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. 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!

Monday, 30 January 2012

Songs of my safe place

In an attempt to get back to my safe place, and the enjoyment and creativity of it all, I have had songs stuck in my head all day.  I shall post them here briefly because I can:
The journey there segues into a storm before becoming more playful.  I particularly like the birdsong in the first one.  My walks there with my children over the last two days revealed that there was birdsong in the woods but it was limited.  Chitting and awking from blackbirds and tits.  Nothing songbird like, which I realise now I quite like.

My shower continues to disappoint, and my inner critic loves to lay into me for failing.

It's a very short update, so I shall add those inspiring pictures to one post.
She looks free, that's all I'm saying.

Still seems inspiring, like there's a major story lurking here
if only I could write it.  Want to feel this scene.

Who wouldn't want a shower like that?

Sunday, 29 January 2012

Full time parenting Pt1

Did you know that all 'stressed parents' are women.  I found
that to be an interesting point of my search for images.
So, this weekend has been a bit different.  Tilly was working on various things Saturday morning then went out for lunch with a friend.  Meant I looked after both of our children from waking up until about 4pm.  I'm not complaining, it was taxing but rewarding, but I was interested to note that when she returned Tilly behaved exactly as I do when I get in from work.  Now, she claims that she has been making an effort recently not to get at me about how I behave, but I confess that I hadn't noticed and only really remember negative things anyway, she's been badgering me about my attitude recently enough that I could make the link anyway.

Apart from the fact that our woods are
mainly deciduous, this is what it looked
like when we all went out.
Later that evening, well, okay between 3 and 4pm, I took the children out for a walk in the woods near where we live, the ones that serve as the principal model for my safe place.  It was good.  I missed walking in them and was delighted to get out and see them in the winter.  It was much muddier than I had expected and there were others out there walking, which was a surprise, but it was still nice to go out there again.  It reminded me of the one time I've been out in heels and how much it had been, which may or may not have been a good thing overall.

I felt like this, if only I looked like it too.
Today was much the same.  I ended up looking after our daughter during the night, she got up and started crying for me, and then took over looking after them both in the morning as Tilly had failed to sleep at all during the night.  She has a habit of working once our son is asleep and then refusing to sleep until he wakes up, on the grounds that she will be more annoyed to be woken than to stay up.  This often means she doesn't even attempt sleep until gone 1am.  After that she takes about two hours to drift off, which, coincidentally is exactly how long our son sleeps at the moment between needing comforting due to teething issues.  In effect, Tilly gets no sleep and is zombie-fied in the mornings.  And irritable.  So, yes, looking after both of our children until about 9am, then a shower and Tilly took them out to give me time to work.  She then left with the friend to go shopping for an event she's putting on, leaving me with children from about 10.15am to about 3.30pm.  Then she cooked and got increasingly frustrated with them both until I took them out for a walk in the woods between 4.30pm and 5.30pm, trying to give Tilly time to have a bath.  I looked after them indoors between 5.30pm and 6.10pm while Tilly 'finished' her bath.  She then decided to tidy everything up, clothes and the like, leaving me with them both until about 7pm.

Again, I'm not complaining too much, I've spent a whole weekend with my children and this is good, but I am complaining that it was not planned that way and I still have work in the morning.

I don't think I'll ever manage this much enjoyment in a shower
without the concurrent feeling that I'm a selfish, lazy twat.
Or a bitch.  My inner-critic is experimenting with female terms
of abuse.
As for mindfulness...  Feelings before having a shower range from emotionlessness to stress and irritation (neither actually connected to anything, they are just the way I am).  During the shower I get increasingly frustrated at my selfishness for spending so long in there (no, seriously, I can be twenty minutes) and my complete inability to get out.  Afterwards I feel like a lazy, selfish idiot who still has a full day of shit to be getting on with and probably won't do terribly well at any of it.  The background stress of fearing for my job won't go away after the start I had with a new boss and it peaks every now and again.  I know it has little to do with my job though, it is just how I am.

Still like this image, still seems like my safe place.
I also haven't managed to visit my safe place.  I feel like I'm forcing it, and forcing it makes it awful.  The first few times were brilliant.  I left feeling happier and stuff, and I want that back.  Now it feels like I'm ruining it and the longer I try and fail the more I'm going to mess it all up so that it becomes another thing to beat myself with.  It's like reading a book that's really good but then forcing yourself to read it one time and ruining the experience.  When that happens you have to wait a while before going back to allow yourself to fall in love with it again.  It doesn't seem to be working with my safe place.  Tilly pointed out my aversion to good feelings and suggested that I was so completely messed up that I even sabotage my own psyche.  I think she has a point.

And people wonder why I say I hate being me.

I mean, oh yes.
Oh, and I was saving for some feminine treats but I managed to spend £6.50 on bloody olives on Saturday due to being too bloody polite and having two children to keep under control, preventing me from realising what the stallholder was doing until it was too late.  I then spent my remaining £3.50 on what I went there for, about what I expected to pay in total.  So much for that plan.  Due to Tilly's lack of sleep I also spent £11 on take out on Friday and we had a big pizza meal on Thursday, our weekly take out, costing the usual £13.50.  All of this means I can't really justify the £25 for a pair of boots, no matter how much I want them, nor the £10 for a nightgown.

Finally, I messed up driving home on Friday and managed to destroy my rear wheel by bouncing in a pot-hole.  I'm on a cruddy spare and will have to fork out about £80, I think, for a new one.  Even less reason to justify my treats.  Did I mention we managed to spend about £900 on the credit card this last month with a budget of £700?

My life is ridiculous.

Friday, 27 January 2012

Cycles, themes and back and forth

My attempt to post every day for twelve days ended rather spectacularly two days ago and much has happened in terms of my headspace.  Work has done that thing where I get all stressed out and then have a mini-epiphany that I'm not nearly as bad as I first appear.  Furthermore the source of discomfort usually reveals in some way that I am not nearly as deficient as they are.  Thing is, they are better at the whole game due to the fact that I'm the one with stuff on my file and they aren't.

She's washing a lemon, not the pots,
but I would love to have her emotion
whilse she's doing it.  Oh, and the hair
with that dress.
Jealous?  Moi?
Then there's the re-read of From Hell that a friend of mine asked for as I have borrowed their copy.  It got me thinking about the unstated misogyny that pretty much underpins all of society.  Combine that with my reading around Renaissance Medicine and the rejection of female practioners and you have my usual realisations, part of the ongoing cycle that I go through every year.  I always liked the more violent themes and more obvious feminism of V for Vendetta.  Why am I not taking part in the Occupy movement?  Where is my stand against the vested interests of society that seem so hell-bent on mortgaging the future of my children to pay for the now and to do so without actually alleviating the suffering of the people that make up the vast majority?

