Mar. 8th, 2012

dclarion: (Default)
It's been a while.  A lot has been happening, very little of it to me.

One thing that I have been doing is turning on an audio recorder program while I talk to myself.  No, these are not the psychotic ramblings of a crazy cat lady, these are audio notes.  The story is this:

Yesterday, on the way back from a therapist appointment, I stopped into Lane Bryant to buy a pair of panties, wanting to take them home to test them for size and comfort of the style.  The store was devoid of customers, so I got to talking with the counter help, making no attempt whatsoever to hide who and what I am.  The conversation turned to my perspectives on the transsexual life, and at one point, I had one of those split-second "episodes", for lack of a better term, wherein I saw myself as an observer might, from the outside, so to speak.  I was all smiles, speaking rather animatedly about my life and times, in a style about halfway between an informal lecture and standup comedy.  I suddenly had the insight that I might want to carry a tape recorder around with me, recording myself during these "presentations", because I saw what I was doing as what I had in mind for a presentation I would like to deliver at a Mensa convention upcoming in September.  Once I got home, I didn't see anything that might serve the purpose, but I did check out a microphone and audio record program, finding them to work well for occasions when I might ramble on to myself at home.  By the way, the panties are perfect for fit and comfort; Lane Bryant has a customer for life.

So...  That was yesterday.  Today, I recorded about a half hour of rambling which was rather choppy, possibly due to the lack of an audience, but it was a start.  I'll transcribe it later.  Thus primed, I was babbling a little while washing a couple of dishes.  In comes Celia, circling and rubbing against my feet.  Perhaps, she liked the sound of my voice, although I know not why.  To my own ear, I sound more like a nerdy adolescent boy than anything approaching a mature woman; I need to work on that.  Horrible human that I am, I picked her up and cradled her in my arms.  A Brian Auger album was playing, out in the Studio, so I took her out there, settled in my chair and continued cradling the Celia-kitty while gently rocking.  After fifteen minutes or so of being inordinately comfortable, a pair of kitty eyes began to slowly close.  It didn't take long for those same kitty eyes to suddenly snap open, their owner looking around with an expression of "What?  Sleep?  Me?  No!  I'm a big girl!  Big girls don't do that!"  With that, she climbed out of my arms to take up her usual station, i.e. as far from DC as possible.

But, there it had been: A once-feral kitty, now happy and comfortable, asleep in my arms.  Thank you, Celia.

May 2013

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