Insomnia strikes again. Boots pills that are supposed to help you sleep, haven't. This is a particularly bad spell of it. I think I'll have to see the doctor, can't exist on 3 hours sleep a night. Trouble is, I don't want to say why, I don't want dysphoria to be at the forefront of every future doctor's mind when I see them about an ingrowing toenail, chronic flatulence or whatever the infirmity du jour is. Can I say "If I tell you I want you to promise not to put it on my record"? Can't say I trust them enough for that. A non transgendered friend who lives somewhere else in the UK has a doctor who's transitioned, wish I lived in her surgery's catchment area.
Véronique has posted at last, she's safe and recovering, which is good news. Her blog was one of several that has been an inspiration to me as a silent observer over the past couple of years, I'm happy for her. I can't help feeling a bit guilty though for a touch of the bridesmaid feeling. A rugby line-out winning physique won't help catching that bouquet.
Never mind, you'll be able to wear the dress again, isn't that what they always say? :)