I've not been mindful in the shower.  I tried again this morning but it descended rapidly into a shambolic planning of the day ahead.  My evenings have not been spent visiting my safe place and have, instead, been punctuated by a search for skirts, dresses and shoes.  Hardly promising and hardly likely to yield any results other than envy and further low-level depression.  I don't really have the funds to splash out on any of these items, I have other concerns, and all looking at these beautiful items does is remind me that I'm not really best shaped to enjoy them, I will not pass!  I mean, my hair may need trimming and look like it could handle a hair band but I'm never going to be able to wear such a thng or look good with one.  I am, after all, very much a man with a beard and crappy man-skin.  Would I prefer woman-skin?  I don't even know what that would be much less how it would actually work on my frame.

It was combats like these that my ex put
me in.  She suggested I buy some.  I never
I also haven't started on the second part of everything that happened with my ex.  I suspect there's much of use yet to some out and much that I won't have realised until I try to record it.  I want to start writing that, and writing something creative here.  I want to wear my shoes in a morning when I do the pots but with tights to prevent my feet sticking to them and pulling them apart - my feet are pretty disgusting actually, they sweat so bad that parts of them look like they're underwater and other parts have big splotches of dead skin.  Mm, lovely.  Spot the heavy sarcasm.  I want to read books and do work and read webcomics and check sites like these.  But none of that is productive, relaxing or useful.

I want to be able to go to my safe place again, but I feel that if I do I will be forcing it - and that just makes me feel worse while breaking down the very parts of that place that I like the most.  Maybe tomorrow.

Tuesday, 24 January 2012

My addiction and my Ex pt1

I've been pootling with this post for a while.  I guess I just need to dive straight in.

When I moved to where I live I had just got a job and I kept in contact with the University crowd that I already knew.  I visited often and we'd play RPGs and stuff.  One of the people I met was a student, we'll call her Toby to make things make sense, and she was very attractive and pretty strange, she'd change her sexuality once a week and so forth.  Still, I rather liked her but considered her out of my league.  She got engaged and in the summer of 2004 undertook a Pagan ceremony to tie her to this bloke for some number of years (it was all a bit fuzzy).  I was disappointed.  I've said before how she invited me over to try on her dress and how much I liked it.

The night dress was very similar to this one, it tied in the
back, which I needed because I lacked breasts, and was
a tad darker, but you get the idea.  I actually loved it.
Anyway, for some odd reason we ended up together on New Year's Eve/morning of 2005.  I stopped over in a sleeping bag in her room and we got on.  She'd split with her fella, should have tipped me off how quickly she 'got over' that, and we hooked up.  Before long she visited my flat and I spoke in depth about enjoying dressing in her dress.  We agreed that I would dress as a schoolgirl for her birthday, whenever that is, and that we would go to a club that was relaxed about that kind of fetish, being 'Gothy' and a bit weird.  In the meantime I stopped over in her room a few times and we ended up sharing a bed.  She dressed me in an old nightgown that was slightly too small for her, fit me fine if a bit big, and that she considered "too restrictive".  She'd take delight in playing the male, hence the name Toby, and in teasing me physically - which was difficult, I'd never had anyone else do what she did, it had always been a personal thing.  And I confess that the two things, cross-dressing and what she did, became somewhat interlinked.  It's conditioning, something my reading of various web sites has told me all about when it comes to these aspects of life.  It therefore followed that I wanted to do more of it, adding to existing 'kinks' I had about restriction and handcuffs.  Furthermore, she would cuddle up to my back, arms around me, which was nice - I felt protected and vulnerable.  This happened without the clothing too, and I took it to mean that I would be the one being 'wooed' and appreciated.  Essentially, in these early stages, I was very much the 'woman' in the relationship.  She called me 'Bex' on texts and in person and sometimes referred to herself as 'Toby', after a dream she had where both names were used in that way.

My eyes actually looked a bit like this.  Okay, mine are brown
and my eyebrows are nowhere near that well-kept but,
well, you get the idea.  In retrospect, I think I enjoyed
this more than the cross-dressing.  I loved washing my
face in the morning and having to deal with mascara.
And so it was.  However, when Toby visited my flat and I showed her a dress I had bought she seemed less interested.  On her birthday I had worn a stuffed bra, it made the blouse hang better, but she had asked I remove it that night to sleep and had been a little sniffy about my wearing any feminine clothing to sleep.  She made it clear that she wasn't interested in me 'passing'.  We did continue to explore this whole avenue through make-up however, she made up my face in a number of ways: some feminine and some not.  She applied eye-liner and mascara, which I confess I liked very much, and also drew all over my face with lines at various points.  I was also treated to various shades of eye shadow, again, I liked this.  I was always uncertain though, I wanted to do all of this but I didn't really want to ask, it was as if I wanted to be forced.

I'd bought her the handcuffs for her birthday from London.
I had wrapped them with a bow and written a card from
Bex in my best 'girly' handwriting.  I recall her being,
well, a little under-whelmed.
One weekend she had me change, willingly, into a rainbow coloured cardigan and pink combats and I wore those for the evening of the Friday.  On Saturday she agreed to put me in handcuffs with the ensemble and when I went to the toilet offered to help.  I wish I had taken her up on that but I didn't.  So she tried to 'lose' the key and kept me locked out of her room.  I know now that she was trying to deliver on the humiliation aspect of cross-dressing that my desire to be forced was a part of.  But I was a complete nob-end and didn't really spot that one, preferring instead to try and keep it all private.  Afterwards she gave me a massage, I was still handcuffed, and then we ordered pizza.  I did not ask to be taken out of handcuffs but by the time the pizza arrived I was back in male clothes.  I don't think I appreciated at the time just how much I enjoyed the experience and how much I wanted it to continue.  I should have asked, but I was aware that Toby was not as turned on by this whole experience as I was.  The first seeds were sown that this relationship would not develop how either of us wanted it.  The upshot was that Toby did say she thought I was more of a transvestite than not, in the whole weekend I only really wore male clothing for the pizza, that night and the time it took me to drive home, she had a point.

