If I had to store words the old fashioned way, I would have a wall full of notebooks, tablets and stacks of paper. Thank goodness for me, I have learned to store my stash of words on those little black things I call "info stix". In addition I literally have tens of thousands of words on an E-pub site called Vook and of course approximately 2,000 posts here in Cyrsti's Condo.
I equate the "hoard" on occasion to what is in my "noggin". This morning for example my dog and I were headed to a local park for a walk and we passed a "20 something" woman heading for her mailbox. Nothing special except for the way she moved. I just noticed how utterly feminine she was in her denim skirt and white top. She was feeling her girlness from the inside out. Then instantly, my brain raced back in time to a trip I made to our family mailbox so many years ago and I could identify with her.
I estimate I was approximately 14 or so and for some reason found myself home alone one fall morning. I was never one to let an opportunity to dress as a girl go by. I pulled out my secret stash and did the best I could with my meager wardrobe of clothes. The end result was a short skirt, a neutral boys jacket of some sort, make up and my shoes I bought with my allowance/odd job money.
To this day, I remember the anticipation of thinking "Wow, this could be the day I open the front door to the world and take a step out". And I did. My life and steps suddenly went to slow motion as I opened the front door to our house, walked to the drive way and made my way down to the mailbox. I estimate the round trip distance to have been around 50 yards and all I felt was the heavenly freedom of the air on my legs and up my body. Oddly to me at the time, the feeling was more of being free rather than a sexual rush which became hugely important later in life- as I began to discover I was transgender and not a cross dresser.
The problem with most of these feelings with me is the aftermath. I waste too much time wondering about the what if's. What if I had come out then. What if I had come out after the Army? Who cares-right? The only benefit at all from living in the past is what it can teach us-the true essence of time.
This morning of course was no different. The girl who walked to the mailbox so many years ago was just walking her dog this morning and I wondered where the woman I saw bought that wonderful top! Obviously she thought so too.