Okay, so November and December has played out like this for me; first a nasty cold that lasted about a week. Immediately after that, another nasty cold that lasted for about a week. At the end of that Mistress was travelling for a few days, and I made the extremely stupid decision to eat an ice-cream that turned out to be covered in hazelnuts. I'm allergic to hazelnuts. In the end I ate horrible allergy medicin for ten days, which had all kinds of icky side-effects, including mind-numbing fatigue.
Eventually I could stop eating those horrid pills, we hade a nice, slow mini-vacation at my in-laws place and I was starting to feel like human again. Two days after we got home little S got a stomach bug and was a puking, pityful mess for two days, and right after that her cough got worse and she too got a cold. And well, I followed suit, got the stomach bug and now the cold.
I hate viruses! I hate winter! I hate being sick. I haven't been to the gym for over a month.
And if I ever thought I don't contribute to the household or ease Mistress' burden? Well, I'm wrong. When I'm under the weather, it shows.
I want to go to the gym! I want to have sex! I want to feel healthy and not worry about spreading viruses to people I meet.
Also, my mom had a stroke this week. Not a big one, she lost part of her vocabulary and felt dizzy and confused but not more than that, and she's already recovering. But it scared the hell out of us, and I'm probably a bit in denial still. I'm not really ready to think through the ramifications of this, and neither is she I think.
Anyway, sucky month in a lot of ways. I'm longing for spring.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 9, 2013
Shame
Shame is one of the most destructive feelings I know. A lot of the crap that has happened to me, and most of all the crap that I have been instrumental in allowing to happen, has been caused by shame.
And I'm ashamed all the time. Or at least very often. For a very long time in my youth I didn't have any memories. Every time something would pop up in my mind, there would be something shameful associated with it, and I would immediately shut it down. That feeling, that dread coursing through the body, the wish to disappear, to cease existing, it's awful. At times, it has controlled my life.
I have two major things I'm ashamed of, and one is not being liked. I grew up knowing I wasn't loved (as an adult, I've started to think that I probably was, but that can't change my experience as a kid), and I was bullied in school on top of that. I had two best friends, both of whom betrayed me horribly, first one at twelve and the next one at fourteen, and contributed to the bullying. So that's one. The other one is not being good enough.
I have ADHD, but no one knew that. I grew up trying harder than everyone around me, and still coming up short. I was always late, didn't do the things I was supposed to, forgot stuff, didn't clean up after myself, made a mess, broke stuff, and so on. I was constantly not living up to the expectations from people around me - people like my parents and teachers, who saw a smart, talented, charming kid who for some reason just didn't seem to care or try very hard. While, at the same time, I was working like crazy to get through each day, and not letting anyone see that I was struggling. Because of shame.
If I hadn't been ashamed, maybe someone would have known what my life was really like. Maybe I could have told an adult about the bullying. Maybe I could have explained that I did my very best and still couldn't manage to do homework - that I did care, a lot, but just couldn't make it work. If I hadn't been ashamed. But I was ashamed, and I much preferred being labelled lazy and unambitious than having people know I couldn't do it.
And that haunts me still.
I've been sick lately, on top of my ongoing issues with mental fatigue and burn out. I'm getting better, but it's a bumpy road, as always. Mistress has taken two day off of work and we've gone to her parents for a mini vacation. Today I took little S on a shopping trip so that Mistress could get some time for herself and work, and after lunch I accompanied my mother in law to the vet with one of the dogs, a big rottweiler that doesn't particularly like other dogs and last time had made a big fuss while waiting for the vet. I'm pretty proud of how I handled it, there was no wrestling matches or incessant barking this time, but after that and picking up som groceries, I was pretty much wiped. I spent the afternoon in bed, and at dinner time I was all kinds of woozy, feeling sick and dizzy and thinking I wouldn't survive the evening.
On top of that, Mistress had asked me earlier to take care of little S after dinner so that she could work some more, and it made me rather panicky, because I really didn't think I would be up for it. And again, that made me overwhelmed with shame.
Every time I'm asked, especially by Mistress, to do something that is beyond what I can do without feeling seriously ill or paying a heavy price afterwards I get terribly ashamed. I'm awashed in it.
In the end I did take care of little S while Mistress worked, we had a nice time playing a game on the iPad together, and it wasn't so difficult. It helped that little S was in a good mood and stayed focused on the game.