These are what I was wearing.  Lower
quality, but these.
At some point in amongst all this she tried to ask about my "pretty panties" and made to check them.  To this day I regret that I was wearing boxers at the time.  Toby was trying to get close to me and my addiction and I was pushing her away.  Passively, granted, but it was me doing the pushing and the freezing out, not her.  I hadn't realised how much until I started writing this post, actually, but there it is.  Looking at what I've written so far I regret not taking her up on the offer of 'help' when going to the toilet, that could have been interesting to say the least and would have been a way of letting her in to the whole thing I had going on.  I have no reason to believe she was being anything other than genuine on that score.  Secondly, that I didn't embrace the whole make up thing, I could have bought some and we could have made each other up.  Why not?  I was on a low wage, granted, but I only had myself to spend it on!

There will have to be a Part 2, but this will do for now.

12 Days of Mindfulness: Day 5

Almost halfway and I think I'm getting a tad boring.

Stuff like this helps.  Kinda.
Before: Got up late.  Did pots.  Did not wear heels.  Emotionless.

During: Visualisation of images of people enjoying showers.  Forgot if I needed to wash my hair or not.  Slipped into planning ahead a few times.  Called myself a few names because I was taking too long, lost focus, swore at self.  Finished shower.

After: Dressed quickly, took bins out, planned day, drove to work in silence again.  Emotionless.  Started day, tried to solve issue at 7.45am, voted down by superior who was late in at 8.10am, covered for a colleague, day went downhill from there.  Depressed?

In another life I would find this inspiring.  At the moment...
it's just a picture.

Visiting safe place
Before: Tired.  Emotionless.  Drained.  Just got back from work.  Tilly trying to get our son to sleep, our daughter apparently grizzled at being left alone.  Tilly greeted me looking stressed out, tired and generally irritable - the door had been locked and she'd only just got my text that I was on my way back from work.  House looks like it's been a trying day - not good.  Dreading a conversation with her, she's got a lot on at the moment and has been stressed about since the weekend.

During: Night.  Winter.  Cold.  Wearing a coat by the fire, it's pretty low and there's a low mist or fog that has enveloped everything.  Little sound, no animals or wind.  Grass is dead, trees are bare, there's nothing here.  Emotion?  None that I can discern.  Perhaps feeling a little down.  Does not feel welcoming.  Now my son is crying upstairs, lustily, so that ends that.

After: Think I'm losing the point of all of this.  It feels like I'm forcing it because it's something that I've been told to try.  No head-space.  Tilly's going through the mill upstairs, the boy is still going, can only imagine how she must feel.  Can't help or offer any support.

How I feel about myself right now.
Not sure what the point is of all of this at the moment, think it's becoming another Thing I Have To Do rather than maintaining that positive momentum I started with.  Oh, change the record, I'll stop here.
At once how I feel in a morning and how I'd like to look.
I don't.

Monday, 23 January 2012

12 Days of Mindfulness: Day 4

It's been a hard day today.  An e-mail and subsequent communication at work have left me stressed and paralysed by fear, work-wise, not physically.  My heart is racing and I'm having a hard time calming down.  I'm also finding it very hard to stay positive and upbeat, especially after yesterday evening.  Anyway.

Shower Task:
This is the image I refer to.  I tried to think like she's doing
when having my shower.  It kind of worked, even if I
thought of myself as a woman doing it.  Somehow the male
images I've discovered, with their toned bodies and really
short hair, don't really work.  I'm not manly-hairy and I have
a beard, hardly the sporty type one sees in most 'shower'
Before: Actually not so bad.  I'd had some odd dreams, mainly positive I think but I can't grasp any of them now, and had got up reasonably late, but with time to get things done.  I wore my heels to wash the pots, feed the chinchilla and otherwise sort out.  Then I went up to get showered, found my daughter awake, and so spoke to her and then set about getting showered.  So, if not an actual emotion in sight I was at least not negative or stressed.

During: I had in mind the image I used previously with the woman really enjoying the shower.  I can't do that exactly in mine as it runs from the taps and so there's this rigmarole of getting the temperature right before you step in, but the image helped.  I concentrated on the sounds and the feelings and was able to banish the looming 'to-do' list that kept trying to but in for short periods of time.  In all, I managed to focus more than previous attempts but there was no particular emotion, just an absence of self-critical narrative.  Is that progress?  Probably.

After: I actually felt like I could get things done at work.  I drove without the radio or the Pet Shop Boys on in the car and managed to sort myself out.  Then the e-mail hit and all positivity went out of the window.  Replying to the e-mail took about ten-fifteen minutes (to avoid anger) and then I had to try and get back to my mood.  It didn't work.  I was very stressed and all the fantasies I had about getting plenty of work done proved to be just that, fantasies.  Like this evening, which I am now wasting.

Visiting the Safe Place
My place felt like this man looks.
Like I'd killed it by trying to come in too
hard and not letting it flow.  I forced it
and, like with a butterfly, killed it by so
doing.  Now I feel guilty.
Before: That would be now.  I am still a little panicky over the work thing, still stressed at the work I'm not doing as a consequence and beset by ideas for other things I want to record, separately to this bunch of stuff, and story ideas and planning for work and the backlog of tasks for work and meetings after work and ... you get the idea.  Inasmuch as I can identify emotions within me I am negative, worried and feeling like most things are entirely my own fault.  In fairness, they probably are!

During: I shall be accompanying this visit with an attempt at relaxing breathing, which seems appropriate.

It's a bit harder to do this tonight than previous attempts.  The last few times I've almost entered into another life in this place, that I simply narrate.  It's like I sleep here and am awake there, not quite that immersive, but I know what's going on and I know where I've been and what I've been doing.  This time is quite disorienting by comparison.  I have no sense of place or season or even what I'm wearing.  There's no smells or feelings this time, just snatched senses of walking, sitting, dressing, water collecting, brushing grass, looking at the bare branches - but whether it is spring, autumn or winter I don't know.  I feel... directionless, lacking a sense of... anything.  It's empty here.  No animals, no insects, no sign of God, no trace of anything, even me.  There was no fire in the ring, no embers either, no sign I'd been there at any point.  It's like it's not my place at all and never was, I feel... outside.  Excluded. Sad.  For the first time I'm not sad to be leaving, I'm almost happier not being there.

After: Still feeling stressed, but that's in the back seat now.  Mainly I feel drained and empty.  I feel alone and, well, a bit unloved really.  The anger's gone, I'm just left feeling a bit of a failure.  My typing has slowed, I'm not going to get any work done tonight and I need to get the chinchilla out.  I feel like I just ruined my place, like I just killed it.  I feel guilt, sadness and shame.

And that'll have to do for now.

