A revellation

Just before I watched the Doctor Who finale, I realised what may be the connection between my dysphoria and my asexuality.

It came about when I was reading The Colour Purple. It's the book I'm set to read in English, except it's all about the main girl, Celie, writing letters to god. The letters are rather blunt. She clearly explains her own father sexally abusing her, the woman known as Shug Avery teaching her how to pleasure herself, and I told my partner that if I got dysphoria from that scene, I'd very very upset.

But not long after, I realised that I hadn't needed to worry about dysphoria at all. The discomfort and internal trauma I was feeling was linked directly to being asexual. I didn't feel like I should be reading it because I was so out of my depth. I don't experience any of that stuff, because I don't feel sexual attraction. Reading such a detailed description of Celie's body, the part of her that nobody but Mr ____, her husband, would see, the part on women have, made me want to throw the book aside and not go near it again.

So here's the thing. I am asexual because I have dysphoria. They are both one in the same. I don't get attracted because I'm so thrown off by my own body.

Whether or not this may change with the appropriate surgery, I don't know. Perhaps I never will, since I don't intend to get bottom surgery. But either way, it's good to finally know that I'm not just broken, or 'looking for the right person'. I always knew I wasn't, since that's a load of crap. I can't control my asexuality any more than anybody else can control who they're attracted to. Besides, I've already found the person I've been looking for, even at this early age, so it's not that.

I'm not even beginning to say this is the same for everybody. Many people just don't have a sex drive, and that's completely fine. Of course it is. But now I know the cause of mine, I feel a little more in control of everything than I did. And that is worth everything.

No Day But Today

As my title hints, I discovered the musical RENT this week. It was amazing and so very inspiring. I've fallen in love with yet another musical.

Today, I put this statement to the test.

I tested the normative barriers and used the Gents. Apologies for this story being retold as if it's a big adventurous action thing.

My friend said he needed to go to the restroom, so I offered to accompany him, since I wanted to try out the male side of the corridor for myself. They're the same, after all, but without the waste bin. And the drawing on the door doesn't have a pointy dress.

I floundered in the corridor for a minute or so, staring at the open cubicle room and wondering if I could really just stroll through the door and nobody would stop me. It's obvious they wouldn't, since the only people nearby were year 7 boys anyway. My friend offered to cover for me, let me know when it was clear, but then I remembered that line from RENT, and just said 'well screw that, let's just do it' and strode forward confidently.

Once I'd locked the door, I danced triumphantly and silently, and fistpumped a few times. I wish I'd brofisted my reflection, really. I'll do that next time.

So I conquered that scary moment of using the male-only bathroom! I've realised if I ever feel dysphoric in school, I can just go do that.

My brother thinks I'm gay.

The title pretty much says it all.

He told me that when I break up with my 'first boyfriend or whatever, listen to these guys.' in regards to the band Alkaline Trio.

I brought it up, saying how brilliant it was that he added 'or whatever', because it's good to know he just doesn't care. And that was that.

While I helped him turn around his room, we covered a lot of topics from an old 1930's tailcoat I'm going to own soon to the idea that he dresses in short red tube dresses when nobody is looking.

And now, I'm back in my room, with my brother in his room talking to his friend, and he just mentioned it. His words were something like:

'[She] said it was cool that I said "whatever". I think she might be gay, which would be alright really.'

So..... I think if I were to tell him I'm Trans*, that I'm in a relationship with the girl I'm best friends with in Sweden, that I'm probably the gayest Asexual in the county, he'd just say 'alright, fine.' Or even just say that he'd known for a while. He'd be much more understanding than my parents are.

Oh, this is what I ended up dressing like on Friday.

More canteen musings

Typed on Wednesday 19th.

One good thing has happened today, which almost levels the not-so-good thing from yesterday.

Let me explain. I assume everyone would prefer the bad thing followed by the good, since it seems kinder.

My parents are exhibiting tomorrow at an art thing that mum put together. Me and my brother are attending the opening to see how it’s all gone. I asked last night if I’m expected to dress nicely, since I love doing that anyway, and my mum replied ‘Yes, dress formally. But do dress like my daughter, yeah? Otherwise people won’t know.’

Well I like think I’m fairly hardened in that comments usually bounce off me, but that one really hurt. Is she expected low-cut shirts or a dress or something?

She went on to explain if I dressed like a boy and my brother dressed like a girl, people would get confused.