And then eventually the day was over with little S going to bed downstairs with grandma, and I started to relax and feel like maybe, maybe I was okay, maybe I had made it. And the first thing Mistress says to me is along the lines of "oh, we said we should work tonight, we need to do that thing with the survey job".
And at that point my head exploded. The shame got to me, the camel's back was broken by the last straw, the last drop made the glass of water overflow in a cascade of liquid anguish all over the kitchen floor, and I could feel my brain changing gears in to crazy mood.
Because in my mind her even suggesting that I would be up for anything more strenous at that point ment I must be a total failure. A let down. Not good enough. That nothing I had done, nothing I had achieved or managed or made myself do had been worth anything. No matter how hard I strain and press myself, it's not even close to being enough. I'll never be enough. I'll never do enough. I can't be good enough, I can't be loved or worthy of love, I can't achieve anything that makes me fit to even live and breath, I haven't earned my keep, neither as her wife, her property nor even as a human being. I need to work 'til I drop and die and be done with it, because nothing else will cut it.
So yeah. It wasn't a great conversation starter, as such. To my credit, all I said was that I wasn't up for it, that I was hurt and upset that she suggested it, and that I wanted to go lay down in the bedroom, alone. That might not sound like a very tempered or reasonable response but compared to what my brain was screaming at me, I was positively cheerful.
And then I did just that, went and laid down, and instead of rehashing every slight and every shameful moment and debating with myself whether I was right to be hurt or not, I did a mindfulness-exercise, a simple but thorough body scan. I can do that now, that's pretty cool actually, even with my mind on fire with anguish and panic and shame I can redirect my consious focus on something of my own choosing.
The feelings are still there, the discomfort and panic and adrenalin surge through the body, but I can still focus my attention on my left toe, my left foot, the leg, the knee and so on. It takes about twenty minutes to go through the whole body, and by then the panic has subsided, the raging fires of despair has died from lack of things to devour, and everythings a little more settled. It's a neat trick.
We talked about it, of course, afterwards, and we'll figure something out. But shame. I hate it. It's the least constructive thing ever. I'm working on it.
And I'm ashamed all the time. Or at least very often. For a very long time in my youth I didn't have any memories. Every time something would pop up in my mind, there would be something shameful associated with it, and I would immediately shut it down. That feeling, that dread coursing through the body, the wish to disappear, to cease existing, it's awful. At times, it has controlled my life.
I have two major things I'm ashamed of, and one is not being liked. I grew up knowing I wasn't loved (as an adult, I've started to think that I probably was, but that can't change my experience as a kid), and I was bullied in school on top of that. I had two best friends, both of whom betrayed me horribly, first one at twelve and the next one at fourteen, and contributed to the bullying. So that's one. The other one is not being good enough.
I have ADHD, but no one knew that. I grew up trying harder than everyone around me, and still coming up short. I was always late, didn't do the things I was supposed to, forgot stuff, didn't clean up after myself, made a mess, broke stuff, and so on. I was constantly not living up to the expectations from people around me - people like my parents and teachers, who saw a smart, talented, charming kid who for some reason just didn't seem to care or try very hard. While, at the same time, I was working like crazy to get through each day, and not letting anyone see that I was struggling. Because of shame.
If I hadn't been ashamed, maybe someone would have known what my life was really like. Maybe I could have told an adult about the bullying. Maybe I could have explained that I did my very best and still couldn't manage to do homework - that I did care, a lot, but just couldn't make it work. If I hadn't been ashamed. But I was ashamed, and I much preferred being labelled lazy and unambitious than having people know I couldn't do it.
And that haunts me still.
I've been sick lately, on top of my ongoing issues with mental fatigue and burn out. I'm getting better, but it's a bumpy road, as always. Mistress has taken two day off of work and we've gone to her parents for a mini vacation. Today I took little S on a shopping trip so that Mistress could get some time for herself and work, and after lunch I accompanied my mother in law to the vet with one of the dogs, a big rottweiler that doesn't particularly like other dogs and last time had made a big fuss while waiting for the vet. I'm pretty proud of how I handled it, there was no wrestling matches or incessant barking this time, but after that and picking up som groceries, I was pretty much wiped. I spent the afternoon in bed, and at dinner time I was all kinds of woozy, feeling sick and dizzy and thinking I wouldn't survive the evening.