Sunday, 22 January 2012

12 Days of Mindfulness: Day 3

So, it's been a day of irritation and anger on my part, rising in intensity until the last part of the day when it exploded a bit.  Nowhere near as much done and nowhere near as productive as either of the last two days at a time when I need to be a productive peak to maintain momentum and keep things going.  It's always at times like these that I fail the most, though, and that's why I'm in danger of losing my job.  It's also why I feel that I am a bad person, because, in many ways, I am actually a bad person.  Or at least a not very nice one..
Shower Task

One day maybe I will be able to actually enjoy a shower
without it being a deliberately selfish indulgence.
Before: I was rushed, had been looking after our youngest downstairs and failing to get the pots done.  I wasn't in a terribly good mood, strange dreams had kept me from having a resting sleep and Tilly hadn't had much sleep either, meaning that she was slightly irritable and not in any fit state to look after our children.  An imperative to get to church so Tilly could sing was also an issue, it meant I had only looking after our children in a confined space to look forward to, which I'm not very compassionate about and thus dread a small amount.
During: It was a bit of a failure.  I spent the time going over what I needed to do and the small amount of tim in which I would have to do it.  I attempted to prioritise but ended up feeling overwhelmed and stressed.  Attempting to emulate yesterday's image worked for a short while but was rapidly overtaken by my desire to plan out my day umpteen times.

After: Stressed.  I was later than planned (only 30 minutes this time) and Tilly was attempting to get ready, she was asking questions as soon as I was out of the shower but I couldn't hear her and shouting for confirmation brought no response.  I hate that.  Turns out she didn't need a response, so she was fine, but I was stressed out that I hadn't heard what she'd said and there had been no response to my entreaties.  So, yeah, low level anger and irritation was the upshot.

It was a little like this, but a flat stone was in the middle,
heated and cleaned, with some flattened branches for
utensils.  Did I make those?
Visiting the Safe Place
Before: I look after our youngest when Tilly goes singing in an evening at church, I look after him at church.  He did well, I did not.  I hate it when a child is stropping and I am dealing with it and people insist on trying to help whilst holding a conversation with you over a screaming child.  I wish they'd leave me to it.  Also, other people's manners annoy me, or rather, the lack thereof.  "Do as you would be done by" is a two-way street to my mind, and very few people seem to realise it.  Anyway, I ended up ranting to Tilly on the way home about bullies, other people being poorly mannered and my own lack of tolerance.

During: Still winter, in the oak ring.  There was a fire going, and dry wood had been collected under a plastic tarpaulin, slightly frayed.  I have a shelter over the sleeping bag it seems and a rock on which to cook.  The smell of eggs and mushrooms filled the air, obviously I'd collected them at some point, and it was windy.  I could feel the chill through the warmth of the fire, no walls on my shelter, just an overhang to stop the rain.  Not sure if I was dressed in a nightdress or wanting to be dressed in a nightdress.  Felt full and contented generally but also a bit silly.  The illusion wasn't holding tonight.

This looks comfortable and warm.
I bought new pyjamas yesterday,
I'd have preferred this.
After: Down.  Again, not the result of the visit, more the fact that I couldn't stay there for longer than I did.  Still a bit angry.  Good thing I didn't stay longer than five minutes (four actually) because Tilly rang down from the bedroom to ask me to put stuff in the fridge and chat aimlessly about how our youngest was creating as he was trying to get to sleep.  Still angry this end, so didn't care much.

It's worth noting at this point that my great-uncle, whom I barely knew, died last week.  I found out via my auntie on Facebook, my mother having decided that I didn't need to know.  I discussed it with her on Friday and my mother was a little dismissive of my needing to know and said she was waiting for a date for the funeral.  Spoke today and found out my mother did get a date later that evening, no need to tell me of course, and also that my grandparents have been behaving oddly since a few months ago.  Likely that they won't be long for this earth.  Actually, it's perhaps correct that my mother hasn't shared that with me earlier, I don't really give much of a damn about them anyway, I long ago lost respect for either of them.  Still, I feel aggrieved that I wasn't informed about any of this until I asked specifically - is it any wonder I'm cold and emotionless?

Bah, I'm ranting again and I'm still angry.  Want to eat some egg and mushroom but know that if I did it would turn out that Tilly needed them.  If I don't we'll be throwing away some mushroom and at least four eggs, we always do, when they go off.  Not that I'm bitter or anything.

Saturday, 21 January 2012

12 Days of Mindfulness: Day 2

Day two has been a bit more difficult, as I was actually being productive work-wise at points and so I wanted to continue.  I have now crashed, after having a lovely lie in this morning, and hope I can function tomorrow.  Still so much to do despite little successes.

Shower Task
Before: I hadn't really thought about the task.  I was emotionless, this is a normal state for me, I was just going through the motions: neither happy nor sad, just doing it.  We had planned to go out shopping as a family, we had a timetable, we had slept in (not a bad thing) and I was having a shower.  I'd had breakfast, the children had been given theirs, Tilly had had hers.  There was no emotion and/or feeling to speak of.
Is it me or does she look like she is totally immersed in the
shower experience?  That's mindfulness, that's what I need
to practice.  No images of men doing this that I can find
incidentally, seems mindfulness in the shower is a female

During: I spent most of the time imagining the safe place.  It felt odd focussing on the steam and the light etc, but I tried and was better at it than I was last time.  In honesty, I spent most of the time firing off into the safe place and creating more of a history to it, or at least, fleshing it all out a little.  Brining myself back to the shower seemed a little strange.

After: Again, no real emotional state to report.  I was still slightly tired, a little sluggish, and concerned that I'd spent too long in the bathroom given what we had planned.  I was right, it had been 45 minutes, but it didn't make much of an impact.  It's only in recording this that I'm analysing and realising that we lost about two hours during the day as a result of that over-running in the shower so it didn't affect my feelings at the time.  I'm having difficulties recognising emotions and/or feelings with this task in general.

Like this, but green coat,
tighter sleeves, dress is
part of the coat and I wore
a Russian fur hat.  That
mental picture?  I'm sure
I've seen it somewhere but
damned if I can find it.
Visiting the Safe Place
Before: Didn't set a specific time aside to do this task like yesterday, so this is a tough one.  I've been in and out of it a few times.  I'll take the longest time today and use that.  I was feeling generally positive about the fact I'd crossed three things off my list today alone (but it stands at about fifteen remaining) and having had a good meal.  Tilly and I had had an interesting discussion about gender roles and touched on my cross-dressing in a manner that was informative without making me feel down.  Mainly because I'm not analysing it, so I won't start now.

