My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.

When I was a kid, me and my dad got into stargazing. We'd go out into the garden at about 4pm, because during the winter it was dark enough and I wasn't tired enough yet, and we'd spread out a cover on the small amount of grass, hot chocolate clasped in my hand like it was the only thing to stop me floating up into the atmosphere I didn't yet understand existed, before I realised gravity was the only certainty in life and I wasn't going anywhere. I must have been seven or eight years old, still in love with Peter Pan and not knowing what my future would hold.

He pointed out the usual, Orion, Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, Cassiopeia the Seven Sisters, the idea of two stars sometimes being so close that they almost look like one, and I thought that was so wonderful, that they were close enough to each other to merge entirely unless you didn't look directly at them, because they were so bright that when they were together you couldn't tell the difference. Like the Seven Sisters, you can't see all seven of them unless you look slightly to one side, because a few are so faint, because a few of them were too shy to stand being stared at. When I taught myself to stare to the side, I felt like I'd learnt the secret of the universe, and I was so proud that I didn't tell my dad how to do it, my own secret with the stars.

The night I realised there were stars beyond the stars, stars we could only see with the telescope he got and then there were still more that we wouldn't be able to see, I felt how small I was, and it was terrifyingly wonderful. This was before I even knew about Doctor Who and Star Wars, when I didn't realise how people have been fascinated by Out There.

He asked me if I could spot any constellations, and I'm sad to say I can no longer remember many of the names I learnt. But there's one; delphinus, the dolphin. One of the first nights, I pointed up to what looked like a sideways diamond with one star to one side, asking if that counted. I hadn't yet grasped the fact that constellations are made up, anyway. They're just a way to make sense of the mess above us and around us, to make us feel a little bit better about the fact that we're surrounded by things we don't yet understand, things we haven't explored. Maybe to make us feel a little less scared by it all.

Delphinus was named supposedly by a group of sailors. Their ship got turned over in a storm, or something. Or one of them fell out, I can't remember. But a dolphin caught them, carried them above the water. I'm reluctant to search it up again because I feel like it would ruin the story that made me feel safer when I looked up, so long as I could catch sight of that dolphin watching over me and sailors.

I would stare up at it all, and the first time I saw one moving I was convinced I'd imagined it. When I decided I wasn't, I was terrified. I thought we'd been spotted looking, that whatever it was would come and get me. Dad explained it was just a satellite, and that the same one would pass over that exact point in 90 minutes, because that's how long it takes to get around the world, and isn't that brilliant? Now when I look up, I wonder if it really is a satellite, or if it's something else, but it doesn't scare me any more. I know I'm just one person, and whatever it is doesn't care if I've seen it. Now, I believe it's the TARDIS, or the Enterprise coasting the edge of the sky until it can get back to it's own time, and I feel safe.

And when you look up at the milky way, the belt of so many stars it looks like a nightmare to a kid with issues concerning crows, you're staring out of the edge of this galazy. You're staring right up/down/into the unknown, the direction the Enterprise would boldly go so we didn't have to worry about it any more. If I stare too long I get dizzy on the idea that it just keeps going.

But the night I realised something could be looking back, my dad wasn't there to share it with me. I think it was because of Ivan, actually. He had this monologue from a story we played around with, my character standing with Sherlock on the crows nest of the Jolly Roger Reichenbach, sharing his coat and looking up from Neverland. They were inside a star, but that shouldn't be so weird to me now because so are we, in a way. What if there are other Neverlands, Sherlock asked in wonderment. What if there are versions of it in all those stars? What if we didn't just take the second star to the right and straight on til morning, but we took the first to the left, straight on til teatime? What if we're looking up, and something is looking right back.

Sure, it was written in a story, but I still wonder. I figured out alone that all those stars are suns, that all those suns have their own solar system. That space is forever expanding and one day it's going to reverse, to implode until everything that's ever existed or will exist is squashed into a single space the proportions of which our languages cannot even begin to name, and then the whole process may be repeated over.

I'd really like to find that speech, to print it out on my wall because it's been almost a year and I haven't forgotten and I want to read it until it's tattooed over my heart, reminding me that whatever I'm doing, whatever I feel and whatever scares me, there's probably someone out there keeping an eye on me.

When I get a kid, I'm going to take them to the top of a hill, with a blanket, some binoculars and a flask of hot chocolate, and I'm going to show them the stars. I'll show them the planets that are in sight, how you can actually see the rings of Jupiter if you look in a strong enough lens, how Mars actually shows bright red mixed with the blinding white reflection of the sun, how some of the stars we can see are long dead, and we're looking at the light it emitted back when dinosaurs were around, we're staring into the past like time travellers do, and I'm going to feel the amazement and excitement I did all those years ago as the knowledge fills my kid's imagination. I'll show them the very things that I've held close to my heart for years and I'll teach them about the dolphin that's kept an eye on me and all those adventurous sailors.

I'll show him the meteor showers, so many you can't possibly wish on them all as they caress the edge of the atmosphere and take your wishes back out into the universe, the closest thing to First Contact that I've ever witnessed, and I'll hold both the kid and my lover close under the blanket of dying suns like we're the only people left alive.

I wake up scared, I wake up strange, I wake up wondering if anything in my life is ever gonna change.

As disastrous, unplanned, unexpected weekends go, this one was pretty good.

I stayed at my best mate's house, we watched Doom, RED, Star Trek (all because of Karl Urban, and I regret none of it), V For Vendetta and History Boys. My mate got the new Bioshock game so I wrote and spoke to Moony for the day, and Ivan, whenever he was around.