Still, that’s no way to make what is clearly a dig at how I dress and how I prefer male clothing, as well as trying to convince them I’m Trans*. I shouldn’t even have to convince them, for Christ’s sake. Parents are supposed to support their kids. If I want to be a boy, I should be entitled or allowed. And if I change my mind, that’s my own bloody look out. They can warn me against it, fine, but I think after a few years of knowing, and a lifetime of always wanting to be the male character, I’m pretty content with knowing that this is what I want. How I choose to dress and feel.

It’s like when the Dursley’s make Harry act ‘normal’ to hide who/what he really is.

I just… That was completely uncalled for.

Alright. Good things now.

The James Bond show last week? A friend told me everyone had assume I was a guy under the Johnny Depp mask. So it’s not all doom and gloom, I guess.

Also, the bathrooms here are separate doors in the corridor, with the male on one side and female on the other.

    I wonder if I could ever just stroll into the male cubicle… 

No, it isn't a cigarette. My friend got me Candy Sticks, with the Avengers on them.

Reflections on T and Identitity.

The following two texts were previously typed at school on separate days but I was too lazy to upload them, so you're getting a bundle of entries now.

This one is from Tuesday.

This is being written in my Sixth Form cafeteria. I have two free lessons, and nobody else does, so I’m taking some time out. The school wifi is terrible, I can’t get to any site I usually visit. The only thing that works is bloody google. And that can’t lead anywhere interesting. I’m typing this into Word to copy in later. I’ll ask about the plugs in registration, for later use. I have this double every two weeks, after all.

I woke up at 7:40am today. Which is when my friend usually leaves his house to meet me. I woke as he texted to tell me he was leaving, and fell into my clothes. I brushed my teeth so fast my hand was blurry.

Either way, it resulted in being too late to work out my binder, and I really could have done with it today.

   My partner comforted me by telling me she’d explained my situation, name, gender to her parents, and is now referring to me as Lorcan to everyone. In Sweden, I am truly who I want to be, and that affects me a lot more than it should. Her parents asked questions, but only to be sure of pronouns. Her dad helped pick my Christmas present. I know what I’m getting her, but she reads this so I can’t say it. But this means so much to me I can’t put it into words. I might have to draw some sort of thing to say thankyou or to show my feelings. I don’t know. Nothing will be enough.

There are supposed to be plugs in the cafeteria. I’ve seen them. I’m sat next to one. But I can’t open the cover to get to it. So my laptop will die in about 25 minutes, leaving me with another hour. Luckily, I have Chamber of Secrets, my sketch book and my notebook. And of course my MP3, which is charging right now.

  I can’t draw really, but I have an idea of something that I’d like to try out. It’s not the nicest of ideas, but I’ve been inspired by Copper Rose, a tumblr page I follow.

I’ve been thinking about T. I think I may result in taking it. I was considering only 25g, but realised last night that while it would slightly change my figure, which is already slightly androgynous and lacks curves at all, and maybe my voice just slightly, it won’t stop the bloody annoying week that happens every month. That seriously needs to go. So… Who even knows. I’ll ask my therapist whenever I get one. Whenever I’m allowed one and my parents won’t kick off about it. My partner is going to be a nurse, so she can help me every week I need to inject it.

I can’t wait for the day that people try to do an impression of me and need to lower their voice, though. That will be a nice day.

Oh shit. Laptop battery.

Uncle Mark

Let's get this done first. I have had 100 page views. That's fantastic! Not sure what to say about, but triple figures felt like an important moment. I've had no comments or messages ever though, so I'm not sure if just my partner 100 times or other people too. I'm not fussed, since this is just for thoughts, not popularity, so it's all fine.

I should really doing my Media homework, in which I've chosen Hitch Hiker's Guide To The Galaxy and am exploring the different forms of media it appears in, but instead I tagged along with my mum to a photo shoot of sorts with James and Uncle Mark for their album cover.
  James is a family friend who's trying to be a writer but foolishly read his work through before he finished and now can't complete his currently 40,000 word novel. Uncle Mark isn't actually my uncle, but is my friend's. I called him it once and my friend asked him if he'd be my uncle, and he was fine with it. Also, just 'Mark' makes me think of Gatiss.
  They recreated the famous Kray's photo below, despite Mark looking more like a mix between Gatiss, Johnny Lee Miller, and Jeremy Renner, especially with a beard Gatiss uses sometimes. And James has a long hair that is kind of a long bowl cut, curling inwards slightly at the bottom around chin-length. After the Kray photo, uncle Mark played the piano in the corner barefoot as a tribute to Lennon while James sat on top of it. The photos were seriously awesome.