During: It was winter this time and I was en femme with a muff for my hands.  I was walking in the wild wood, but it was the feeling of the clothes that captured my attention.  My breath steamed in the still air, the cold stung my face and the uneven ground forced my feet to do odd things in the boots.  I liked the cavalry trousers, they felt rather cool actually, will have to get a pair in real life.  It was pretty dark, and still, and it felt... comforting.  Warm?  Not physically, but mentally.  For some reason I'd handcuffed myself in the muff, it felt like that was 'right', and I liked the restriction.  I didn't feel like walking as much as yesterday, I took my time, enjoying the near silence of dusk.  Didn't see any animals or my reflection.  Have a mental picture of myself, but know I don't match it.

Yeah, it looked like this.

After: I realised how much I liked my place, how much I miss it when I'm not there.  I felt creative again, like I was creating something worthwhile and good.  I want to write again.  I have an urge to write fiction and short stories like I used to.  I was also vaguely irritated about getting our chinchilla out and having Tilly there but reading a book, and not really there.  She didn't help set anything up, nor clean up afterwards.  She may as well have continued her work on her laptop to be honest.  So, irritated?  Not a result of the visit I don't think, that usually bothers me a bit.

Day two over, I'll try and make more time as this goes on, I feel like I should be posting creative things or excerpts from stories now.  Maybe I'll bite the bullet and submit something to Fictionmania, seems like a good place to start posting my stuff - I may even get feedback, who knows?  I want to write a short story I've had in my head since about 2000 and to start writing my novel again, from 2008, which has some cross-dressing elements in it, but that isn't the focus.

It's late, that'll have to do for now.

Friday, 20 January 2012

12 Days of Mindfulness: Day 1

Right, so, one way to be more positive and to help my mood is to apparently record things. I'm OCD enough to think it'll work and autistic enough to carry out the tasks to the letter.  I have two tasks for the next just under a fortnight, so I'll try and post daily.  The first of these is to be mindful in the shower, to focus entirely on the sensations of the shower rather than thinking about other things.  The sensations to use at the moment are the light in the steam, the smell of my shower gel, the water hitting me and the bath and the warmth over my skin.  The second of these is to visit the 'safe place' that I have created each day.  In both cases the point is to record feelings before, during and after the tasks.

I would like to look like that in the
shower.  I don't, I am an awkward
looking gonk with too much hair.
Shower Task
Before: I was tired from the night before, I got up fairly late, having had a dream that was as complex as it would be boring to detail here.  I can only remember some vague emotions from it now anyway, mainly stress and concern.  Before the shower then I was running through what I had to do in the day and growing despondent at the size of the list and the lack of time I would have to complete them.

During: It was hard to focus on the shower.  I kept skipping off on other things.  I half-heartedly attempted to bring myself back to the shower a few times but it felt alien and strange.  Besides, I have grown used to working through my day in the shower.  It helps less than it used to.  I could feel myself growing stressed and being mindful seemed an indulgence I could ill-afford.  I called myself a bitch.  Feminine put-downs are new to me.

After: I was stressed and feeling down.  This is pretty standard following a shower so unconnected to my inability to carry out the mindfulness task.  I tried to stay positive by making breakfast for my daughter, but I'd already skipped mine, a sure sign that I'm feeling down - so it didn't help any either.

This is just a beautiful picture.  I love it.  I love the gown
and the setting, and the emotion  of the woman.  She
seems free and liberated, unencumbered despite her
clothing.  Out for adventure, on her terms.
Visiting the Safe Place
Before: That's me now.  I'm about to go and visit, this seems to me to be something I can do whilst typing.  So, right now, I'm feeling very tired, there's an element of satisfaction that I crossed one thing off my 'to-do' list.  But then there's the knowledge that there are three things that aren't on that list that I know I need to add and another three or so that I should add and I won't get them all done this weekend.  So, stressed again?

During: I'm playing Divenire by Ludovico Einaudi.  It's summer and I'm walking down the path lined with bluebells to the oak ring.  A soft wind is blowing from the south and the air is warm against my skin.  I have my rucksack with me but I haven't bothered with my coat.  There is birdsong on the air, a rustling in the undergrowth as thrushes and blackbirds search for their food.  I close my eyes in the sun and just let it warm me for a moment.  the air is thick, musty, heavy with the pollen from the trees and flowers.  A bank of foxgloves grows taller than me and I can hear the buzzing of honey bees, the zip of other insects as they go about their business.  It is a lazy day and the sky overhead is a deep blue, splashed with watercolour white clouds scudding softly across, barely moving.

I feel free, liberated, and I can feel the anticipation of being en femme rising in me, I want to run to the bridge and gather the clothes.  But also, I want to simply enjoy the surroundings, drink it all in and go for a long long walk.  I can breathe more slowly, for here my job is far away.  I'm not hiding from it, I'm taking a break, it's like I'm on holiday and I've taken some time to be with myself in comforting surroundings.  There is no one else here, I'm fairly sure that's because this place is post-apocalyptic in some way, there are no other people here any more, they've long gone.  I am relaxed here, I'm me, and I'm free.  The path is soft beneath my feet, not muddy but not fully dry either, there is dust on the air, somewhere is dry, but here is fine.  It's green with the grasses, still low and yet to grow wild.

I walked, feeling the lung gong po of my breathing as I did, all the way to the dragon's lair.  I thought only of the walk, wondering how far I could go, whether I would reach the hills in the distance that I couldn't even see, through the fairy forest, but I saw none of them today.  I felt the earth move beneath my feet, both from my walking over it and from it turning beneath that hot sun.  I felt the sweat trickling from my armpits and the slick feeling in my shoes as my feet did their thing.  When I reached the hills would I see any view or would they too be colonised by woodland and reclaimed by the human-free biosphere?  I wasn't there long enough today to find out, maybe next time.

After: It's a bit soon to gather my emotions properly.  I may be more relaxed.  I want to go back there, to imagine it further.  I want to find the story.  I want to link it to my novel ideas.  I want to go walking, now, outside the city, over hills, in a place where I might not meet people all day.  I miss the fells, I miss Scouts, I miss the outdoors.

What does that mean?

Thursday, 19 January 2012

My Safe Place

Comparisons to Hitler aside (I don't think I know any Jews, much less have a view on whether or not 'they' are 'different' to anyone else - I don't think I actually believe in 'races' for that matter) my last post was pretty harrowing.  More for the reader (ha) than for the writer.  I've said before, I'm not a fan of myself and so it follows that I make myself unpalatable.

