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This blog has been left fallow for quite too long.
As some of you know I am rather old-fashioned. I dress in a self-consciously retro manner. Sometimes this is because I like mid twentieth century aesthetics. I enjoy as a friend put it on one unusually scruffy occassion 'looking like a war-time lesbian'. I wouldn't enjoy assuming a modern bar-going lesbian uniform of very casual and slightly tomboyish attire. There, I've said it.
I've thusly been accused of somehow clinging to my past closet-case existence of hiding behind a respectable shop front. Of blending in or choosing to be invisible. One person, once told me this could be a sign of shame at being gay. Perhaps there was some truth in what they said. I am certain that I spent far too long as a 'straight' teenager attempting to blend in and hide from view. Becoming the femme before you now took a fair amount of ternacity and growth. It's taken a level of balls to be this feminine.
The Victorian-style diagnosis of a title wasn't chosen to give anyone a history lesson. It isn't even a coming of age story of self-realisation*. In a nutshell I feel like the person the normal straight world of work, family and society sees is very different and often the complete opposite of what and who I am inside. On the outside to a lot of people at work I appear to be a slightly eccentric version of normal. Happy that her girlfriend and her had a great pride weekend at various events. She enjoys dancing, eats slightly too much spicy food and clocks in and out like everyone else.
Her closet sometimes stretches all the way to Narnia too.
The reality is not only do I dress a bit Lois Laine-like to work, I have a secret double-identity. When my girlfriend's husband temped in my office in a separate department I referred to him as 'my friend', 'my girlfriend's housemate', 'that guy I know' and 'ye know, the beard, the hair'. We agreed between ourselves that if anything came out about me having two partners I really didn't mind, but I didn't want to have to deal with the tide of pointless questions that would inevitably come along with being out at work. This is just a simple fact for lots of people, poly or otherwise I imagine. What makes me feel sad and really rather strongly ashamed sometimes is I have a vintage closet-case's skill for hiding what's important, joyous and what should make me feel proud.
If one reads pink news, gay star news or follow any of the news sites aimed at an lgbt readership it is full of the march forward of civil rights for gay people. Words can't express my unusual levels of Scottish patriotism that there could be legal same-sex marriage in Scotland before the rest of Britain. Given my mother country was just over a decade behind in making homosexual activity legal this is more than reasonable catch-up in my mind. Queer people can get married, settle down and raise children and as Dan Savage says 'have tense conversations about the joint bank account' just like straight couples can.
If I choose to stay with my girlfriend I cannot have this. At least, not in this neatly-government supported and approved form. If the Doris Day future I fantasized about as a child of growing up to be a mummy and a wife in a pretty suburban home is something I truly want it will take a great deal of effort to get started. All relationships require effort, and a degree of learning to put up with small annoyances, inconveniences and learning how to love each other fiercely enough to weather enormous world-shattering problems. I've already coped with more than one coming out session with reasonably low stakes. The stakes may be higher in future, but if I decided to run away and not take another series of gambles I'm definitely losing everything that's important, and the woman I love.
I'll close this very self-indulgent and sentimental post by pointing out that Doris Day never starred in a film with two households, each with a couple o couples**. Maybe I could femme the fuck up a bit, and create my own kind of camp-classic family, even if only a very elite set of people get to see it in all its sometimes technicolour glory/Stockport-sepia.
* Well maybe a smidge.
**Except Calamity Jane, in particular Kate and Calam's cabin.
As some of you know I am rather old-fashioned. I dress in a self-consciously retro manner. Sometimes this is because I like mid twentieth century aesthetics. I enjoy as a friend put it on one unusually scruffy occassion 'looking like a war-time lesbian'. I wouldn't enjoy assuming a modern bar-going lesbian uniform of very casual and slightly tomboyish attire. There, I've said it.
I've thusly been accused of somehow clinging to my past closet-case existence of hiding behind a respectable shop front. Of blending in or choosing to be invisible. One person, once told me this could be a sign of shame at being gay. Perhaps there was some truth in what they said. I am certain that I spent far too long as a 'straight' teenager attempting to blend in and hide from view. Becoming the femme before you now took a fair amount of ternacity and growth. It's taken a level of balls to be this feminine.
The Victorian-style diagnosis of a title wasn't chosen to give anyone a history lesson. It isn't even a coming of age story of self-realisation*. In a nutshell I feel like the person the normal straight world of work, family and society sees is very different and often the complete opposite of what and who I am inside. On the outside to a lot of people at work I appear to be a slightly eccentric version of normal. Happy that her girlfriend and her had a great pride weekend at various events. She enjoys dancing, eats slightly too much spicy food and clocks in and out like everyone else.
Her closet sometimes stretches all the way to Narnia too.
The reality is not only do I dress a bit Lois Laine-like to work, I have a secret double-identity. When my girlfriend's husband temped in my office in a separate department I referred to him as 'my friend', 'my girlfriend's housemate', 'that guy I know' and 'ye know, the beard, the hair'. We agreed between ourselves that if anything came out about me having two partners I really didn't mind, but I didn't want to have to deal with the tide of pointless questions that would inevitably come along with being out at work. This is just a simple fact for lots of people, poly or otherwise I imagine. What makes me feel sad and really rather strongly ashamed sometimes is I have a vintage closet-case's skill for hiding what's important, joyous and what should make me feel proud.
If one reads pink news, gay star news or follow any of the news sites aimed at an lgbt readership it is full of the march forward of civil rights for gay people. Words can't express my unusual levels of Scottish patriotism that there could be legal same-sex marriage in Scotland before the rest of Britain. Given my mother country was just over a decade behind in making homosexual activity legal this is more than reasonable catch-up in my mind. Queer people can get married, settle down and raise children and as Dan Savage says 'have tense conversations about the joint bank account' just like straight couples can.
If I choose to stay with my girlfriend I cannot have this. At least, not in this neatly-government supported and approved form. If the Doris Day future I fantasized about as a child of growing up to be a mummy and a wife in a pretty suburban home is something I truly want it will take a great deal of effort to get started. All relationships require effort, and a degree of learning to put up with small annoyances, inconveniences and learning how to love each other fiercely enough to weather enormous world-shattering problems. I've already coped with more than one coming out session with reasonably low stakes. The stakes may be higher in future, but if I decided to run away and not take another series of gambles I'm definitely losing everything that's important, and the woman I love.
I'll close this very self-indulgent and sentimental post by pointing out that Doris Day never starred in a film with two households, each with a couple o couples**. Maybe I could femme the fuck up a bit, and create my own kind of camp-classic family, even if only a very elite set of people get to see it in all its sometimes technicolour glory/Stockport-sepia.
* Well maybe a smidge.
**Except Calamity Jane, in particular Kate and Calam's cabin.
