a female colleague who doesn't know about how to straighten hair (or at least avoid the strange kick-back I'm developing) that went... well, rather well actually.
Not gonna lie, would love to dress like this for work.
All this time wasted - since at least the early 1990s - knowing that something was just... off. And, also, kind of knowing what it was that was off too, but not wanting to know because of the feeling that it was somehow wrong. But, I know now. As in, I know in a way that doesn't allow for plausible deniability. And the clock is ticking. Or not. Not sure my father would be supportive were I to tell him what I now know. A conversation back in London where he and my brother agreed that trans people were "looking for attention" and that "God doesn't make mistakes" so therefore "trans people don't really exist" because they're just obnoxious potential perverts desperately seeking attention. My father has regularly suggested that I just "give up" cross-dressing and still believes that this makes me to blame for my divorce as it puts him "in danger of supporting" Tilly over me. Maybe a different clock is ticking. Certainly next Sunday isn't the time to tell him. If there will ever be a time.
In all of this, I have never thought of myself as being in the wrong body. It's mine. Baz Luhrmann told me how it was the most perfect instrument I would ever know. It's hairier than I wanted in places that I didn't want hair but that sort of thing can be solved without changing my body or even who I am. And it didn't do some of the things that... well, I knew it wouldn't do (I'd read the Body Book) but still kinda hoped that maybe it would - like a mistake had been made in the admin when I was born or something, you know? Like, maybe I'd be lucky enough to have gynecomastia? I wasn't. And, I'm off on a tangent.
A new Matrix film out? A trailer that references the bits in the first (and only) film of the trilogy, the bits that reference Lewis Carroll and a prominent trans director? Is it my birthday? Oh baby do you remember; he's been through all this before, spent the summer getting nowhere.
No. It is not.
A targeted malware attack on my place of work on Friday, meaning I had to hand in my personal portable HDD this morning. Cue feeling a little sick with worry - I have downloaded more than a few captions over the years, sometimes one has something to hide (should have hidden it, shouldn't you?). And musing on Section 28 and it's place as the Death Star hiding a moon, protected by that shield projector based on the self-same moon and run by the Empire. Not a cannibalistic teddy bear in sight - all the better to eat you with. From pain comes pity.
Pain on the feet, constant and irritating, coming and going; a day spent stressed at pushing a little bit further: brown alice-band, pink accented anti-glare glasses, baby-blue socks with white heart details (women's ankle socks). And, tonight, my back molar crumbled while eating tea. No, again, the whole nightmare scenario of the shattering of a bit of tooth. Of course, because I had been so blithe and, well, happy. It's how it always goes. I shouldn't be surprised. I'm the paper cut that kills you, I'm the priest that you ignore.
What will get me first this time, I wonder, what will bring the cascade down?
Already I have been moved sideways because I fell apart and confessed to my ultimate boss that I couldn't do what was requested of me, stating baldly that he needed to get someone else in my position as I was unable to do what he wanted. Dark calculus. An e-mail seeks clarification on pronouns because I have been using Mx, but on the work system. Am I tragic or a joke wrapped in my invisibility cloak? Well, quite. How long do I have?
Tomorrow I must phone my dentist, book the time off work when I get an appointment. I must await the return of my HDD with bated breath, be ready for the questions and potential recriminations. No one escapes judgement forever. I must actually phone my GP, seek an appointment for a referral to a gender clinic. My vector isn't so far removed from the locus of that potential co-ordinate. Indeed, it lies on the path I seem to have begun. Better all at once than never. Maybe revisit my visit to the psychotherapist and try again. Wary of AGP and misinterpretation, the sum of all my fears.
Because I've waited long enough.
One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small and the ones that mother gives you don't do anything at all. "Well, hello, my hollow Holofernes" I wink, but you don't get the joke.
Walking in heels is fun. Going Out pt 3 was a serious contender for a post title.
Today was the day I decided to finally go for a walk in my boots with the 3" heels.
Why?
I had dug out an old pair of jeans that I noted had wide legs - 34" waist, 32" leg - from a long time ago when I really was getting fat and wore them on Friday night and Saturday when the children were over. Why had I ditched them? A belt dealt with the waist size issue (I'm still higher than 32" but not the 34" I was when I bought these jeans) so... Oh, right, a massive hole in the pocket big enough to drop my credit cards and phone. Right. Anyway, I switched to my new flared jeans (female tailoring) today to take the eldest home and thence on to charge the car (I am so interesting, I know). And, on return, I thought: I wonder what these jeans look like with my boots?
Fair reader, they looked good.
The length of the leg and the size of the flare was such that you could not tell I was wearing heels (and the legs still grazed the ground) so I decided to go for a walk - no one could see the heels and no one could stop me.
