okay so yesterday, I dropped Sharon and Sam off at West Edmonton Mall, all good.

Then when I came back to pick them up, I forgot my phone, and therefore had no way to tell them where to meet up.

In an absolute panic, I ran into the mall, hoping I could find them, or at least find a customer service desk that could page them, and basically almost ran right past them.

so I got them home, everybody is fine, but I'm left with the fact that an almost impossible event happened to me, and its far from the first one.

New story up, sorry for the double post.

so on Wednesday night, while we were driving home, the car blew a tire. I pulled over, and almost immediately a guy in a work truck stopped and asked if he could help.

With his assistance, we were able to get the tire off and put on the spare so we could limp home.

I didn't even catch his name, but that guy was a hero when we needed one.

there is a picture of Marilyn Monroe in a dress made out of a potato sack.

Apparently, the picture came about because some critic said that she had an unfair advantage in being beautiful because she had the best dress makers and designers making her clothes.

so she made the potato sack dress, to show that wasn't true.

Now, I have the reverse problem. you could get the best t, the best makeup team, you name it, and it wouldn't make me passible, much less pretty.

Still, one must do the best with what one has, yes?

I am writing this to give myself (and anybody else who might need the reminder) that the horrible stuff that happened to me, and the mistakes I've made are not my whole story. They exist, they are chapters in my book, but there other chapters as well.

And as long as I am alive, even more chapters will be written

Little while back I was at the bank, and the teller was the amazingly beautiful woman - like supermodel pretty.

And what was I focused on?

Her friendship bracelet.

I'm really weird, that's all ....

It says something that here I sit at 60, and my dysphoria still hurts like hell

So I got a chance to watch the Backrooms movie.

If you're not familiar with the backrooms, look it up, it's weird, and so was the movie.

a man whose life is unravelling enters a space where the normal rules take a holiday, and things just spiral from there.

I'm not sure I understand the ending of the movie, but maybe that was the idea.

if you're a fan of the shorts or the games, this is a pretty faithful adaptation of the concept, so for those people, I can recommend it.

but if surrealism and such stuff annoys you, this movie is probably not for you

one of my major problems is when I am either really manic or really depressed, I get ideas that seem to make perfect sense - until I get out of that phase, and I see them as they actually are.

When in manic, this often comes out in me overdoing things and not feeling the consequences at the time.

in depression, its mostly negative self talk - I get convinced I'm tolerated rather than liked, that I'm a pile of toxic sludge that only can hurt people who try and care about me.

So here is a medical update:

Sharon turned out to have food poisoning, so she will need meds for a while, but should make a full recovery.

As for me, my lung is almost completely refilled, but I do have scar tissue from where they attached the drainage hose. other than that, I'm doing pretty good, except some issues with fat on my liver they want to do a test on.

So I guess you all are stuck with me for a while yet!

Okay so I was re-reading the story of Ester from the Bible, and I noticed something.

Not to step on anybody's religious toes, but I found that as a trans woman, I could see a trans story in there.

I mean, she's living quietly, then gets pushed into a place where she can express her feminine nature - clothes, makeup, beauty treatments, and so on, but there is a catch - she has a secret that if found out could even end her life.

Eventually, though, she must reveal the secret to save her people, regardless of the risk.

so I want to talk about Executive Dysfunction for a second.

See, a while back, I bought a bottle of nail polish while at a dollar store, with the idea of painting my nails so I can get a little gender euphoria.

I haven't done it yet.

somehow, there is a gap between "wanting to do the thing" and doing the thing.

And it occurred to me that If I'm having that much trouble doing something I know would make me happy, how much worse is this problem going to be if the task involves something I dont really want to do in the first place?

spend the day with my aunt and her dog. He's having a rough go, and might need to be put down, so I wanted to see him one last time.

I could use some hugs, folks

maybe because I've been dealing with more physical challenges, but my PTSD has really been raging lately.

I may end up treating it the only way I know - write a story about it.

If I do, apologies in advance because it probably wont be nice and fluffy.