In a life full of rush, hustle, bustle, priorities and a seemingly endless list of things to do and places to be that makes every day and every week fly by, something was going to go wrong at some point I suppose.

Trying to cram too much into a busy day and rushing to get from place to place with little time and too much traffic, has eventually come at a cost. As part of my working day and week, I am usually wearing a lanyard with a memory stick dangling from it.  That memory stick enables me to work on the move.  Only, in my infinite wisdom, one day recently, I decided, whilst somewhere in between the day job and the men’s salon for another body wax appointment, to take off that lanyard at some point beforehand rather than once I’d arrived which, retrospectively at least, would have been far more sensible.

Needless to say, the removal of the lanyard and the act of sub-consciously thrusting it into a pocket of some sort whilst in mid-dash – a pocket probably full of other daily clutter and winter essentials – must have been a thrust too far.  In my ignorance to the fact that it was already gone, it was only on returning home later than afternoon that I thought about putting that lanyard safely away at home ready for the next working day.

It wasn’t there.

With a memory like a proverbial sieve, I was vainly playing every moment of the day through my head, but the grey cells had failed to soak up anywhere near the critical information needed – I had, in fact, evidently been on auto-pilot – the commute had largely being a haze of nothing.  Was the missing item in or around the car?  No.  It could conceivably have been anywhere on route between point A and point Z, the day job to the salon and any point in between, only I knew it wasn’t at the salon.

I knew that, as I’d dressed and collected all of my belongings post appointment, innocently and subconsciously convinced that the bits and bobs were somewhere in a pocket.  In actuality, the missing article may well have dropped, probably whilst running, falling ghost-like out of my pocket, to the floor, or, perhaps more likely in my cynical, pessimistic mind, having sprouted wings all by itself and simply floated away.

The first few hours of the evening were spent firstly pointlessly searching then trying to drain every remaining brain cell to work out where I might have lost it, only to conceded defeat, giving up, putting it down to being ‘one of those things’ but vowing to get my life sorted and bloody well stop rushing around everywhere and trying to cram 26 hours into a 24 hour day.

I should add at this point that the contents of the memory stick were valuable for my own personal use, but nothing was going to smash the official secrets act!   However, there was one folder within which my blog entry draft was frequently stored.

Upon posting my last entry up, I would have deleted the draft once posted – wouldn’t I?   You may well suggest that I shouldn’t worry as, surely, I had password protected the contents anyway?   Of course I didn’t – that would be far too sensible a thing to do for anyone who doesn’t live their life in a rush.

However, I have since convinced myself that I had deleted the draft entry, and irrespective of whether that memory stick and lanyard is in someone’s possession or about to fall into landfill, to rear its head one day, or perhaps to be incinerated, only time will tell, but that lost property remains lost all ends up right now and there is nothing on it that might otherwise cause me too much grief that I can’t manage should it raise its ugly head now or in the future.

That brings me onto the other element of arguably lost property.  The hidden evidence of a crossdressing life now approaching a year away.  My mind set is now largely free from any smidgen of thought, regret, plan, investigation, research, or viewing etc.  I have been and remain focused on what I mostly deem to be the right path – never to return again.   It just isn’t me anymore it seems.

For the first time, I have given serious thought to a final strategy, a final act of recovery and disposal of those garments, those lacy items, suspender straps tantalisingly dangling, those breast forms, those various pairs of stockings, only, I don’t think I have the time or inclination to go and recover them.

That doesn’t mean to say that I shouldn’t, there just isn’t a need or real convenient opportunity that I can forsee.  I suppose I would have to plan it on a day when I have time to myself, or an ability to busy myself without inquiry or disturbance – perhaps a trip to the tip to get rid of some other household waste could tie in with a reconnaissance mission to collect the ‘stash’ (I hate that word!) and throw in with the rest of the stuff to be disposed of.  It wouldn’t be the first time that lingerie lovelies have resided unceremoniously in a black bin bag thrown into giant skip of general waste about to go under the giant claw.

However, the quandary that I’m in remains the quandary that has been – the mere sight of those garments would not be something I could avoid being somehow drawn to, more so through sentiment though these days but it really is a case of ‘out of sight, out of mind’ for me as a general rule.  In any case, the one thing that I said that I wouldn’t ever do again was purge – and I haven’t.  I just stored things away just under twelve months ago.

I said that I wouldn’t purge!   Irrespective of the progress I continue to make in arguable recovery, however rational my head is being, the same remains, I remain open to some form of temptation, or at least, something that would make me start thinking about things again – perhaps not specifically, but just the subject matter.  That would mess my head up.  I would be like the proverbial child in a sweet shop, wanting to have everything, but in actuality, getting nothing at all.

Put simply, I can’t see myself being dressed in lingerie these days, but that is exactly the point – I said ‘these days’, not necessary ever again and that in itself is ridiculous because ‘never again’ is very much my mind-set.  It is only the fact that those items that seek to tempt me, draw me in and hold me so tightly, are not available to me to hand, so I suppose that is the way things will have to stay for now.

It wouldn’t take much for me to dress – just a pair of stockings and the motivation to recover the items and get on with it.   My vivid imagination is driven by what is in front of me in eye line.  However, whilst never taking long to dress before, when I did, there was no conscience – just motivation and desire.   I am probably terrified of being in a situation even though it would be of my own doing – these are the ramblings of a madman.

I can imagine that I would be asking myself what on earth I was doing, whilst still carrying on, even having started in the first place.   No.  NO!  I remain where I somehow know that I should be – clear of conscience, clear of temptation, the last time I crossdressed getting further away with every second, minute, hour, day, driven by other things and other people, but somehow still mindful of some lost property along the way.