I ran into the puzzle today when noding about feelings. Not the "Here's how I feel right now" type thing, as that's obvious daylog material. I mean the long-term things, the things you find yourself thinking and feeling over time. You can't pin it down to a day, and attempting to describe it in one day only gets such a little portion of it. One of those things that takes time to develop a full understanding of.

What's the puzzle? Where to put it! How do you assign such a thing, something that is a constant in your mind, to a specific day? To me, it's like trying to say the Renaissance happened on a specific day.

But I do not complain. This is not a complaint. I accept that this is how it is done - eight months since the last time I noded leaves a lot of time for things to change, a lot for me to relearn.

Hmm... maybe I should write poetry instead of prose and go with that...

I do, however, save the writeup here...

It's not the worry that I once experienced, the horrible paranoia, the feeling that everyone was staring at my insides as I walked by, that the whole world was out to find reasons why I was a freak. That was all from low self-esteem, which I have since conquered.

It's more a sense of curiousity, that slight wondering in the back of my mind as to what people are thinking when they look at me, when they talk to me. Not the everyday stranger, the one who gets a glance, maybe even a couple words. No, not them. The people who know more about me, the ones who know more of me. The ones who know I am TG.

"Why?" you may ask. I am not quite sure why, I just know it is there. Do they simply see me as I am, is that all they think? Or does their mind occasionally wander and contemplate what I might have looked like before. Do they still see me as a woman, or does that past history infect their image of who I am? Do they ever ponder what my body might look like underneath the clothing?

I wonder this because I cannot know what the other side might think, what they might see. I am permanently of a different perspective, and unusual perspective, and will never be able to look at myself, or people like me, the way that others do. I do not mourn that difference, but it nags at my eternal curiousity about all things as one thing I will never really be able to understand.

And I wish my damn cold would go away.

I feel that I've been told that I have absolutely nothing interesting to say.