Some people have been wondering where I've been. So it seems only fair I should tell them.

Just to ease everyone's mind, I hadn't been sucked into the Bermuda Triangle, nor had I been abducted by aliens who force-fed me Cheez-Its while making me watch episodes of "Real Housewives of New Jersey." And, as should be obvious by the presence of this blog entry, I certainly haven't died. Though if I had, and I still managed to produce a blog entry, that would give a whole new meaning to the term "ghost writer." (Slight pause while everyone groans.)

On the subject of death, I was saddened to hear than our Stanman had passed. At times it seemed like he was the master of the non-sequitur comment, but he was always a pleasant man and very encouraging to me. I'll certainly miss him.

Now, back to the subject of my absence. There were two reasons, mainly. The first was fear, plain and simple.

I'd put up my story before it was ready, because I wanted to get something, at least, submitted in time for the contest. I'd put the first two installments up, realized it needed a major overhaul, but figured it would take so long to do it would be well past Christmas before I finished the story. And I just didn't want to face anybody who asked "What happened to the story??"

The second was a recurrence of the depression that had plagued me last November, and for much the same reason. I was having nightmares about de-transitioning, and when I was lying in bed alone, one thought kept running through my head: "You're just afraid. The only reason you're still living as a woman is because you're afraid of all the trouble you'd have to go through to change back."

Consequently, I dreaded even lying down. Insomnia set in, because I figured if I slept, I'd dream; if I dreamt, I'd have nightmares. It got to the point where I was so sleep-deprived my short-term memory was gone--much like someone in the early stages of dementia. I existed in a mental fog for much of the last six months, going through the motions of everyday activity, but feeling strangely disconnected. As if I were outside myself watching myself do things.

It was all I could do to spell my name correctly, let alone do any writing here. It was as if the creative part of my brain was behind a locked door.

Not until I started seeing a gender therapist in Madison a couple of months ago did the feeling my transition had failed start to dissipate. I'm finally able to sleep again, and more importantly, I'm able to think clearly again.

As to the story, I do intend to continue working on it, probably replace the chapters I've already posted with some that are slightly reworked--I noticed an embarrassing number of errors in the versions I posted. I didn't get it done last Christmas, so I'll aim for posting the entire story this Christmas.

Assuming, that is, I don't have any run-ins with reality show-watching aliens.