On top of that, Mistress had asked me earlier to take care of little S after dinner so that she could work some more, and it made me rather panicky, because I really didn't think I would be up for it. And again, that made me overwhelmed with shame.
Every time I'm asked, especially by Mistress, to do something that is beyond what I can do without feeling seriously ill or paying a heavy price afterwards I get terribly ashamed. I'm awashed in it.
In the end I did take care of little S while Mistress worked, we had a nice time playing a game on the iPad together, and it wasn't so difficult. It helped that little S was in a good mood and stayed focused on the game.
And then eventually the day was over with little S going to bed downstairs with grandma, and I started to relax and feel like maybe, maybe I was okay, maybe I had made it. And the first thing Mistress says to me is along the lines of "oh, we said we should work tonight, we need to do that thing with the survey job".
And at that point my head exploded. The shame got to me, the camel's back was broken by the last straw, the last drop made the glass of water overflow in a cascade of liquid anguish all over the kitchen floor, and I could feel my brain changing gears in to crazy mood.
Because in my mind her even suggesting that I would be up for anything more strenous at that point ment I must be a total failure. A let down. Not good enough. That nothing I had done, nothing I had achieved or managed or made myself do had been worth anything. No matter how hard I strain and press myself, it's not even close to being enough. I'll never be enough. I'll never do enough. I can't be good enough, I can't be loved or worthy of love, I can't achieve anything that makes me fit to even live and breath, I haven't earned my keep, neither as her wife, her property nor even as a human being. I need to work 'til I drop and die and be done with it, because nothing else will cut it.
So yeah. It wasn't a great conversation starter, as such. To my credit, all I said was that I wasn't up for it, that I was hurt and upset that she suggested it, and that I wanted to go lay down in the bedroom, alone. That might not sound like a very tempered or reasonable response but compared to what my brain was screaming at me, I was positively cheerful.
And then I did just that, went and laid down, and instead of rehashing every slight and every shameful moment and debating with myself whether I was right to be hurt or not, I did a mindfulness-exercise, a simple but thorough body scan. I can do that now, that's pretty cool actually, even with my mind on fire with anguish and panic and shame I can redirect my consious focus on something of my own choosing.
The feelings are still there, the discomfort and panic and adrenalin surge through the body, but I can still focus my attention on my left toe, my left foot, the leg, the knee and so on. It takes about twenty minutes to go through the whole body, and by then the panic has subsided, the raging fires of despair has died from lack of things to devour, and everythings a little more settled. It's a neat trick.
We talked about it, of course, afterwards, and we'll figure something out. But shame. I hate it. It's the least constructive thing ever. I'm working on it.
Dec 7, 2013
Having my collar sawed off from my neck - a unique slave experience
And now, ironically, I'm not collared anymore.
Well, I'm "collared" in the sense of being just as owned as before, there's been no relationship drama. There has, however, been rather a lot of health drama, with me having allergic reactions and then most probably having reactions to the allergy medication, and well, I don't know, possibly also to the new mattress we got a couple of days ago.
The end result has been me having fatigue, dizzyness, nausea and also looking like a watermelon in the face, bright red and swollen. The most annoying part for me, apart from the fatigue that has really wrecked our schedule, has been incessant hot flashes, were I've been simultanously been dripping with sweat and feeling like a pressure cooker while my feet are icicles, no matter what I do with them. Thoroughly unpleasant, the whole thing, and more than a little scary.
Yesterday when I'd been laying in bed more or less since 10 AM, trying to get up every now and then only to go back to miserable featal position, Mistress had enough and started a de-allergenprocess. I got out and stood in the snow storm for a while, and we hauled the new mattress out to storage so it could get rid of it's new-matterss-stink on it's own for a while. But the first thing she did was getting out the key to the collar and starting to unlock it.
She was very clear that it wasn't any kind of punishment, but since I had been swelling around the neck and getting red in the face on and off for more than a week by then, she wanted to be sure I wasn't somehow reacting to the collar. I haven't had it off for more than a few minutes since she put it on this spring, so if it was doing something to me, we wouldn't really know until she took it off and kept it off me for a while.