He is by far my favourite uncle. While James and mum left to have a cigarette we discussed sixth form, university and how we both love to stay up until 4am, but once it starts getting light you think 'I really shouldn't be up right now' or, when you lose track completely and think your watch must be lying to you. One the way home he admitted he was going to change out of his suit because he didn't mind wearing it but it makes him think of times when he had to be someone he is not, and he should be heading home right about now actually, as I write this, on the train back to Waterloo. We bitched about annoying women and someone behind him one time who seemed to be going through her entire phonebook, ringing them to tell them she was on a train.
  When we had to part he told me he wishes me the best of luck with my A levels and he'll probably see me next month, since my friend tells me he's coming down and I come visit them both. He added that he's glad I'm friends with his niece, she needs more friends like me, and to try to keep her in line.
  As a side note, I noticed he had a wedding ring on, a simple silver band with slightly raised edges to make a sort of valley between them, and asked my friend about it via text. I needn't have, since he mentioned his husband. This man gets better and better. He's quietly camp, thin, tall and just generally funny and nice. Me and my friend are thinking of staying with him overnight or something when Thor 2 comes out, because we want to see it in London and staying with him is better than a hotel, which I doubt we'd be allowed.
  So that was a bit of an appreciation post.

In other news, I helped at wedding yesterday with a family friend's company that uses fine bone china and serves tea and stuff, and while I was clearing up, I heard someone mention Asexuality. I couldn't join in, of course, since I'm just staff, but it was lovely to hear it and know other people know it exists. I forget sometimes that not everyone is clueless and disbelieving.
  My mum told me I'd be the 'right hand man' to one of the people who run the small company, and that really felt good, even if she didn't mean it how I took it.

I've been looking around a few blogs, mostly run by Transmen, just to keep grounded on it all, and see how other people are doing, and one guy posted a double picture of him before going onto Testosterone and 1 and a half years later. His face had narrowed out, he said his hips got slimmer, and he took on a much more male appearance, however his hairline went back just slightly, as it would for a guy in his early 20's, since female's hairline is further forward naturally. Starting to think it might be worth the eventual hairloss.
  Also watched as a kid, Ethan, from France, injected their first T dose, to show how not scary it is, and document it. The jealousy hurt a little, but it looks so easy. I don't know. I might go for it in the end.
  My partner said when we'd first met, last November, she's thought I was a guy. I'd been wearing a blue hoodie that effectively hides my torso and a neckscarf over that to disguise myself, and my hair was a little longer, but she had no idea until I had to write my name in the book I was having signed. I figured that's a good sign my voice is deep enough, since it's deeper than most of my given gender, but even when dressed to present as male I still get female pronouns. So I'm not so sure any more. Although, that may be because of the ring I wear, the one my partner gave me. It's distinctly femme.
  Last night, she was having a drink and hanging out with some friends at her friend's house, and told me she'd mentioned me only as Lo, since Lorcan in Swedish is difficult, and Lo is a gender neutral name. To know I'm who I want to be - in another country - is comforting.

Right, need to be working.

The name's Bond. Lorcan Bond.

It was our induction day today.

Bit odd. We had to do a performance, and the title was Bond: Live and Let Die. We had to use the music to do something we designed ourselves. I was James Bond, a role I wanted for a very long time.
  We found celebrity masks and used those on the main characters. I was Johnny Depp.... As James Bond. Two wonderful people. Two Alan Carr's stole the queen and prince Phillip. I got to wear a black suit, which helped me feel a little better.
  However, my Bond Girl was my ex girlfriend. We're friends now, and it's fine, but having her circle me sexily and do what I'm sure was a very sexy expression to the tune 'Mr Loverboy' when I introduced myself was very much not good. Thank christ I had my mask on so I didn't have to fix a facial expression. It was... awkward, at best. I wish my partner had been there to be my Bond Girl. She'd have been amazing. Other than that, we did well. Got to the finals but didn't win. There were much better tutor groups than us.
  And, as a result of my walking home in black trousers, white shirt, black tie and waistcoat, I'm fairly sure I caught a girl glancing at me repeatedly and smiling slightly at me. I believe that's 'checking me out', right? I don't know. Either way, she stands no chance, since I'm a happily involved guy. Still, major Male points.