Resolution Number 2 needs rebooting.  And my first paragraph implies 1 needs some work too.

So, being more positive, trying again.  It's not all that easy, being me, to be positive and the recent events at work have conspired to make it difficult to remain so.  However, I am secure in the knowledge that this time I have done pretty much everything I need to (apart from the bits I haven't, natch) so I should be alright.  Also, this post is not about all of that.  It's about the title: creating a safe place.

Without the odd white haired man there, this is pretty close
to the ring of oaks that makes up the centre of my safe place,
it's how I visualise this blog looking if twere physical.
My last post would be from the old quarry.
A safe place, as I intend to create it, is somewhere to visit once a day and to enjoy - it is not a physical location, for that would be problematic and does carry with it a sense that it would be a retreat from the world.  I do that enough without a safe place.  No, this place would be a place to be free.  In many ways that liberating aspect is already covered by this space on the intarwebs - this blog is unknown to people who know who I am and I have said the worst that I can here - I am free on this blog.  I am me.  However, it is a place based entirely in my mind, so I guess I need to flesh out what this place is in my head.  I mean, I know it's a blog and all, a record of one aspect of my life primarily, but I want to make it more than that - a place I can visit when I'm not posting or using it to go to the blogs I follow and read reagularly-ish.  I want it to be a place that senses attached, not just the raw wet wound of my brain meeting the keyboard and spouting as it does.  It's not like I can embarrass myself here, no worse than I did in my last post anyway.

This is close to how I imagine the path to the
oak tree ring looks like in mid-summer.
In my head, then, I guess this is like a woodland.  This exact spot, where I post from, would be a ring of gnarled, but still relatively young, oak trees, with a patch of long grasses in the middle.  In summer the air in the ring would throb with the sound of insects, bees and the like, on their journeys.  Not loud, not too many, but enough that you'd notice them above the rustle of the leaves in the breeze.  Autumn would bring a small drift of leaves, some late flowering plants and falling acorns.  Squirrels would run through the branches and the low sun would wink weakly through the patchwork canopy.  The green grass would turn slowly to yellow, grow brittle, and wither into winter.  Rains would come, a wet winter, with frost and ice, the trees stripped bare, and then slowly return to verdant as the spring came.  There would be birds, but they would not nest in the ring, and there would be a fallen log, an older oak felled and forgotten, to sit on and enjoy the quiet.  A path would lead through two of the oaks and stop in the centre, an animal path perhaps or a memory of something much older, but I would not use it so much as see it as a guide to direction during cloudy days or misty mornings.  In summer the smell would be one heavy with tree pollen, warm air and floating grass seeds.  Sunlight would warm my skin and the breeze would barely breathe - held in check by the shrubbery beyond the ring and the thick trees that press toward the south.

This is actually the old bridge I have in mind for the safe
place.  It's more overgrown in my imagination, and not still
in use.
The ring would be on level ground.  To the south a berm rises, topped with holly, beech, sycamore and silver birch, some coppiced, and shrubs and low lying plants.  There would be patches of bramble on the slopes and tumble-down dry stones walls along the brow.  An old tunnel beneath the berm, lined as a stone bridge, C19th architecture, by a small babbling brook, stones lining the bed and filled with the detritus of some old ruin, modern in many ways, but a ruin still.  Weeds and barmbles mingle with the raspberry bushes and elderberry trees.  Along the higher stone walls grow a festival of nasturtiums in yellows and reds and oranges and whites.  To the north and west there are the beginnings of the wild woods, old and brooding and dark.  Squat oaks mark the beginning, in amongst the slender young silver birch, and slowly the older trees make their presense felt.  There are beeches thicker than pathways, branches wider than cars, and a blackness even in the heat of summer that is at once foreboding and inviting.  Walking there is cool in summer, comforting in the moonlit night.  The darkness is soft, filled with animals and their noises, of hedgehogs snuffing, foxes sleeping, chickens scratching in the undergrowth.  There are wild strawberries to be found here, and mushrooms of all varieties.  Walk quietly enough and you might meet a wolf.

The entrance to the wild woods, a place of majesty and
mystery where there a wolves, for some reason, but
where I like to walk.
The brook surfaces here, in the wild woods, and joins others to become a fast flowing stream, overhung by the boughs of old and new trees.  It disappears into a steep, but short, valley, a natural path lined with horse chestnuts follows it.  There are a few old, dilapidated, stone bridges and the remains of some old roads.  There were people here once but they have long gone, the woods have reclaimed this as their own.  On the opposite side of the path there is a small stretch of marsh and wetland before the land rises once again, back to the berm and the ring of trees.  It is magical here.  You would hold your breath if visiting through awe and wonder.  In summer it is a place simply to tarry.  I watch the light, feel the winds and smell the flowers and the mud, the water and the animals, the shit and the leaves.  Autumn is a time for foraging, scanning for the reds of raspberries and the plump blackness of brambles.  There is rhubarb too.  The feel of the rough bramble leaves as you pick through them, the criss-cross ridges of tree roots on the animal paths that I follow beneath my feet.  Bark gnarled with age, leaves rustling, always noise and movement.  Night brings no terror, just different animals at dusk, different insects that flutter more than buzz.  Sister Moon lights the way as I delve deeper, bringing to mind the history, the sense of place and mystery.  There is a majesty in these woods, something that demands respect.  God is in the woods.

Deep within the fairy forest, beyond the old dragon's lair,
there are conifers and mounds of moss like this.
Look carefully enough and you'll meet the fairies, with their
wings and trilling...
To the east there is the forest.  Woodland is more spaced out here, there are fewer dark places and grasses grow.  Oaks, beeches, birches and bushes mingle companionably.  There are small ponds and lakes in amongst the rises and dips.  Old roads are still wide here, the streams and brooks are less noisey, and the ground can be baked in summer and deluged in winter and spring.  The smell is different, the flowers here are less edible, nut trees grow and there are banks and long slow slopes hidden in amongst the trees and leaves.  Here I can see squirels more readily, the chickens are seen more too, rather than heard, moving in their strange raptor-like gait.  Their clucking fills the gaps between bird-song and moving grass.  Water tinkles.  God is here too, but more approachable.  In the wild wood He stands in Majesty, demanding fealty, respect and reverence.  Here, He puts his arm round you and smiles.  Points out the animals, smells the air and listens to the world around us.  There are fairies here.  They live in the banks of flowers, in amongst the weeds and down by the river.  Delicate, feminine features, with gossamer wings.  They never speak, always just out of reach, but they seem to like watching me as I walk through their domain, like they too are with God and in Him.  Even the male fairies seem female to human eyes, inquistive and intelligent but no more than the stoats and weasels and foxes.