Well, it was a good plan, but the tiny tiny little screw in the locking mechanism wouldn't budge. Okay, so she went and got the extra key. And then she oiled the lock, and tried again. But no. It was stuck, and when she worked on it it only got worse. In the end, she gave up.
And went and got the saw.
So yeah. Yesterday I spent an uncomfortable twenty minutes with Mistress holding a hacksaw to my neck, and with a very firm grip on the collar sawing it off of me. Slowly and with great effort, I might say too, because it was a thick one and didn't much want to be sawed in two. It was bizarre, a little scary, a bit painful and a lot sad at the same time. I don't have my collar anymore. It's in the trash, and my neck is all bare.
Ah well. I'm still hers. We'll get another collar. Right now, my main focus is getting back on my feet and to stop looking like an overly ripe watermelon. 'Cause that look is so 90's.
Well, I'm "collared" in the sense of being just as owned as before, there's been no relationship drama. There has, however, been rather a lot of health drama, with me having allergic reactions and then most probably having reactions to the allergy medication, and well, I don't know, possibly also to the new mattress we got a couple of days ago.
The end result has been me having fatigue, dizzyness, nausea and also looking like a watermelon in the face, bright red and swollen. The most annoying part for me, apart from the fatigue that has really wrecked our schedule, has been incessant hot flashes, were I've been simultanously been dripping with sweat and feeling like a pressure cooker while my feet are icicles, no matter what I do with them. Thoroughly unpleasant, the whole thing, and more than a little scary.
Yesterday when I'd been laying in bed more or less since 10 AM, trying to get up every now and then only to go back to miserable featal position, Mistress had enough and started a de-allergenprocess. I got out and stood in the snow storm for a while, and we hauled the new mattress out to storage so it could get rid of it's new-matterss-stink on it's own for a while. But the first thing she did was getting out the key to the collar and starting to unlock it.
She was very clear that it wasn't any kind of punishment, but since I had been swelling around the neck and getting red in the face on and off for more than a week by then, she wanted to be sure I wasn't somehow reacting to the collar. I haven't had it off for more than a few minutes since she put it on this spring, so if it was doing something to me, we wouldn't really know until she took it off and kept it off me for a while.
Well, it was a good plan, but the tiny tiny little screw in the locking mechanism wouldn't budge. Okay, so she went and got the extra key. And then she oiled the lock, and tried again. But no. It was stuck, and when she worked on it it only got worse. In the end, she gave up.
And went and got the saw.
So yeah. Yesterday I spent an uncomfortable twenty minutes with Mistress holding a hacksaw to my neck, and with a very firm grip on the collar sawing it off of me. Slowly and with great effort, I might say too, because it was a thick one and didn't much want to be sawed in two. It was bizarre, a little scary, a bit painful and a lot sad at the same time. I don't have my collar anymore. It's in the trash, and my neck is all bare.
Ah well. I'm still hers. We'll get another collar. Right now, my main focus is getting back on my feet and to stop looking like an overly ripe watermelon. 'Cause that look is so 90's.
Dec 1, 2013
"I like your collar"
We went to a party yesterday, a rather unusual event. Even more unusual, it was Mistress that declared she wanted to go, and even RSVPd and everything. My dad came and babysat, and we actually had a great night. It was a friends birthday party, and for me it had an eery feeling of deja vù - this is our old friends. The friends from ten, fifteen years ago, the once I've been afraid of losing since I got pregnant, and busy and tired and sick.
But they're still there, we still get the invites, we're still included and welcomed, and showing up made me feel both as if no time has passed since I was twenty and trying to move away from home and spending all my money on LARP-ing and commuting to my boyfriend out of town, living on oatmeal and spaghetti. And, on the other hand, my God how grown up we are now. A lot of the gang are married, mostly to each other as a matter of fact, those who wanted children are about to have their second go at it (and all the pregnant bellies makes me super-jealous) and most of them have a job instead of ever-on-going university-studies. I kind of like it.
I like the adults we've become. Myself included.
But as per usual, around ten PM I was getting drowsy and Mistress decided to herd me home. We did the good-bye rounds, and as I was hugging a guy I've barely had talked to during the night, I noticed he was eyeing what I thought was my blouse (a pretty blue silk one with a sequined hemline), then for a moment suspected was my cleavage until he said in a kind of low key voice "I like your collar." "Oh" I said, speechless for a moment, and then with a sheepish smile "yeah, I like it too".