Yesterday, I had a free lesson, so I went to a cafeteria on my own, since all my friends were in classes, and got invited to sit with some colleagues from my old school. They asked about me and my ex, I explained we weren't together because I'm Asexual, and a girl said she'd heard of it, and I verified what it means, and it was all fine.
  Then, topic turned to sex, and then to Hex, the local Trans*. As far as I gather, he's on the hormones to become a woman, but still identifies as male. The five of them were trying to work out what it meant, since he is still very much a guy, not having had bottom surgery, but no longer has a flat chest, and maybe is registered as female officially. I think he's neutral, but I wasn't going to try to explain that and the ze/hir pronouns. I interjected with the idea that we address him by the pronouns he asks of us, and the girl who knew about Asexuality said 'you're on Tumblr, aren't you? I can tell.' and thus I had to go on to explain it's not gender identification disorder, it's dysphoria, and of course it lead to what that is, what it means, how it works.
  Suffice to say I felt a little drained and vulnerable afterwards.

Tomorrow I have one and a half lessons, but I have to be at school for all five. So I have a lot of time on my hands. It's supposed to be triple Critical Thinking, but how the hell are you supposed to think at a critical level for three hours straight? So we're just doing one and a half. The rest is free time and a study period in which I have nothing to study.

Everyone keeps asking why I have so much free time but it's just because I'm supposed to have nine lessons of everything but I now only have five of CT. It's awesome! I plan to take a few extra pounds so I can get a few coffee's at the cafeteria and write or something.

Parental Guidance - and Mark Gatiss appreciation

In my Critical Thinking (which starts tomorrow) we have to bring in an article showing persuasive text. So, instantly, I remembered there is a double page spread on exactly that every month in Doctor Who Magazine. It is literally perfect for the assignment criteria and I don't really have any other magazines that can fit the bill better than this.

I mentioned it happily to my parents, and was greeted with 'just an idea, but this time try not to make every assignment and essay about Sherlock Holmes or Doctor Who.' I got this speech a few years ago when I was told to make a leaflet about something of interest to try to inform other people, and chose Doctor Who, since I'm very well informed and others are not. I did one leaflet on it, in year eight. That's pretty much it.

  Apparently my primary school teachers had told me the same - or more, my parents, that everything I did was Apocalypse, Doctor Who or Zombies. It was year six. What other things were there? Were they expecting boy bands and make up?
 The point is that in my primary school, I don't ever remember being told that, or doing any of that. No one I knew liked Doctor Who. My parents didn't listen. I had no phone, no outside source. Of course my work would be about what I love, because no one but the blank page would listen to me.
  To add to this, the first thing I thought of was Mark Gatiss. This is him.

 Isn't he wonderful. He is my idol and everything I want to be when I get around to growing up. Or at least being an adult. It was through a signing with him that I met my fantastic understanding partner. I owe him everything. He was obsessed with Hammer Horror as a child, and everything he did in school was a horror story. He had the task 'a day at the beach' or some such thing, and made the family/kid in his story find a severed head in a bucket because that was what interested him. Not severed heads, horror. And he has gone on to be magnificent. He has been involved with and worked on everything he could have wanted. Sherlock, Horror in many forms, James Bond, Doctor Who. Literally everything. Actor, writer (including one instance of gay erotica), scriptwriter, idol.
  So if he can center all his school work around one subject, why the hell can't I?


I was also told that my brother's girlfriend is the nicest he's had, and I should feel lucky she's in my sixth form in the year above because if I need to talk to anyone about directions or anything, she'll be there.
  If I want to talk to anyone in the year above about directions I'll ask ex boyfriend and all around awesome guy Max. We parted on good terms, there's no tension and he's just generally brilliant. Not a girl who stressed out my brother to the point of him breaking his non smoking rule, cries and refuses to say why, thus destroying the point of crying to get comfort, and most importantly to me, has sex with him next door beyond a thin wooden wall. I can't do that. I'm distressed enough that I have to put up with that at night, with her always hanging around. I'm not befriending her.
 Really, in so many ways, we're not cut out for friendship. I don't like that my brother's girlfriend is in my school. My parents just can't understand that. They still don't understand my discomfort with sex. Sure, I know it, know how it works. Doesn't mean I'm ready to be nice to someone who does it with my brother.

So to sum up, lots of small things have built up and I'm left in a state of not quite knowing how to feel any more. Let's hope it's better tomorrow for school. 

do you

In my previous post I ended it with these two words. This photo is a post from the blog I also mentioned, (in)visibly queer, and I read it as 'do you'. The phrase with the photo is

a reminder for queer and trans* people and anybody else that is sharply told by society who and what to be…

and that's why I read it how I do. The message is to be who I am, who we all are. Odd, isn't it, how two words can mean so much. I can tell these are two words I'll be using to myself quite often.