Where the wild wood takes over from the valley.  A short walk
from the bridge where I play pooh sticks.  In summer I like to
stop here a while in my yellow dress and simply be.
Beyond the berm, in the steep valley, the wild wood and the fairy forest meet and mingle.  Trees whisper to one another the gossip and animals discuss the days events.  Birds call headlines, flowers blow pollen in poems of love and affection.  Foxes murder chickens and wolves prowl for prey.  There are tracks in the earth, dusty in dry weather, moist in the night and properly slippery and muddy in winter.  Hard and iron in the frost and comforting in the thick fogs that can roll in.  God points out the deer tracks, they are hardly ever seen, and the tracks of otters from the stream.  Silver fish catch flies, trees hang low over the water: willow, birch and yew.  I play pooh sticks on the old concrete bridge, rusting iron lattice work poking from the rubble of the ruins.

It's missing the long sleeves that my
dress has, but the flowing gown
effect is just right.
Beyond the ring of oak, where I sleep, through the bridge there is an old corner of brick and stone.  A path perhaps, part of an old house?  The ruins of some long-forgotten mill or factory?  There is a hole in there, once used by some animal to rear its young, but abandoned now.  I have my clothes there.  A summer dress in yellow that tailors me to it, so that it fits and hangs right without too much trouble, it falls to my feet when I wear my summer heels and has sleeves to my elbow, ending in lace.  My hair grows long when I wear it, the fairies dance closer, and I love the noise and the feeling of the fabric.  It is always clean when I go there, but I don't wash it.  A shorter dress in blue with pink and white hearts, it stops at mid-thigh, for the warmer days when I wish to ramble for longer or walk more.  It too tailors my body to its shape.  I wear that with brown leather boots, they stop below the knee, and have heels with grips on them.  They are comfortable for walking longer distances, perfect for exploring the summer streams and the wild wood in kind weather.  Long skirts and long sleeve tops, billowing out from elbow to wrist, the long ends joined somehow to the bottom of the skirt so that everything flows perfectly, catching the breeze.  Velvet effect vests for warmth, the clothes of early spring and autumn in browns, blacks and flower print.  My hair grows long and tightly curled with these.  I have platform shoes so the skirts kiss the ground as I walk and the shoes are comfortable.  Some have straps, for the warmer days, some are like ankle boots and there is a pair of simple mules.  The platforms are cork, the uppers leather and suede.

My winter boots.  Sort of.
For winter I have a long military cut coat in green with fake fur lining that reaches the ground, without heels it would catch, with them it drags a little but never gets caught in the undergrowth.  It has a tailored waist and flares about my legs without opening to let in the wind.  I wear it with cavalry boots and trousers, with a red stripe down the side of each leg.  I wear a waistcoat over an old blouse from the C18th with ties rather than buttons, and kid-leather gloves in black.  My hair is tied back into an elegant pony-tail.  The boots, of course, have wedges rather than heels, to aid walking in the slippery winter.

For rain I have an umbrella, slender and black with mock white lace on the edges and along the spines, it is large and easy to hold.  For longer walks, in the denser woods, I have a long raincoat and cape in yellow and purple.  Both reach the ground if I wear heels.  I also have my waterproof boots, black leather and zip closing, with the block heel, that hug my calves and finish just below the knee.  I have a separate cape in green that covers my winter coat.  They all have hoods.  There is a parasol, delicate and festooned in tasteful lace if I want to feel really girly in summer, and lace gloves that serve no purpose but to make me feel vulnerable and feminine.  They feel the best when handling smooth stones by the crooked willow where I play pooh sticks.

My summer parasol for extra girliness.
In the ring there is a sleeping bag for night-time visits.  I have a chemise in silk, pink and tailored, for the summer and a long night dress that drapes over the ground, long lace sleeves that go over my hands when I stand still and upright.  There is a collar for night time, it helps me feel safe and looked after when I sleep here overnight.  I don't have to dress, I bring my male clothes with me when I visit in my rucksack.  I have my green ex-Austrian military coat, my Tahquamenon russet jumper, a selection of T-shirts in greens and reds (some have anarchist slogans on them) and my jeans.  I bring my trainers and walking boots.  Some days I can be me and masculine to walk this terrain.

There are apple trees here too, near the ring between the wild wood and the fairy forest.  Pear trees too.  There are clearings that can be discovered for picnics, where rosebushes provide the colour, the sky stretches above and the choir or bird song can reach its peak.  There are wild cows, herds of them can be glimpsed in these clearings and sometimes they stay when I come to eat.  If it is summer, and I wear my yellow dress, I bring food and jams in a basket covered with checked cheesecloth, red and white, and I hum.  Wild wheat grows here, to be ground into flour and baked into pitta bread.  There are olive trees on the far side of the fairy forest, a good day's walk from the ring, that can be pressed into spreads or eaten fresh.  If you know where to look you can find carrorts, purple and fat, around the old dragon's lair.  It was a quarry, but I prefer to speak of dragons in times of old.  Courgettes grow here too, with peppers and chives.  I know where to find parsley, coriander and spinach.  When I make fires in the ring I dress masculine and cook, saving some for later.  If I wish, I can go hunting boar and wild pig for meat, but I don't do that very often, I save it for a release of anger and tension.

En femme I can sit and wait for curious animals to meet me.  I can feed hedgehogs from my hand, let birds approach, watch the chickens and sometimes see the wolves and foxes stalking their prey.  At night I am more likely to watch for and see the bats catching their moths.  Dressed masculine I watch Sister Moon at night and am more likely to see animals at a distance.  There are more of them.  But I can walk faster.  It is three days to and from the olive groves en femme.

It is beautiful.  It is here.

Saturday, 14 January 2012

What do I want?

I posted, I deleted, I planned, I failed to write... It's been a bit different for me lately.

My attempt at positivity boosted by wearing my shoes in the morning has managed to last, a bit, but it's getting a little strained.  It turns out that I am over the hump of my recent depression but that thought scares me a great deal.  When I am happy and contented is when I start to make mistakes, it's when I relax that things go wrong the most.  And I'm scared.

