So much work. I can feel myself burning out. Actually, what I can feel is that sensation of the fire-hoses being turned on in me, and all motivation towards work fading away into apathy. Recovery mode, I suppose. This isn't good, because I still have lots of work to do.
I've been sleeping loads, too.
Yesterday I made an order at an alt-clothing site. I bought 7 items, four of them clothes, amounting to just under £70. I've been being good with money so I can do these things, I guess? *shrug* It was more weakness. Anyway, the point is that none of them were men's clothes. I once read about concepts that, once you realise them, you can never go back, you are never the same again. A couple of people have chastised me for introducing such concepts to them, but anyway. For example, when one considers what freedom means, what freedom really is, one can never go back to the ignorance-is-bliss state they were in before. They are either depressed by the fact that they are not really free, or empowered by the will to gain that freedom.
It's the same with me and sex, I think. The more I think about my sex, the longer I am alive and not feeling happy being a man, the more I am compelled to do things about it. Reading about it, talking about it, pretending to be female online, writing about it in considerable depth, small acts of genderplay (I've got red nails at the moment, I like to pretend they're a girl's hands. My peers find the striking red nails and the lazy growth of facial hair to be quite a disturbing clash), and now... well, still relatively small genderplays, but greater than before.
I've been trying to think of a name. It's been on my mind for a month or two now. I really like the name Amy, but I know an Amy so that wouldn't be good. I figured I might call myself something neuter. Maybe a colour, or the name of a disease, or a mineral, or a plant, I dunno. It's the easiest lie to tell, really. I want to see someone just... eat it up, completely.
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