Close your eyes and count to ten, then start again, start again.

This morning I woke with two completely unrelated thoughts through my head. The first was yer make me sick in a Scottish accent, though I can't tell you why since I've never been able to master a scottish accent but suddenly I can say this sentence. Although in an incredibly twisted way they may sense with the second thought.

The second was a strong, painful feeling of dysphoria. I've not had to deal with it for a long time, and it threw my apart completely.

I confided in my partner when I eventually got my twitter direct messages to work, and she asked what triggered it. The answer is plain and simple; my grandparents yesterday. I always feel on edge around them, like I have to strive to be something I'm not around them, and it made me re-evaluate myself. I also apparently have a hairstyle like my mother did when she was younger, so I kept being jokingly called her name.

The point of my haircut was to (subtly) make me feel a little more male, to look it. It must have worked, if that lovely bus driver last week is anything to go by. But to have it ruined by 'your mum had that style!' made me want to curl up and give in to what everyone expects of me.

I've been pushed back into my closet twice now by my parents, and that really isn't helping.

Before I could go and make a sandwich my partner taught me how to create to feel better, and watch an episode of Supernatural to root myself, I was forced by my thoughts into my binding, which was done crappily, I'll admit that now. I've fixed it, but the need to feel restricted and present as male when I stare into the big mirror in the living room was almost overpowering.

Getting dressed today was a dilemma. I've posted before about how I wake up wondering who I want to be today, and then dressing accordingly, but today I wanted to wear a tee my friend gave me three years ago, the last time I saw her. It's got a cupcake on it, with 'yummy' over it. It's clearly feminine but I didn't want to present as it. Throwing caution to the wind I put it on anyway. Now even I can't tell what I'm supposed to be. And I'm not entirely sure if that's good or not. Probably not. I don't know any more.

My partner said fairly recently that she feels awful that such a normal and necessary task as showering and getting dressed is difficult for me, and I repeat what I said just over a month ago. If I could just be happy with my given gender, that would be fabulous. But clearly that's not the case.

Another point I've noticed is that I have always put a full stop after my name, whatever name I use. It's something I'm happy with, and feel quite partial to, now I think about it. The full stop shows that that's it. It's just a name. Who we are inside is up to us, but our name shows who we want the world to judge us as. So when I eventually get myself around to writing my chosen name on forms and such, I'm going to use a full stop, even if it's in the middle of a sentence, because why the fuck not.

There's a blog, (in)visibly queer, and I respect them so much. Ze is called elle, lower case, because she doesn't want a name to be what defines who he is, rather be just a word. Hir also uses mosaic pronouns, if you'd not noticed, meaning it goes by whatever they want or the person talking to them feels comfortable with. She is openly queer and comfortable with who they are, and I'm going to send them an e-mail letting hir know how much I value their posts, they remind me it isn't just me. I'm also going to ask what forms of meditation hir uses, to see if they'll help at all.

I'm currently dealing with my dysphoria by listening to Gaydar Radio, letting the thumpa thumpa, the beat that beats my heart for me, and getting on with my work. I can't ignore it forever, but I can't do anything about it either. I already know I can't tell my parents.

Sick as it is, I'd happily - already, cautiously - put up with the verbal/physical abuse I will inevitably get when I come out to the world, because I'll be who I am. And that is worth everything to me. This looks and sounds horrible, like I want to be bullied. I don't, I just desperately want to be myself. Do you.

The Return Of The Grandparents

As  the title suggests, my grandparents visited today. They're the only relatives living in Britain that visit and that we really keep in contact with. But they're from my mum's side and me and my dad aren't that keen on them. Dad, luckily, gets to hide in his man cave, because there aren't enough seats for everyone downstairs, but I have no choice.

Regular questions I get every time they visit usually include whether or not I have a boyfriend yet. I always tell them no, of course not. Happened twice.

Instance number one.
'Who are you texting?'
'My friend.'
'Girl or boy?' Knowing smile.
'Girl. Her name is Sophie. She's a friend.'
'Not a boy?'
'No.'
'No boyfriend?'
Laughter. 'No. God, no. I'm not doing that.'

