Charging the batteries


These last few days have been a bit of a blur. That rushed loop of wake, eat, school run, work, sarnie, work, commute, tea, breath, Netflix and bed. In other times I’d have found that routine stifling, almost a treadmill. Yet, this month, it’s been a familiar comfort. Perhaps, I am drifting, but I tell myself that the want of excitement, distraction or fun is not regular. They’re the occasional peaks and without the mundane, or even the lows, there can be no peaks.

With Autumn’s golden colours across the trees, I had a pleasant walk and a talk with Andrea. We don’t work too far apart, so meeting up for a tea and a stroll is one of life’s little pleasures. Maybe every second month or so, but with all that goes on a Chams, often I find you don’t get to catch up with everyone. This time, however, its very different and that slower pace – of conversation and exercise – is something I love.

I remember Rebecca – in her own words, an irregular regular at Chams – saying that she found socialising with MTF friends in bloke mode refreshing. I was intrigued and she added that she felt there was less pretence. People aren’t trying to ‘femme up’ – my words, not hers – but nor are they ‘bloking up’. People just are. No need for the Machismo Mask or Faux Femaling, after all, you know who everyone is, so just let go. That, when possible, is I think very liberating.

So maybe, if there’s additional wisdom in Rebecca’s comment – and far be it from me to disrespect another’s wisdom emitting ability 🙂 – perhaps that there is more than one way to top the trans* batteries up. Sure, there’s dressing (obviously), personal grooming, but can we add unfiltered social interaction to the list? If so, maybe less pretending to be ‘him’ all the time might help?


Not got in in Spades

Talking of walking, makes me think of first steps. See what I did there? 🙂 So a number of years ago, I started this blog and I remember sitting in a part of the house that’s no longer here. We used to have a little dining room at the back, but that’s merged into the kitchen to make a much more family friendly place. I think there’s a lot to be said about a big old kitchen-diner with seats for all. A spot for family memories: not just homework, but pet projects, art, Lego, Warhammer, painting, games and of course, the all important mealtime.

But when I think of that first post, I think back to the old room. The light from the window behind me and my hand paused over the submit button.


Submit the content or submit to my Fate?

Not that the latter has been unkind to me in the long swing of things.

Another year on and the trans* highlights have been giving a talk about being trans, replacing the group’s website, another year being free of the proverbial Black Dog (I hear his howls, but he doesn’t stay) and the continued awesomeness of the Ever Lovely Mrs J. So far the kids have kept their paws out of my auxiliary wardrobe, although as we give them time alone – my, they’ve grown up  – I do wonder if it’ll happen.

But then, as I look back to that submit button, if it’s going to happen, it will. I could pack everything away, hide all that I have in some secret, out-of-the-way stash. What mental or spiritual costs are their to always hiding, always watching your back? I’m no expert, I just walk this path of mine, but I’d wager that the time spent hiding and worrying, is time not spent living.

Take care,


    1. Thanks. I'm surprised that I've reached 11 years. 🙂 I suppose it's one day at a time – well, well more like 🙂 – and case of making the time to do it. I don't think I've kept other hobbies as long. Assuming that's the right word.

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