About the point I realised I had a blister. The App struggles mightily with this t-shirt. It is 15 years old though.
Initially the main issue was that the area in which I live suddenly seemed very busy compared to previous walks. I usually see one or two people on a Sunday, sure, but today I saw so many more - there was a gentleman going very slowly in a mobility scooter on the pavement (surely he heard the clip-clop of the heels and noticed my much reduced stride?); there were three families with young children on the way to the canal (they all looked at my feet, did they know?); a horse-rider (never seen a horse on the path before) who stopped for a chat (did she see my gait as well and wonder?); people on the benches (usually they're fishing, not today, they eyed me curiously as I went over the bridge over the canal) and at least six cyclists (I'm lucky to see one usually), one of whom stopped as their dog went swimming and definitely spotted I was wearing heeled boots.
In all, I walked for an hour and ten minutes out on my usual route. With significantly smaller strides and a realisation that my size 9 boots allowed for a lot of slip-sliding around by my feet - particularly on my left. The clip-clop was replaced by scraping and a bit of a hobbling gait as my feet slipping gradually took on a painful aspect - the soles were thin, and on my left in particular I could feel the sharp stones on the path on my foot.
Going uphill was fine and walking on moss or mud was almost comfortable - my tendons and heels were totally silent - but my sole on my left was getting hot and complaining. Going downhill made me run in comically short steps even after the slope was passed. I was also struggling to keep my legs straight like I do in much smaller sojourns with the boots, and a deeply held desire to go quickly kept getting in the way of walking properly in the heels. When I got to a road I thought would loop round and found that it didn't (to be fair, it's a route I have avoided so far as being potentially too short) I turned and headed back, picking up pace to avoid yet another female walker looming behind me. Oh, yes, there were at least four female walkers I passed and at least one of them looked at my feet inquiringly.
That's when the pain really started. By the time I got over the bridge again, closer to home, I realised that I had a blister and that it was probably unwise to have gone so far with my boots and no recourse to alternatives. In the end I walked 5.32km at an average pace of 13m per km, and a pretty high heart rate of 136bpm on average. I was sweating profusely all the way back, not like me at all (though the sudden onset of summer rain suggests to me that the humidity was higher than I'm used to). Yes, I am sad enough to check the data from my fitness app, imagine a tongue out emoji at this point.
On my way into town to get plasters. My left foot really hurt. But, well, heels do so... I guess I liked it?
Really liked wearing my tee and jeans though.
I worked it out - that hair length is about ten months away now.
Once home I had a proper look. Yes, there was a massive blister on the left foot, on the sole near the toes, big enough to take in most of the front pads to the instep. It was so big that I literally couldn't walk on it after sitting for about ten minues. I popped it (probably not the best move, ask your doctor's advice) and then applied some crappy plasters I'd bought in when making the bunk beds ended up with me stabbing myself with a screwdriver before donning trainers, my mustard t-shirt (my original t-shirt being soaked through with sweat) and new socks to head into town (and the big supermarket) for some proper ones.
This walk, stat fans, was 3.08km at 9m30s per km and an average of 80bpm. Took 46 minutes in all. I got the plasters, some oat milk for work (Miss Warrington is avoiding dairy and specifically asked me to share her almond milk last week) and a tray of sushi (because I am still a fat pig). By the time I got home the plasters I had applied were red, literally, and soaked through. No sign of bleeding as I looked, but clearly some bleeding had happened. I have applied a gel plaster and am hoping that will do the trick for tomorrow and a return to work. Oh, and I've had a home-cooked (but packet made) Thai curry and some Rose wine (this was part of a student gift and this particular bottle was left for me by Alice after I came out to him, the gender script is real and I am early enough in my journey that I actually rather liked it). Feeling pleasantly light-headed.
So, in conclusion: if you go for a long walk in heels make sure you know what you're doing and maybe don't take 3" heeled boots on a walk you usually romp in trail shoes over broken ground. Mind you, I still loved it.
Another image from Tuesday. I like the glasses in this one.
Busy day today, but I'm trying to keep to things that aren't just narrations of the day these days. Anyway, the first evening taking the eldest to her dance class at a later time. That meant I had to start the day preparing for the in-person support group - meaning a bath and shaved legs (only twenty minutes, much improved!). I then did shopping and a rushed extra shave (chin) this evening before taking her to dance for 1900. She finished at 2015, but wasn't out until 2020. Driving her home took until 2050. Then it was a dash to mine to get changed, and I hadn't really thought through what I was going to wear. Well, okay, I had a bit but I realised that I didn't have time to add mascara (which was a shame) and my plan wasn't going to work (mini skirt - the denim one from Toby - with pink top) because I hadn't really sorted the 'shoe problem' where I didn't have anything I could reasonably wear. I tried the pink top from Aldi with a new skirt (burgundy) but... no. Pushed for time, it was now gone 2100, I opted for the mustard t-shirt and long skirt I got from Lidl recently. All a bit of a change from my teaching outfit. And now I've written a vapid paragraph on clothes.