Instance number two.
Mindless talking '-when I meet with Emmett next week'
'Who's Emmett?'
'Friend in Dorchester.'
'Male friend?'
'Grandad, Emmett is the campest person I know. He's fabulously gay and definately not my type, nor am I his. The only two boys in my life are gay.'

I also mentioned where I plan to get a job, and my bro interjected with 'That's a gay club!' I know it is. It's also a cafe in the day. 'But it's a gay bar!' Yes, it is. I'm aware. In honesty, it's why I'm asking to work there. I feel comfortable around gay people. They don't expect anything of me, I can be myself (not completely of course. Not unless I know them very well) and I find camp people are very calming people to be around.

It's always rather stressful when they visit. Full of things that are expected of me and bloody repeated questions. Everyone was insisting I frame my 'basic first aid' certificate and hang it up. I have nowhere to hang such a thing, and if I did, I would hang up my signed Colin Baker photograph. That's much more important than a certificate. I'm not going into nursing, my partner is, so why would I need to hang it up?

We watched my brother's christening, and I couldn't help but think back to a conversation me and my partner had not days ago about our son, when he is adopted eventually, being christened. Well, more a strong agreement that it will not be happening. Churches go completely about everything we are and love. The idea of going into a church for our son to be christened is disturbing. If the priest knew who I am, what I am, and how strongly we both adore and support the gay community, he'd probably have a fit.
  Although my brother was christened, I wasn't. My grandmother was the one who enforced it anyway, and for some unknown reason, despite him being the most troublesome, he's always been the favourite of hers. She's rather stuck in the old ways, believing women should know there place etc; and through disliking that that applies to me, I can't stand that way of thinking.

I think these two people will be the ones I'll have difficulty convincing that I'm Trans*. After my parents that are apparently convinced it doesn't exist.

Oh, in better news, my partner's friend is training to be a tailor, and offered to make my suit when we get around to our wedding. Awesome!!!

More brilliant things than you can shake a rainbow at.

I've been helping out at the beach with the paralympics these past three days, in the golf area, and I must have done quite well, since everyone seems to think I'm the best volunteer they've had. All I was doing was asking people in the golf area to fill out this registration form, and writing in the corner of the forms how many people were in that group, so one adult signs a form, I write four to include his wife (sadly no husbands) and two kids. It gave a more accurate count of who was actually doing the golf, or rather just how many visitors there were.

As a result of being a 'super star' as Pete, one of the instructors called me, I got to go out on a boat and look at the sailing in the harbor. That was brilliant. And today I got told to contact the other instructor, Steve, to get a level one golf coaching degree. So yeah, I do sport now.

In other news, I was called 'sir' on Monday! I was checking bus times for my school journey to sixth form, with my back to the bus that was just stationary, and the driver asked 'can I help you, sir?'

I need to point out how much I've been longing to hear that.

I turned around, and I could see him trying to work out whether to apologise or not, and instantly started talking, using my best and deepest Sherlock voice (my voice is already deep enough to get by, but that extra kick hurts no one). It really made me feel better since I'd been coping with 'talk to that woman over there' or 'miss' or 'she' all day and was starting to feel a little edgy.

URL change

I'm considering changing my blog URL to letssettleforlondon rather than my current justrememberhowthestoryends. This is your fair warning.

Just in case anyone finds this blog by typing in the URL or whatever.

I'll change over on the 5th of the month.

A Good Day

Here's a list of why today is a good day.

-- Doctor Who restarts today! (7.20pm BBC 1 'Asylum of the Daleks' if you're interested)
-- It's Brighton Pride weekend - which I sadly can't attend but Gaydar Radio is keeping me informed.
-- My partner finishes work in one hour and we're going to finish writing our fanfiction piece, hopefully, or just talk. Either way, we get time together and that's brilliant.
-- Today is the day the Hogwarts Express leaves Platform 9 3/4, taking it's students to the place I always dreamed of attending.
-- I have about 28 packets of Haribo from the Air Show yesterday to get through.
-- I plan to spend my day designing a Steampunk costume for my character, Quill, for a script me and Jared are going to be writing.
-- And perfecting my own Steampunk outfit for the NCS dinner later this year, which Jared will also attend in Steampunk fashion.
-- I start Sixth Form in four days, and I'm studying both English subjects, Media and Critical Thinking. It's all very good.

For some reason, I just feel really good today. The Air Show is still fresh in my mind, god it was so fantastic, and dad said we might go next year, which would be great.

One of my mates bought me this bracelet at the Air Show. I can't attend Pride, but I can support it.

                                                       So, happy Pride to you all!