The author in her bodysuit, miniskirt, tights and heels

I try to be as positive, optimistic and/or fun (sexy too) as I can when writing here. After all, I am usually that way in my day-to-day life. Plus, who needs  a downer of a person in our little corner of the universe where we get to look pretty, smell nice and, not to mention, have cool, sexy womens’ shit to prance around in?

Of course, life is not always the sunshine glistening off of my pantyhose and I (plus maybe a good part of my other crossdressing cohorts) find myself in periods where I just feel… weird. I don’t mean in a strange mood or that I ate something I probably shouldn’t have or even that I’m just not feeling myself today. I mean that I feel like a genuine weirdo and have a sense that everybody in my own personal world thinks that I am too.

About 98.5% of the time, I don’t give a shit about it but, unfortunately, that other 1.5% of the time it kind of gets to me. Keep in mind that my close friends and family have no idea of my alter feminine-esque ego that has been slowly exposing itself bit by bit publicly. I get this impression that they know I am weird but they “just can’t point their finger on it.” Maybe it is better said that I feel like I am thought of as weird but not in a good or flattering way, or at least that is how I perceive it.

So call it my insecurities catching up to me while having a laugh, or maybe the ebb and flow of my emotional being hit its dark side at the moment. Either way, I cross paths with this every now and then, not with a high frequency, but it does happen. I can’t say that it always takes me to a darker place either. Usually I’ll have a wine and catch some action drama on Netflix or just order a pizza for delivery. Then I can get back to my unconscious weirdo mode and get on with my life again, or just go to bed.

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