January 31, 1992. We got everything done in just four days and now we have a wider dining room entrance. Jim says I'm a good worker, and I did work pretty hard. Then, when we were done, I made brownies. They love my baking, both of them. My two men! I would just like to put on a dress, some lovely soft panties and nylons, and make up, but then I would have to get a wig because my hair is definitely starting to thin on top. But I don't want a wig. And I don't want to fake being a woman, because every time I try to dress up in a way that will bring Harriet to the surface I just turn into Cassandra, who at best is a semi-convincing fake.
It's such a fucking annoyance that when I am dressed like Kenny, Harriet is just screaming to come out and disco, but then when I dress up, I'm not Harriet but her evil twin Cassandra. And then Kenny starts nagging and whining like a spoilt toddler who didn't get his cookie. You can't please any of them. I haven't really said any of this to anyone. I don't know how they would take it, plus they already have me on lithium for controlling my mood swings. Do I really need them to diagnose me with some other mental health malady.
Besides. I am Harriet. Just as I am Kenny. But I am not Cassandra, so probably better to just accept the body that God has already put me in, even if it doesn't always seem like an ideal fit. But really, is there such a thing in life? As an ideal fit, I mean. I could simply just have an ideal fit right now, so I am going to sign off and walk around outside under the stars for a few minutes. I'll see if Chris wants to join me, if it isn't too late...
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