An accounting of the early days of my return to the hi-desert... I apologize for the rather bland narrative, but I'm such an airhead I can barely recall the details of last week, let alone 3½ years past. Besides, one of the greatest successes of my "transition" has been my ability to sublimate the identity that formerly called this body home. On account of my sun and moon signs being in opposition at the time of my birth, each day that passed until I started HRT I day dreamed of the moon rising full and huge as the sun dimmed and set. The last line of Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon took on a special significance: "Everything under the sun is in tune, but the sun is eclipsed by the moon..." I'm certain the day will come when some serious shadow work is called for, but until that time, puny, petty, pugnacious Ares will remain all but forgotten, sulking under the supersupersuper moon of his lover, obtusely unaware of the irony of his situation, their moonlighting gone wrong.... I might as well admit that my distaste for men/masculinity is directly related to my distaste for the man I'm rapidly forgetting I ever was.