I'm not continuously miserable any more!
Living as a woman, I was always down.
Now I'm only sometimes miserable.
The proof of the pudding is in the eating...
I say, it's lunchtime!
But I oughtn't really to leave the office empty. The other chap is having some difficulties moving house, so isn't here - incidentally, when Hagrid helped Kim to move house, one of them tidily packed his car keys. Or was it the new house keys? At the bottom of the bottom box.
Anyway, yes. Don't know why I just told that scintillating story.
Oh yes - I'm very pleased with myself. Here's why -
I was at the supermarket last night, when a charming youth ran up to me and shouted, "WHY ARE YOU WEARING FUCKING MAKEUP YOU FUCKING POOF" in my face.
This pleases me for two reasons.
Firstly, I've been practising keeping my temper. I very rarely lose it with someone I know, but when chavs hurled abuse (at me or anyone, especially girls or vulnerable-looking people) I used to hurl abuse back, and hurl my whole self at them if I figured I could take them on (which was rare, because they obviously hunt in packs).
That was why I got so many beatings at school - I couldn't keep my mouth shut, and didn't have the physique to match my testosterone levels...
(Actually, I reacted quite differently to bullying from males or females. I'd get really fucking angry at boys, but girls always managed to make me cry).
So, I'd have a problem if I tried to follow the advice they give to mugging victims - don't make eye contact, just hand over the stuff, it's worth less than your life, etc. I know that I'd say "No, fuck you, that's my stuff," and stare them straight in the eye.
I was incredulous, and impressed, when my friend recently followed the advice to the letter. I would be in hospital if our places were exchanged, or I would have died too young to decide upon a decent funeral playlist (actually, those particular muggers weren't too hardcore - just hospital).
So, I have to keep reminding myself, "Someone mental enough to randomly scream at you or mug you is certainly mental enough to stab you in the gut. Which, I've heard, is unpleasant. Oliver, don't react."
And I didn't react yesterday... OK, that's a lie. I did call him a cunt - but only when I was out of possible knife-range.
That's progress, right?
Secondly, the more obvious reason: WHEE! O superbly passable me! I got called a poof! And I am a poof! EXACTLY RIGHT! Fifty points! And I obviously wasn't trying - the eye make-up.
That makes up for several of the latest people assuming I'm a butch dyke.
Which, incidentally, makes me wonder whether any of those people have eyes. How butch am I, exactly? Where is my pickup truck and my ability to lift pianos? How many seconds of sports talk does it take before I beat myself into unconsciousness?