Me in job-mode.
I made the group at around 2130 in the end. A bit late. I'd missed introductions and discussion was underway. The older lady from last time was there, holding forth again, but we were joined by others. It was a good turn-out. But, after a day teaching, I was still in teacher-mode, I guess, and itching to have a discussion. I could feel myself trying to speak, to turn conversation onto something that would lead to 'discussion' rather than... I don't know. It's not something I like about myself. I ended up chatting to a trans-man there with his partner and so I rolled the grenade into the group and it exploded, sending everyone into shards. The conversation was a nice one, this couple was just older than my students, so it fitted neatly into the sort of conversation pattern I'm used to at work, in the classroom. Except I was in a skirt with a stuffed bra, I guess.
But I did spot some of the regulars (though they were new to me) looking very stern. At me.
App interpretation. Teeth: model's own.
I need to learn to shut up and listen more, I know, and I perhaps shall. Who knows?
Upshot? Everything today has been just a bit too rushed. I got up slightly late, I ran a bath rather than have a shower, the nature of the day at work meant that I was moving rooms a lot and having to adapt on the fly. I mean, I can do that, but it does take rather a lot out of me. Add in being unable to share lunch with Miss Warrington and other staff (long boring story, I have to sit with my Form for a few weeks) and not really having a chance to chat with colleagues generally and you have a frustrating day (no matter how much I enjoy the lessons). Then it was a rushed drive home to shop, to make and eat tea, pick up my eldest and then a strange hour with no pressure (and nothing to do) before another rushed drive and panicked getting ready. Then, for me, a rushed in-person support group meeting.
I'm not sure I'm going to able to reasonably make the group again. Which is a shame. I feel like I have much more left to learn if I could only sit and listen for longer.
Fully back at work, lessons have started, and we're two days in. So far, I am nowhere near as stressed as I normally am and I know that I have gaps in lessons but... it's working, sorta, so far. I'm getting up in time, getting through my morning and-
Yesterday morning, the app has removed my blue shirt for some reason.
This isn't the point. I am going to bed and waking up with a smile. I know. I am smiling. I spent some time, half awake, thinking about trouser suits for work - you know, with wide legs and a boot-cut to allow for modest heels. I signed off a task set for some of my older students as Mx - it's not offical, but it felt like the right thing to do. I may enquire into ways to make that a proper and more 'official' thing. I... I liked using it. It's been really strange using my disguise-name as well, like... more than I have ever known before it just doesn't feel like me. Because, I guess, it never has been and the difference is that now I know that too.
As I went into work today a colleague, female, to whom I have not come out and has no way of knowing, went out of her way to walk with me a bit. She said: "You look really... relaxed, like you've had a really good summer. Fresh, yes, you look fresh. And I love your hair!" I was taken aback, I don't think I've ever had it where any colleague has, apropos of nothing, offered a physical compliment. At least, not recently enough that I remember.
Tonight, we stopped at a park for a bit, those are how my eyes looked, but the app, as ever, struggled with the t-shirt
Later in the day I passed another colleague, female, who I know reasonably well and who, again, does not know nor has ways of finding out. She made small talk and then, as if looking at me properly, followed with "Oh, I do like your hair. You're looking so much happier and relaxed, you know, it suits you!" Again, I did my best to accept gracefully, but, again, I really wasn't expecting that. Finally, at the end of the day, I passed a colleague, female, who I had come out to last week: "Oh," she said, "You're looking really well. You do suit your hair, you know, it looks fab. And, also, you're looking so happy!" So, I guess I'm looking happier? Well, like I say, I'm going to bed and waking up with a smile so probably, yeah.
I mean, I'm wearing my hair with an alice band and my new glasses (not the cat-eye ones) and the weather is sunny and warm. The outside wall is repaired, the price is paid, and tonight I had the Boy over (we went for a walk because he hadn't been outside all day and yesterday only to get the bus to a drumming session and back). What can I say? I think I might actually be feeling mostly... content? Huh. It's pretty good.
In other, totally unconnected digression, I heard someone talking about Gender Studies and recalled at University how much I wished I had signed up for what was then called 'Women's Studies'. I saw it at Matriculation and was very, very tempted but chickened out and took German instead. I wonder what difference it would have made?
Short entry, but I feel it says everything I need it to say.
