I want to get back to blogging about serious issues; feminism, fashion, and fun. OK, mainly without fashion. But the other two certainly. Unfortunately, I seem to be suffering a prolonged bout of selfishness. I’ve never written about me and my history, my situation before, and I’ve discovered that it helps. Yes, yes, I know writers have known that pretty much forever, but if I listened to other people, where would I be? Don’t even think it.
So things are a bit difficult at the moment, and I don’t see this changing for a wee while, and I’m going to carry on catharsisifising [nice coinage Luce - Ed] here. Sorry, but not truly.
The weekend; good bits, bad bits. Good bits that outweigh the bad bits, and yet the bad bits hang over me like the Sword of Damocles would if it wasn’t a sword, was tightly secured, would not hurt if it fell anyway, and more resembled a pall of grief that wasn’t named after Damocles. Overall a definite win, I can see that, but it will be a while before I feel it.
I didn’t get to see my best (only) local friend (you know, actual physical friend where the hugs are warm and safe all around me), which means two things. First, I still have to tell her - as usual with the friends I tell I know she’ll be fine with my transition (after all, if I like her enough for me to want to have her as a friend, she must be the kind of person who would be happy for me), and yet there’s always that tiny doubt, and it terrifies and overwhelms me that I might lose her, and now the wait still goes on. And second, she wasn’t there as a shoulder to cry on. I’m sure the I’d be well better now if I’d had a chance to spend time with her.
And so on to the week at work. I’ve absolutely no idea what’s going to happen. You know, in our whole department there are three women, two of whom are new, one of those two being the only woman our team has ever had – the first woman I’ve worked with in over twenty years, and I’m leaning on her and she does not deserve it, but she goes out of her way to help me. She’s the only non-management person who knows, which tells you how uncomfortable I am with men, when some of the men on my team I’ve worked with for fifteen to twenty years, and the new woman (can I say girl now? You know, I think I can. I’ve never called a grown woman a girl – it’s a human/feminist thing) is my only confidant. And she hugged me when I cried. Thanks.
Oh well. To tomorrow, may we live to see it.