|Tonight, after eating well. Sans glasses.|
And with FaceApp, I mean.
And, last night, I cleared the front room ready for building work. I walked out into town with a stuffed bra on and it felt natural and normal and lovely. My hair is getting longer, and I'm feeling more and more like... me. I was shaking though, ostensibly because I'd had a coffee that morning but also because I was hungry and... The joy of ASD, in my very specific case, is that I don't always notice when I am emotionally tired. I got a gin and tonic in a can, I returned home and ate a bought in meal whilst watching Katy Montgomerie taking down transphobic nonsense online.
|What would I look like with a bob in|
Yes, this is a reference to Trinity hair
as discussed previously.
But I was emotionally tired. And what spilled out was something from a treacherous part of myself that I know lies and likes to make things hard.
This morning, waiting for the builders to come and sort the front room, I agonised over whether to delete the post. I elected not to, this is my place for truth after all, and that includes the times I make a hash of everything. I read Clare Flourish and caught up on September's posts and was reminded of reality. I saw comment threads that spoke of reality, of community, of being stronger and better together - that hinted at an end to socially imposed hierarchies through, well, love. You know, the sort of revolutionary thought I say I'm keen to espouse myself. And I felt very silly and not a little guilty about last night's post.
Someone at work invited me out for a drink unexpectedly - they were also taken by surprise - and we met up and did that. It was nice. They asked my advice about getting an ASD diagnosis. Funnily enough, I'd just heard from Tilly that the smallest has joined the club too. The colleague was genuinely interested in my advice, I was able to be compassionate and they said I had been helpful, more than they expected. Rising tides, boats and fishing.