I had started riding my bike from home to the train station, and then to work, then back again.  On April 30, an unseen lump of asphalt that served as a makeshift ramp to the curb came across my path, snapped my handlebars out of my grip, and down i went on my left shoulder, neatly breaking my collarbone in half.

Saw the orthopedist today and she very cheerfully gave the situation a thumbs up.  They only operate on cases where the broken ends separate more than 2 cm, it's a compound fracture, or separation.  Cases like mine just have the broken ends heal up until they find each other and make a weird mangled bone.  I should be mostly okay in another 5-6 weeks, and i can resume riding (if i'm up to it) after 3 months.

The bruising around the shoulder is... something.

Ugh, when did i develop all these skin tags?

Ever since i put on a pair of my mom's heels at 11 and loved them, i've always wanted to know what my deal was, mainly because i thought it would help me figure out how to express myself in a way that i felt was true to myself, whatever the hell that means.

It looks like it would take forty years for not just me to settle down as a person but also for society to change with a whole bunch of young people changing attitudes and language enough for things to fall into place.  In the meantime, i took some baby steps by starting in 2008 to wear kilts, a heteronormative-approved skirt for men.  I started buying nicer clothes in general as a result of, for the first time, caring about how i dressed and looked on a daily basis.

Two years and a half ago, i bought my first non-kilt skirt from eShakti, which a coworker had recommended primarily for the ability to customize the garment's measurements, as she has an unusually shaped body.  As i do, too, given my typically male proportions, and the fact that most of their skirts have pockets (which i had no interest in going without), that sealed the deal.  But i still didn't know where to wear it (although i did take it out to go see Florence + the Machine for my granddaughter's birthday with her stepmom [my stepdaughter], which was a perfect occasion as i saw other guys there wearing clothes with femenine festoons), so it mostly languished in my closet.

Last year, after i started at Zoox, i decided to rip off the bandaid on Halloween (how cliché) and wore the navy skirt with these, which i'd bought in Portland on a bit of a lark in 2019 and were also looking for an opportunity to shine in public.  After that, i ended up buying a couple more skirts, and also some mid-heeled boots, and it's really feeling like it's all coming together.

Following are the skirts, in order of purchase, plus my favorite pairs of knee-high boots.

So how am i labeling myself?  I'm a cis hetero dude with femme fashion tendencies; that's good enough.

In closing, here's Neko Case.

Earlier this week, my calf cramped as i was waking up and i couldn't get it to release while remaining in bed, so i got out of bed to stand on that foot and force it to relax.  Unfortunately, i declared victory too soon and it kicked back, tipping me to the side and knocking me on my ass, much to Kim's concern, but i was unhurt.  By this point, my adrenalin had kicked in hard and, after finally putting an end to the cramp, i was awake and sweating.  After that, i headed to the toilet and, as i finished up, i felt quite ill as i felt the adrenalin rush recede.  I staggered back to bed and lay there nauseous and shivering, breathing shallowly until the feeling passed.

Anyway, don't do drugs, kids, because the comedown is a doozy.

Ever since the notion of "inbox zero" floated across my attention, i've been perplexed by the mania it attracts.  Maybe 15, or even 10, years ago, it was a bit of a challenge to keep up, but these days, most of my email is either spam or commercial.  The former is shipped off to a processing folder, and the latter is either autosorted or unsubscribed.  The time it takes me to deal with is minimal.  It's never occurred to me to brag about inbox zero because i'm there every day.

Then something like this article pops up and i'm just stunned.  2700 messages in a month?  What on earth are you doing?  People just give up?  Maybe i'm just special, or maybe people just hate me and ignore me.

There's so little music i want to see live and most of it happens 60-90 minutes away so when it's on a weeknight i'm too old to want to endure the commute there in rush hour and back when it's midnight and i'm exhausted.