This comes in two parts.
First weird idea:
I am not a writer. You may have noticed. Yet I write.This is my second blog. I may resurrect my other blog soon, but I won't link them together. The other is political and in my male name. I've written almost 800 posts, and, considering my natural lack of editing ability, I think that comes to a tad under fourteen bazillion words.
I've also written a large number of technical documents, presentations, white papers, and mostly work stuff. I've written some stories to amuse my kids. I've been published ~ little things like letters to the editor and big things like an IEEE software standard.
But I sadly admit I'm not a writer.
I have spoken of my muse, gratefully and often. She (aren't all muses female? And even if they weren't mine clearly has an affinity for my femme side.) is my inspiration ~ at the very least, she turns what I observe around me into something people might enjoy. She helps me express myself. She helps a lot.
I did a little research on the muses, and decided she must be Thalia, the muse of comedy and idyllic poetry. She hasn't blessed me with the gift of writing idyllic poems, and for that, I'm grateful. I am not a poetry fan, but Thalia seems to not mind that. Maybe she saves her poetry inspiration for others.
I think I have a decent sense of humour; I think it shows in my writing. Thalia is the second-youngest muse; I am the second youngest of my siblings.
Second weird idea:
Ever since I was young, I felt I was being watched over. If I wasn't I wouldn't be here writing. I've never broken a bone (one tiny exception), never needed stitches until just a few years ago, never been seriously ill to the point of hospitalisation, never been seriously threatened. I have two wonderful kids. Whenever things seem bad, I open the newspaper and realise I am on top of the world. I bet I'm not unusual ~ I bet if you looked into your own lives you'd feel the same way. But I think someone is watching. I like the idea. I try to live a good life so I don't upset my "guardian angel" and fall off her good graces. I try to take life's little failures with her in mind. One odd for instance: when I get off the highway near my house, I always just miss the one traffic light on the way to my house. This makes no sense ~ I was on a highway, I got on at a random place so it can't be normal timing of the lights. And I don't mean it's red. The light turns green for me, then for oncoming traffic, then for cross traffic. I always get to the light as it turns red for me. Always. But when I get on the same highway, the entry lane is always clear. I think someone is having fun.When I get stuck at a traffic light because the car in front of me is going way too slow, or something else happens to slow me down, I know it's because some bad occurrence is imminent and I need to be slowed down. There will be an 18 wheeler blocking me on my highway entrance, or someone will jump out in front of my car, or something will run a red light or something. No I don't know, but I believe it.
I used to call her my "guardian angel." Now I believe this is Thalia, my muse.
Putting weird ideas together:
I think Thalia did not want me to go to the VA State Democratic Convention dressed this weekend. I think Thalia has made my outings smooth (and I hope I please her enough that she will continue to do so) and she has made me miss outings because they wouldn't have gone well.
Maybe I wouldn't have been able to get alternate ID so my male name would appear, and people who should not know I am Meg would be there. Maybe the press would glom on to "the crossdresser" and out me, or ridicule the community. I don't know. Maybe I'll get an idea Friday or Saturday. Maybe not. I'll never know, but I believe Thalia does.
Thalia picked something insurmountable to keep Meg away: that toenail. Normally, it would not do what it did. I had this nail removed once before, when I was about 14. It grew back fine and stayed that way for over 40 years. I believe Thalia knew what I would do as soon as I applied to be a delegate to the state convention and my toenail started bothering at about that time.
I tried all of my shoes. I cannot wear any for more than a few minutes. Straps of one sort or another press on the most sensitive spot. I looked in Payless for something new: nothing suitable in my size.
Thalia thinks that is not enough. So Wednesday, as I was getting out of my car ~ the same car I get out of a few times a day almost every day ~ I banged the door into my shin. There was blood. There was rumpled skin. There was a bruise. They're still there. And for some unknown reason, my left upper leg just decided to hurt. I think I'm subconsciously walking a bit odd to keep the pain out of my toe and it's straining another muscle. Or Thalia really doesn't want me to go.
I'll be there but as my male self. I'm not happy, but I trust Thalia. And as annoying as this is, it's not the trial of Job or something.
One more weird idea:
I've thought about writing about Thalia for months. I was worried that she wouldn't want me to, and punish me by leaving me alone. But when you think about it, she wrote this. I just typed it out.
Thank you, Thalia, for keeping an eye on me. Someday, I hope to find out why.