I wish we'd had this.  I spent our wedding
stressing about my family's bitchiness
and the night was spent letting Tilly sleep.
We've never actually had our wedding
Also, being positive is one thing, but what do I actually want to happen?  I mean, obviously being depressed and unhappy is a Bad Thing and something that I want to end.  But what would allow me to be happy and not depressed?  What am I searching for?  I used to think that it was all about finding a relationship, a special someone with whom I could explore my life and their's.  I wasn't thinking that a significant other would solve everything overnight or that I could lose myself in her but I was thinking that it would set me on the right path.  As it happens, Tilly is lovely: she is very attractive and very intelligent: I am lucky to have a relationship with her.  Between us we have created two very cool children and we are exploring how best to nurture them and help them to be all they can be, and all they want to be, as they grow up.  The parenting journey is intriguing, interesting and full of things to ponder, work through and otherwise research and understand.  But I'm not happy.

It's a trap!

I have scried into what makes me who I am, I am finally facing the demon of my urge to cross-dress, that part of me that demands further femininity in a welter of failing to be masculine.  It is a part of me that wants to pass but takes a certain sadistic delight in knowing that suchy a thing is impossible.  The part that wants me to wear more female clothing whilst absolutely aware that to do so would tear asunder everything that is good about my life.  The part that knows that the porn I read on the internet has conditioned my own sexual response so that I fail to really ignite passion, or even romance, in my relationship and doesn't care, it encourages it further, ever further, from what is actually likely to happen in reality.  I am facing it, I am attempting to understand it.  I am being fully honest about it, I mean fully honest, not just pretend honest.  Coming out to people and discussing my desires wasn't fully honest, it was honest but it neglected the real reasoning that drives me, the real motivations.  I know that I don't want to be a female, and I respect more and more people like Steffi who feel this challenge and have to live with it day by day.  There is nothing fun or titillating in gender dysphoria.  Especially when that cannot really be dealt with openly.  I am not gender dysphoric, and I am lucky in that regard.  I have dressed, gone outside, and walked distances in high heels.  I have indulged at night-time, I have gone deep into bondage and even shaved my legs.  But it did not make me happy.

I have ascertained much about why it is that I cross-dress and have the urge.  I have learned that my childhood was not entirely normal, I have an excuse for my coldness, for my inability to emote like other people.  I know why it is that things that come naturally to other people do not come naturally to me.  I have seen these things and I am challenging them, I am able to try and nurture my own children, I am able to try and empathise and I am able to see where I succeed and fail.  But I am not happy.

Awesome He may be, All-Powerful even, but He gave me
free will.  And that means that I have to let Him in to my
life.  He can come in without permission, but He chooses
not to.  And that just scares me.
So what do I want?  Do I want Tilly to be more accepting of my habit, my little secret shame?  Do I want to 'come out' to my children, to remove the lie that I place before them?  Do I want to walk away from it all, so that I am alone and responsible to and for myself only?  Am I suicidal?  Do I want an end to eveything so much that I would be prepared to say to God: "You can't fire me, I quit!"  Do I want to leave my job, end the stress and the worry completely, walk away from everything and end up a homeless bum in a major city with no worries and no cares?  It's not idyllic, the chances of murder, rape, starvation and brutal beatings are huge and real.  I am not claiming that homelessness is a picnic or that it would be somehow better than how I live at the moment, that would be insulting to every homeless person, but I am saying that it may be what I want.  It's a contender.

I would never be brave enough to do
this.  And if I did I would not pass.
Did I mention I have a beard and look
12 without it or that it takes two weeks
to grow back?  No way I could hide that!
Do I want sympathy?  Empathy?  Understanding?  Do I not have these things already in Tilly or my therapy?  Or do I want the impossible things that can never be granted?  The chance to relive my childhood, with understanding, and make it better.  The chance to get my parents to love me unconditionally and to show it, to help them heal from losing my sister so young.  The chance to accept the friendship and support of Kristen at University and dress as a woman for my third year, completely, to either get it out of my system or at least feel some fulfilment of those desires.  To buy a pair of boots, get all en femme and go for a long walk in the dark with a handbag and a pair of handcuffs, where no one would see me, and just indulge for a long time.  To sleep in the same bed as my wife.  The chance to make love to her and with her, to play as much as talk and connect emotionally.  The impossible things that can never be granted.

Or do I simply want to say the unsayable because it is unsayable?  To shock and be cold, to be angry and offensive, to burn everything down, destroy it all and walk through the ruins.  I could take this wholoe house with me: my family and my possessions, all in the pyre.  The worrying thing is, I think I'm just about cold enough emotionally that, if I were to try it, I could watch and feel nothing when I heard the screams.

I'd do it.  I'd create it all for the end:
the Gotterdammerung.  And I too
would have no sympathy.
I watch things like Downfall and Hitler: the Rise of Evil and I think: I could do that.  And I could.  We all could.  I just recognise it.  It's why I have such a problem with forgiveness, why I don't feel I can accept it, sorry God - I'm not good enough.  Because I recognise the depth of depravity and evil that I could stoop to if I so chose and I know that if I did I would have no regrets.  I regret instead the things that I have done, for good or ill, and regret the paths I do not choose.  I do not regret my habit or the porn or the bondage or the fantasies, and I did it even when I promised I would stop, even when I prayed for help and help was provided.  I rejected it, I took it away from God, I would not lay it at the cross or at the manger.  I held it close and would not let go, when everything else can be torn from me and everything else is given I cling to this.  And I hate it.

What do I want?

Wednesday, 11 January 2012

Just a Quickie

Busy busy busy at work, so I'll be brief.  Been wearing my high heels in the morning again to do the dishes, allowed by the fact that I've been getting up earlier in the morning, which is nice.  It's reminded me why I bought them in the first place - it does feel really nice.
Not bad for a tenner.  I may
be tempted.  It's long, has
sleeves and is very

This looks nice, not sexy, but comfortable.
Sadly, a check revealed that it's quite hard to get hold of a night-dress that is, well, a night-dress - most of them are quite short or too revealing.  Few of them are warm-looking or proper night-dresses, you know, long and flowing and with more than spaghetti straps.  I'm not looking for something that makes women looks sexy, I'm looking for one that is long and comfortable.  Maybe I'm looking in the wrong places or my budget is too low.

Having such a positive start in the morning is making it easier to function during the day though.  Now all I need is a less summery pair, preferably some gloves and a hat, a nice coat and I can make good on going out dressed again.  Even thinking about doing the whole outside thing makes me feel happy inside again, there's the inevitable surge elsewhere, but mainly it's just exciting.

That's all I've got for now.