Silence.
I had no idea how to continue that line of conversation. What do one say? Was he implying what I thought he was implying? Or was he just complimenting my jewelry? But no - complimenting jewelry you do in a crowd, when you meet, if it happens to be appropriate, you don't specifically wait for a quiet moment and point it out. Not if you don't know what it it is you're trying to say.
"Nice" he said.
"Yeah" I said.
More silence.
"Have you worn it for long?"
"About a year."
"Great!"
"Yeah, I think so too!".
By then the time for the usual quick "bye, nice to see you!"-hug had run out, the flow of people in the room was shifting, and also, I was embarrassed and blushing furiously and couldn't make coherent words anymore, so I just kind of backed off a little, and Mistress hugged her way around the good bye crowd while I was tying my shoe laces and waiting for my face to regain it's normal colour.
I was so outed, one might say. And I really really like it.
I don't want to be secretive, showing one face to the world and my friends and another to Mistress. I don't like this feeling of having a secret life, a secret agenda, being one on the outside and another on the inside.
When my kink-side started appearing I was five, fantasizing about spankings and masturbating without knowing what I was doing. But I always knew that I couldn't talk about it, that I was strange and odd and unnormal. Eventually, it grew in to sexuality, the adult, mature version, and I knew a little more, but it took about fifteen years from the first inklings until I got to see that I wasn't alone. Fifteen years of shame and confusion and knowing I was different.
Since then there's been another almost fifteen years, and I know very well by now that I'm certainly not alone. In fact, not all that few of the friends I tried to hide things from have turned up on the kinky side of the line during the years since then. I'm not ashamed, and I honestly don't think it's that much of a secret, anymore.
But it's still not talked about. It's not something that is reflected by people around me. It doesn't "exist", in the conversations, in the assumptions people make, in the mirrors that my friends eyes turn into when they look at me.
So for my collar to be seen for what it really is, not just a pretty piece of chain around my neck but a significant symbol, as meaningful and telling about my life as my wedding ring, communicating something important about me and about my relationship to Mistress, that felt good. A little bit bewildering in the precise moment it happened, but good.
Also, now I'm deadly curious about my friend and his young wife and their story. Perhaps there's breadcrumbs laying around the 'net, now that I know what I'm looking for? *goes sniffing*
But they're still there, we still get the invites, we're still included and welcomed, and showing up made me feel both as if no time has passed since I was twenty and trying to move away from home and spending all my money on LARP-ing and commuting to my boyfriend out of town, living on oatmeal and spaghetti. And, on the other hand, my God how grown up we are now. A lot of the gang are married, mostly to each other as a matter of fact, those who wanted children are about to have their second go at it (and all the pregnant bellies makes me super-jealous) and most of them have a job instead of ever-on-going university-studies. I kind of like it.
I like the adults we've become. Myself included.
But as per usual, around ten PM I was getting drowsy and Mistress decided to herd me home. We did the good-bye rounds, and as I was hugging a guy I've barely had talked to during the night, I noticed he was eyeing what I thought was my blouse (a pretty blue silk one with a sequined hemline), then for a moment suspected was my cleavage until he said in a kind of low key voice "I like your collar." "Oh" I said, speechless for a moment, and then with a sheepish smile "yeah, I like it too".
Silence.
I had no idea how to continue that line of conversation. What do one say? Was he implying what I thought he was implying? Or was he just complimenting my jewelry? But no - complimenting jewelry you do in a crowd, when you meet, if it happens to be appropriate, you don't specifically wait for a quiet moment and point it out. Not if you don't know what it it is you're trying to say.
"Nice" he said.
"Yeah" I said.
More silence.
"Have you worn it for long?"
"About a year."
"Great!"
"Yeah, I think so too!".
By then the time for the usual quick "bye, nice to see you!"-hug had run out, the flow of people in the room was shifting, and also, I was embarrassed and blushing furiously and couldn't make coherent words anymore, so I just kind of backed off a little, and Mistress hugged her way around the good bye crowd while I was tying my shoe laces and waiting for my face to regain it's normal colour.
I was so outed, one might say. And I really really like it.
I don't want to be secretive, showing one face to the world and my friends and another to Mistress. I don't like this feeling of having a secret life, a secret agenda, being one on the outside and another on the inside.