In honesty, I partly regret not going to Pride. I do not doubt it would have been a brilliant day, but I enjoyed the day I got instead. It was calm, it was normal. My mate's mum loves me, and I'm pretty sure she called me dear, or darling, or something, at some point when she made me tea.

Moony called me a few times, somewhat drunk, and it's rather impressive, how good her English is even when she's intoxicated. Bravo, love.

I've taken to wearing the shirt Ivan designed whenever I feel down, or like I need cheering up in any way, because it reminds me that everything is going to be alright. I have people who really care about me, and sometimes that's enough. My mate said he's noticed this already, so it's like Ivan is my go-to, my signal that I'm not in the best mood. One of many reasons my bestie means so much to me.

Me and my mate have the kind of friendship where we tease each other, make stupid jokes, and often say the same thing at the same time. It's really nice to have that kind of support net when I feel stranded in my own home, with my soul mate out of reach for whatever reason. This weekend especially, I really needed that.

This friend, I'll call him Zed, turned 17 yesterday. I was openly invited to go to lunch with him, his wonderful mum and Zed's grandma at a cafe/restaurant that's near the lighthouse where I live. I was introduced as Lorcan, of course, and I was a hit.

She complimented me on my haircut, said I was handsome and intelligent. Afterwards, she asked Zed's mum on the phone why he isn't more like me. So it seems I'm pretty much accepted into the family. I got away with lighthearted jokes about me and Zed's mate, and everyone laughed. I feel awesome about that.

I had my hair like this. Also look Karl yay. Shut up Moony I think he's brilliant.

A family friend visited while I was there, and once more I was accepted as male, got to talk about Moony for a while, and me and Zed contentedly freaked the poor woman out with our 'complicated lingo' (the code is Tumblr.)

At the end of the day, it kinda sucked to go home. My room is somehow already a mess, even though I barely spent time in it. But for realsies this time, Moony will be here tonight. I'll go pick her up at the station and our affection will freak out the locals.

And now we have the part of the post where I awkwardly link to the title.

Sleeping in Zed's room is really cool, because he has a really minimalist layout, and it's very different to my room. I got an awesome space-theme duvet - I have a space-theme thing at the moment, in case anyone is new here and doesn't know that yet - and it was sort of like being room mates or something.

I kept being woken up by the sun from about 8am onwards because the edge of the blind lined up with where I was sprawled out and I ended up laying with an arm over my face to block the bastard out. But it was at moments like that this weekend that I've wondered what I'd change if I could. God knows I'd be on testosterone by now, my name would be changed, and I'd love to be in Brighton by now, but then I'd miss moments like this, moments of just hanging out with my best friend, making stupid jokes to give the other person equal amounts of humour and pain.

Of course, this weekend could have been better spent with Moony, but since I was forced to find my own amusement, it was a good way to pass time.

SPACE. The Final Frontier.

Things are both looking up, in small ways.

I convinced my mum to get me a load of batteries, and with them I have given power to a model of the Moon that I have in my room. It's the size of a dinner plate and lights up when a control is pointed at it. The remote allows me to see what it looks like at different phases of the moon and freeze it at any point.

So I wanted this thing because, thanks to Star Trek, I've remember just how goddamn much I love space. When I was a kid me and my dad would spend ages in our garden, looking at the stars and working out which constellations there were in site. It's a hobby I fell out of touch with over time.

But I find it somehow comforting. There's so much life out there, and it's amazing to think that as I look out, there is probably something else looking back.

I also have a miniature planetarium that I've never managed to get working before due to battery size, but now I do. Sadly the batteries seem to wear out rather quickly, but I can work with that. It's like a see-through globe with a bulb in the middle that represents the earth and the globe is covered in constellations. There are glow-in-the-dark dots on the surface that represent the brightest stars so they are visible even when the light is off.

As I said, it's comforting. Especially since Kirk said Vulcan is located near the left star of the belt of Orion. So when I see that constellation, I know where it is.

And one of my best mates might be giving me his space-theme bed set because he has a different sized bed now. It glows in the dark too, which is fantastic.

In non-space related news, I appear to be passing very well!

On the bus yesterday I was sprawled across two chairs, reading on my phone, and this loudly talking obnoxious guy came over and said 'can I sit here?' while actually moving my bag for me before I had time to react. Rude.

But he said 'thanks lady' or something as I adjusted so he could sit down, and I just accepted it with an inward sigh but the bloke's female friend said 'you can't say that!' and he answered 'oh, it's a bloke? Really sorry, mate.'

I cannot tell you how happy I was. I just smiled, said it was alright, and kept my head down, worried that if I looked up too much my softish features would give me away. I did feel him staring a few times but I got away with it, I think. He had also commented 'well I can't tell any more', which was probably a comment on how androgynous people are these days, especially my age group, but Jesus, he really believed it. I passed to one of the most stereotypical male specimens I've ever seen.

The woman had even heard me talking to my mate, so knowing my voice didn't even give me away as trans* is fantastic.

And when I got home mum got me powder to make chocolate milkshake because we have too much milk. I have been ordered to drink lots. In the words of Mr Chekov, I can do zat.

Tomorrow I'm going to Reading while Moony celebrates Midsummer with her best friend, and I took today off school because I'm working on a transcript that's going to take me a very long time (18 pages, each page takes half an hour and I've only done 1) I decided I could take the time. I only have Critical Thinking and we don't actually study that any more.

And my brother is away for four weeks meaning his girlfriend and him can't get incredibly intimate while I'm just next door trying to pretend I can't hear anything.

So who knows. For now, at least, I'm in a good place.