Hello dear reader,
How’s things with you? Are you, like me, glad it’s Friday night? I know I am.
This week has been…. troubling. Not difficult or hard, but tricky. I have been – to use an English phrase – been occasionally swinging the lead, as my heart just wasn’t in it. When I can get lost in my work, that’s a good thing. Distractions melt away and I’m happily in the zone listening to people, thinking up solutions and trying to make things a little better.
But, when I can’t, I’m listening to the less-than-useful circular thought patterns. They’re like noisy planes stuck orbiting with no rush to land. Instead, they buzz and roar and generally get in the way. There are times, when it seems all their exhaust and dirty fumes is all I can hear.
Plane One is mostly filled with a cargo of worry. Worry around when will be the Next Time. It’s a mere two weeks between Chams meetings and yet, I feel a frisson of fear. Perhaps, due to a packed work diary, there’s no chance to work from home and express oneself, as it where, and bridge the gap. Plus, I know I’ll be missing two more meetings: one in late October and a second in November. This stack of petty worry seems, on the face of it, rather silly. Yet, I can feel myself straining at my male boundaries. The odd joke here and there, or stronger thoughts that I should Do Something to keep my trans side balanced.
Do Something seems a good name for Plane Two and if this was a sci-fi book by the late Mr Banks, it probably would be. (Ed: If you’ve not been reading the works of the late Ian M Banks, do give his works a spin. They are very good. There’s some minor references to gender shift within the Culture too). I find myself thinking about waxing my legs or other such ‘grand gestures’…. I should know now that this does not help. Why not? Because on one hand, I realise this would greatly upset the Ever Lovely Mrs J and then with the other hand, I feel the rue of knowing I’m stuck as I am. Hard place. Rock. Etc.
It feels – to plumb for another analogy – that my heart, head or soul, if you will, is a bucket. I can fill this bucket with rocks. Dull, heavy lumps of worry, like the ones above. Or, I can try and think positive: be happy that I’m not completely closeted, that there will be time again and – as I read in the news today – my life isn’t under threat because of who I am. Well, at least not yet. Not unless someone turns up the Nasty Party’s hate-machine up to dystopian levels that Mssrs Moore, Orwell and Huxley warned us of. But, that’s another rock in the bucket, if I give that too much thought….
So…. perhaps I need to – as the song said – Accentuate the Positive – and know that my (Lynn) time will come again. This is all temporary and that it’ll be better soon.
Cheery thoughts eh?