When my kink-side started appearing I was five, fantasizing about spankings and masturbating without knowing what I was doing. But I always knew that I couldn't talk about it, that I was strange and odd and unnormal. Eventually, it grew in to sexuality, the adult, mature version, and I knew a little more, but it took about fifteen years from the first inklings until I got to see that I wasn't alone. Fifteen years of shame and confusion and knowing I was different.
Since then there's been another almost fifteen years, and I know very well by now that I'm certainly not alone. In fact, not all that few of the friends I tried to hide things from have turned up on the kinky side of the line during the years since then. I'm not ashamed, and I honestly don't think it's that much of a secret, anymore.
But it's still not talked about. It's not something that is reflected by people around me. It doesn't "exist", in the conversations, in the assumptions people make, in the mirrors that my friends eyes turn into when they look at me.
So for my collar to be seen for what it really is, not just a pretty piece of chain around my neck but a significant symbol, as meaningful and telling about my life as my wedding ring, communicating something important about me and about my relationship to Mistress, that felt good. A little bit bewildering in the precise moment it happened, but good.
Also, now I'm deadly curious about my friend and his young wife and their story. Perhaps there's breadcrumbs laying around the 'net, now that I know what I'm looking for? *goes sniffing*
Nov 25, 2013
Resolve
Mistress is going away again, for two nights this week. I'm okay with it, even though I don't like it of course. I have a very clear and unambiguous order for the three days she's gone: Be in better shape when she returns!
I've had a depression setback in November - it's dark, I have an never-ending cold and noone is calling back to my job applications. Unfortunately, the strategies I unconsciously applied to solve these issues only made them worse. I tried to ruminate and worry, which never works and just make me feel yucky, and then I had a lot of guilt and bad conscience that drove me to do a lot of presumably good stuff like cleaning and things; only when it's done out of guilt it never ends well. In the end, my brain started going the old depression route again, and Mistress picked up on it because I started to snap and snarl at her a lot.
I do that - when I get depressed and stressed out and angsty, the mere effort of holding a conversation or eating breakfast feels like to much, and I start lashing out. Not all that much, I usually bites my tongue, but Mistress notices and it makes her grumpy in return, which all to often ends in arguing and bickering and general misery.
So. No more rumination or guilt trips. No compensating and trying to be a "good girl" just because I feel like a shitty one. Back to meditating regularly (wich I haven't been doing), walking and going to the gym, lunching with friends and generally doing all the things that I know makes me feel better, instead of things I'm driven to just to avoid feeling bad. Because that's not the same thing.
But I'll miss her. Like crazy.
I've had a depression setback in November - it's dark, I have an never-ending cold and noone is calling back to my job applications. Unfortunately, the strategies I unconsciously applied to solve these issues only made them worse. I tried to ruminate and worry, which never works and just make me feel yucky, and then I had a lot of guilt and bad conscience that drove me to do a lot of presumably good stuff like cleaning and things; only when it's done out of guilt it never ends well. In the end, my brain started going the old depression route again, and Mistress picked up on it because I started to snap and snarl at her a lot.
I do that - when I get depressed and stressed out and angsty, the mere effort of holding a conversation or eating breakfast feels like to much, and I start lashing out. Not all that much, I usually bites my tongue, but Mistress notices and it makes her grumpy in return, which all to often ends in arguing and bickering and general misery.
So. No more rumination or guilt trips. No compensating and trying to be a "good girl" just because I feel like a shitty one. Back to meditating regularly (wich I haven't been doing), walking and going to the gym, lunching with friends and generally doing all the things that I know makes me feel better, instead of things I'm driven to just to avoid feeling bad. Because that's not the same thing.
But I'll miss her. Like crazy.
Nov 16, 2013
A cold, a sandwich and being good enough
I never feel less like a slave then when I'm sick. I get all grumpy and touchy and angsty. Being sick triggers bad memories and brings out a lot of tjhe dysfunctionals sides of me. I've been down with a bad cold this whole week, and Mistress' has been a saint about it. I still can't shake the grumpiness though.
And I feel like a failure because I don't do anything useful at home. And she doesn't find me sexy (for some reason snot and a fever is not a turn on it seems) nor does she want to hurt me or play with me. She just manouveurs around me, where I'm slumped in a corner of the couch surrounded by used tissue papers.
