Lost In Thought

I remember "Lost In Space" from when I was a kid.  I had a crush on Angela Cartwright, mostly 'cus that's who I wanted to be: very attractive girl-next-door with long dark hair.  The thing is I didn't understand then that I wanted to _be_ like her. I was _supposed_ to be a boy, so I simply had a crush on her.

I digress.  Lost In Space and, for me, lost in thought are really similar.  Sometimes, I don't know what hope I have of finding home.  Again, shooting rapids without a paddle.  The two months I have been out and essentially full-time as a woman learning who I am and just being me have been at times overwhelming!  Like being in the valley in the shadow of a mountain and suddenly the morning sun bursts over the ridge to reveal the beauty and the glory of what God has made.  Such glory is awesome! and exhilarating! and, also, at least a little frightening.  My heart has seen new and wonderful things and felt a kaleidoscope of joy and happiness I had not guessed was waiting for me!

And my heart has pondered a lot of new questions or maybe old questions reexamined.  Sometimes I find answers easily and I am happy with the new directions the answers have taken me.  I've decided I want to have breast augmentation.  This is new for me.  I am very comfortable with my forms.  I like and maybe even enjoy the warmth and the weight that is part of the forms.  But I feel something is missing when I am not wearing them.  I wear them almost 16 hours a day every day; They feel _right_! to me.  I am just a kind of light grey sad when I take them off at night?  I think augmentation is a good answer for me.

Some questions are a surprise; I thought I had answered them a long time ago.  I had no plans to revisit them.  The Plan (tm) had been to live as a woman with my breast forms and then to get an orchiectomy and be rid of those nasty! testosterone factories not to mention the silly lumps that get in the way when I'm trying to cross my legs like a Proper Lady.

In the space adventure science fiction I read the authors are fond of reminding readers, "No plan survives contact with the enemy!"  I find myself thinking that maybe I, um, want to have something that passes for and functions like a vagina.  Where the hell! did that come from?  I don't know.  I ask myself this  question: What would it mean to me to have a vagina?  I _do not_ have an answer.  And my thoughts and feelings are lost in space.