I’ve been doing a lot of thinking just lately, and as it happens, not a lot of dressing. As I indicated in my last blog post, of late, I have sort of lost my mojo about it all.
This is nothing new – this sort of thing has happened before. I’ve often talked about how the urge to crossdress can vary from massively uncontrollable urges through to not inclined in the slightest. Daily chores need doing of course, for a multitude of reasons, but just lately, whether it be sorting the pots or washing to cleaning the car, and even as far as the commute by whatever means, going through the motions allows time for thought processes to wash across and around my mind, perhaps nothing precise or directional though, just thoughts.
The other week, whilst neither bothered nor not bothered to crossdress, but somewhere in between, I stumbled across a pink bustier/cami on line which I deemed suitable to replace one binned in the last (ever) purge. As with 99.9% of all of the lingerie I’ve ordered, it was arranged for dispatch to a collection point, the risk of it being delivered home at whatever time the Post Office deem these days, being in no way compatible to the days when you could rely on the local postie to be at your door at more or less the same time every day – perfect for interception as required.
With my apparent apathy towards crossdressing at the moment, it was somewhat of a bind, a chore all by itself to have to go to the pick up point in the wake of receiving an e-mail telling me that the pink outfit was available for collection. Still, there was no point in leaving it, considering what it cost, and with that in mind, I went through the motions of collection one morning recently.
I had all the time in the world to do so as it happened, and the minute that package was in my hand, there was still the OCD-esque motivation to peek inside – reasons largely unbeknown to me. Continuing the commute to the day job, I used a marginal opportunity to open it up and persist in fighting my way through the inner wrapping until I glimpsed a merest sighting of the colour pink. That done, it was duly wrapped back up again and stored away ready for…well, whenever. I have no idea what motivates me to do such silly things.
Prior to that, I’d been preparing the man bag for the day ahead, and suddenly realised that the last pre-home time undress out of lingerie at the office had been followed by a period of abject apathy as stated above, and as it turned out, I’d somewhat carelessly not even got around to, or even remembered to remove the items and put them back to safe storage. They were stored within a bag within the man bag anyway, and the man bag is never ventured into by anyone else but me, but still, there was a risk factor here that I’d ignored and/or forgotten.
Before I set off for another probably frustrating Monday, I decided that I really ought to return the items of lingerie – a black waist covering suspender belt and the stockings – back to the lingerie storage hidey hole. I practically forced myself to do it there and then – doublng back and therefore delaying myself to do so. It really was seen as somewhat of a chore, but the paranoid element within decided that it was best to get it done because the alternative – that I would somehow be undone – was too much to contemplate, even though the chances of being undone were extremely slim.
However, the irony was that I later replaced one set of lingerie with another having visited the collection point. Work that one out!
The last few days, call it a week if you like, have been a mixture of lack of time to do anything else, motivation to do something else, and all out fatigue. Honestly, being up and about from as early as 6:45 and dressed for the best part of two hours and often then for the duration of a hard day’s work until virtually twelve hours after I surfaced for the day, and then being up late for one reason or another have gradually led to a period of being quite tired. Repeat.
Of course, getting tired can lead to being run down, and being run down in turn leads to being susceptible to picking up all manner of nasty bugs, particularly as Autumn gets a grip. As I alluded to in my last blog posts, life is quite good for me at the moment, and the harmony of my personal life is probably at an all time high.
Enter the Guilt Monster to scowl and point the finger, reminding you in glorious technicolour what you have been doing in total and utter deceit to nearest and dearest who are in blissful unexpecting ignorance, probably likely to be unable to deal with the truth if it were ever put before them.
Whilst the signs may be there, many if not everyone I know would find it difficult to marry up the prospect of me as a person being me a crossdresser.
I’m sorry. These blog entries just go round and round, me undoubtedly repeating the same sort of thing at some point or another from entry to entry. I like crossdressing one minute, I don’t the next. I plan to do this, that and the other one minute and would rather not the next. As I have said before, a session before a psychiatrist or such like would be one hell of a case study for them, hours of their time, and pounds of money with someone credible.
But the wallet and bank contents are safe, and a blog entry is the cheapest and indeed only way to talk about my ebbing and flowing feelings – there is and can be no-one to talk to in person. Therefore, with the encouragement to leave comments below, and anywhere else on my blog for that matter, thanks as ever for following and reading.
I must now contemplate what I now do with a few tenners worth of pink lingerie. Part of me thinks that I must try it on because I have now acquired it, and who knows where that will send my mind spinning. Pick up to put down or pick up to put on?
Until next time…