Or well, I have been doing some things this week too, ironically a lot more than I ever did the whole of last year. I've vacuumed some of the floors, I've left and picked up the kid at pre-school, and I've managed to get dinner on the table for her and the kid (okay, once that was arranged by me calling ahead to the local pizza-place and she picking the pizzas up on her way home from the bus stop, but still - I orchestrated the process).
And I've made ice-cream two days in a row, but I'm pretty sure that doesn't count since I only made it for myself because well, I don't really think anyone should eat something I make right now unless they intentionally want the cold virus from hell, and I also ate it all both days. But then again, it meant I ate something, points for that.
This morning Mistress had made her usual heroic morning routine and served me tea and sandwich in the living room. This isn't even a special "oh my poor baby is sick" kind of thing, it's our standard morning routine (I'll blog about our mornings one of these days...). Anyway. The sandwich today was for some reason white bread with cold meatballs and mayo.
As the first thing in the morning. When I have a sore throat and no sense of smell nor appetite. And don't even like meatballs in the first place, if they're not homemade, and never cold and never ever on a sandwich.
We haven't had time to discuss it, and I'm honestly afraid to ask, but I guess she had some kind of idea behind it. If she was inclined that way I would have guessed it to be some sort of sadistic, hard-ass test of my obedience. But she doesn't have a habit of doing those kinds of things, and my being grumpy sick and sniffling doesn't really bring forth the creative sadist in her. I think she just had meatballs left over, wanted them eaten, and had one herself and made one for me.
Anyway, I had no idea what to do. I mean, there's no really recommended way to say to your Owner "Hey, I don't like this sandwich, make me another one!". The obvious would of course be to discreetly go and make another one myself. But there's a reason I get served breakfast on the couch, and that reason is four years old and grumpy and clingy in the morning.
Everything goes much easier if I serve as kid-anchor and make sure she gets something inside her, and in the meantime Mistress gets to eat breakfast in peace in the kitchen and usually works at the same time. The whole point of feeding us in the living room is so that she can have some uninterrupted peace and quite with her breakfast and her computer. Me going out there making noise and either having the kid in tow or having her yelling loudly to me from across the apartment would kind of negate that.
I could have just eaten it of course. But no, really, I couldn't. I'm sure Mistress could have made me eat it, no doubts about that, but of my own volition, just because it was laying there beside my cup of tea? No. No way.
In the end Mistress popped her head in to check on us presumably when she had finished her breakfast, looked at me, looked at the sandwich, looked at me again in a way that made my inside kind of cringe, and said "I'll just go make you another one, should I?" And she did, and I happily ate the cheese sandwich she brought and felt more than usually sheepish.
And no, I don't think I'm much of a slave when I'm sick, nor much of a housewife or for that matter not all that great as a wife either, on any scale. But the good thing is that that doesn't matter. Because no matter what, I'm still her property, and that I'm amazingly awesome as. Even when my nose is running and I'm a picky eater.
And I feel like a failure because I don't do anything useful at home. And she doesn't find me sexy (for some reason snot and a fever is not a turn on it seems) nor does she want to hurt me or play with me. She just manouveurs around me, where I'm slumped in a corner of the couch surrounded by used tissue papers.
Or well, I have been doing some things this week too, ironically a lot more than I ever did the whole of last year. I've vacuumed some of the floors, I've left and picked up the kid at pre-school, and I've managed to get dinner on the table for her and the kid (okay, once that was arranged by me calling ahead to the local pizza-place and she picking the pizzas up on her way home from the bus stop, but still - I orchestrated the process).
And I've made ice-cream two days in a row, but I'm pretty sure that doesn't count since I only made it for myself because well, I don't really think anyone should eat something I make right now unless they intentionally want the cold virus from hell, and I also ate it all both days. But then again, it meant I ate something, points for that.
This morning Mistress had made her usual heroic morning routine and served me tea and sandwich in the living room. This isn't even a special "oh my poor baby is sick" kind of thing, it's our standard morning routine (I'll blog about our mornings one of these days...). Anyway. The sandwich today was for some reason white bread with cold meatballs and mayo.
As the first thing in the morning. When I have a sore throat and no sense of smell nor appetite. And don't even like meatballs in the first place, if they're not homemade, and never cold and never ever on a sandwich.
