M is for Manly

Hunter and I spent the day in Manly Bay, working on a woo woo project, drinking in my home, soaking in the sun. It was very odd last night being at Art Space as part of Sydney Leather Pride and having someone I know come up to me and say "so, feeling better yet?""Huh?""Well, your journal has been all whine whine pout pout poor me, then wheee, Sydney""Oh, um"What can I say to that? Its odd because to me I look at my life and go, wow, its actuially all on track, even with some of my oddness life. I feel grounded, whole, stable (except at sundown each day, but I'm tackling my borderline SAD) and have actually been pretty damn happy- but you're right, dear readership, I haven't been posting the details of my life porn in the past 6 months. I haven't been as titilating or silly and giggly. I've been far more serious, far more cerebral. And a lot of my personal journey I haven't felt like posting for everyone to read.I almost posted "Sorry"... but I'm not.So, M is for Manly. My home in the sun, my surf and turf of the heart, my cool breeze and warm heart.M is for Male, the gender on my passport. I found this out at the airport on Thursday, 6am, cued up for my flight on JetStar and because of my passport name change I had to be seen by a supervisor who put all of my visas in order, and then asked to look at my old passport again. She blinked at me, blinked at both of them, then said, um, I think they messed up on your passport. I freaked out. Fuck fuck fuck, I can't go home! I asked, oh? How so? Oh- see, your gender- it says Male. I smirked and said, no, thats correct, the government finally got it right is all.I almost broke down crying, laughing, made 2 calls and 2 text messages, and fell over in joy inside the security gates, having *finally* had my first pat down for a male security assist.How did this happen? My best guess is that (a) I passed at the office and in my picture (b) I used all male pronouns for myself and (c) on the cover letter thingy that they said they don't use for the official documents, I checked male. Thats it. In short, the beauty of this is that even though I haven't changed my birth certificate, my passport says I am male, which is pretty amazing.M is for Mahalo. Mahalo means thank you in Hawai'ian, and I have to say Mahalo to the HawaiiBound crew, S&T (coming to Sydney shortly), who were amazing hosts for me in Oahu. Also to the Hilo kids, the folks who put on my classes, the great people who kept me sane, and of coure my 2 groups of private classes who got to get their hands on the basic safety concepts on partial suspension.M is for Mischief, sneaking up on Hunter in the airport when he didn't recognize me. After he met me at the airport we dropped off bags, then headed into Newtown to have me meet his ex-boyfriend and his ex-boyfriend's partner and a whole lot of other random people. It was... interesting.M is for Mommy. I love being a Mommy, and I love my little man very very much. My desire to be mommying to other people does not change that he is my boy first and foremost, and I am so sick of the gossip circle that seems to think that just because amazing sparkly life comes into my world and shakes me up in the most delicious of ways, that this would decrease the ways I feel about my partners. It confuses the hell out of me. Yes, the world changes from time to time, but ya know what, I'm blessed. I'm really blessed. Its damn hard keeping ourselves sane, balancing not just the relationships we have with each other and with ourselves, but with the other amazing people in our lives- I'm baffled by people who think its easy. Its not easy, but it is worth it. Every pain in the ass, so far, proven to be worth it.M is for Muscle spasms. Ok, I'm stretching it a bit on this one. I had a seisure the other day, scared the shit out of Hunter and myself, and so yeah, if I was a bit off at Leather Fair day, I appologize, I'd had a seisure that morning around 9am and I was fucked. The other side of spasms is that I am being a total horn dog. I think last night I had a record number of orgasms enduced by my own hand, ever. I am so sore, and still dead horny. Its been getting worse since february, since I did a negotiation with the hormones of my own brain, and ya know, its worked, but damn, horn dog.M is for Money. Its been odd as of late. Why? Because I've financially and spiritually committed myself to having chest surgery at the beginning of October. Yes, this October, in NYC. Now to work on getting the rest of my emotional network set in place. I'm excited. I'm terrified.Now, the point as of late on this last note is that I've had a few poeple say "um, aren't you rushing this?" Mi madre called me Brian for a full year back when I was a teen, I actively identified male ages 13-17, and back then went through a huge stack of research and talk with councilors about gender reassignment surgery. I decided not to do it back then because (a) I had people pushing me to do it so much that I couldn't hear my own thoughts on the matter and (b) I had a belief that men were not men if they did not have penises. B still tears me up, but I know in my heart of hearts that this is right for me. I'm incredibly excited.What will happen to RopeLover? No idea. I have content at least through the end of June... I can't decide right now what to do after that point.So yeah, I made it to Australia. I pulled a really huge hook out of my face in my astral work today, and I'm amazingly excited by life plans, scouting grad schools this trip down under, and am busy keeping my head above water, breathing the ocean of life in. I am blessed, and ok, I'm not sharing life porn right now. I may do so again, but right now almost all of my sex (except one extended not-date) have all been deeply spiritual/woo woo/kool-aid filled, and explaining my spiritual evolution and inner revolutions in the typed word is very challenging for me. But I'm working on it (oh, so excited about my new sacred/profane body mod class and my rope magic class, such goodness).I am in love with life, and life seems to be in love with me.