We haven't had time to discuss it, and I'm honestly afraid to ask, but I guess she had some kind of idea behind it. If she was inclined that way I would have guessed it to be some sort of sadistic, hard-ass test of my obedience. But she doesn't have a habit of doing those kinds of things, and my being grumpy sick and sniffling doesn't really bring forth the creative sadist in her. I think she just had meatballs left over, wanted them eaten, and had one herself and made one for me.
Anyway, I had no idea what to do. I mean, there's no really recommended way to say to your Owner "Hey, I don't like this sandwich, make me another one!". The obvious would of course be to discreetly go and make another one myself. But there's a reason I get served breakfast on the couch, and that reason is four years old and grumpy and clingy in the morning.
Everything goes much easier if I serve as kid-anchor and make sure she gets something inside her, and in the meantime Mistress gets to eat breakfast in peace in the kitchen and usually works at the same time. The whole point of feeding us in the living room is so that she can have some uninterrupted peace and quite with her breakfast and her computer. Me going out there making noise and either having the kid in tow or having her yelling loudly to me from across the apartment would kind of negate that.
I could have just eaten it of course. But no, really, I couldn't. I'm sure Mistress could have made me eat it, no doubts about that, but of my own volition, just because it was laying there beside my cup of tea? No. No way.
In the end Mistress popped her head in to check on us presumably when she had finished her breakfast, looked at me, looked at the sandwich, looked at me again in a way that made my inside kind of cringe, and said "I'll just go make you another one, should I?" And she did, and I happily ate the cheese sandwich she brought and felt more than usually sheepish.
And no, I don't think I'm much of a slave when I'm sick, nor much of a housewife or for that matter not all that great as a wife either, on any scale. But the good thing is that that doesn't matter. Because no matter what, I'm still her property, and that I'm amazingly awesome as. Even when my nose is running and I'm a picky eater.
Nov 11, 2013
Rectifying old mistakes
Three days ago, Friday last week, I took an exam that I once failed at. I took it once when I actually studied the course, screwed it up due to lack of studying combined with an excess of strenous weekend activities the days before, and then never got around to fixing it. Of course I had plenty of opportunities, but life just kind of kept going and I never managed to get to it.
Yesterday I took it. I'm quite confident that I'm going to pass, I see no reason why I shouldn't. The big thing, however, is that I actually, at long last, invested the time and the energy to get it done. Or maybe I shouldn't say that I did. I should say that Mistress did.
It's all due to her helping me, focusing me, prioritising all the things in our lives and motivating me. She said I should do this, and now I have.
This is actually the only exam I have ever failed at while studying at the University, and it figures that I never took it again, since I tend to go by "if at first you don't succeed, hide all evidence of ever having tried it" (Hillary Clinton, if I remember correctly). It was my first course ever at the University as a matter of fact, and it was in the year 2000. That's thirteen years ago. Thirteen years has this thing been unresolved, not finished. Now it is (or will be very soon). And even though I did the studying and was the one who held the pen to the paper, she's the one who made it happen.
She's just so amazingly good for me.
(What course it was? English 101. Go figure.)
Yesterday I took it. I'm quite confident that I'm going to pass, I see no reason why I shouldn't. The big thing, however, is that I actually, at long last, invested the time and the energy to get it done. Or maybe I shouldn't say that I did. I should say that Mistress did.
It's all due to her helping me, focusing me, prioritising all the things in our lives and motivating me. She said I should do this, and now I have.
This is actually the only exam I have ever failed at while studying at the University, and it figures that I never took it again, since I tend to go by "if at first you don't succeed, hide all evidence of ever having tried it" (Hillary Clinton, if I remember correctly). It was my first course ever at the University as a matter of fact, and it was in the year 2000. That's thirteen years ago. Thirteen years has this thing been unresolved, not finished. Now it is (or will be very soon). And even though I did the studying and was the one who held the pen to the paper, she's the one who made it happen.
She's just so amazingly good for me.
(What course it was? English 101. Go figure.)
Nov 1, 2013
A little play goes a long way
We had some time together this morning, alone at home. Mistress chained me to the bed, and proceeded to methodically and calmly cut my back, alternating with dropping hot candle wax on it. It was slow, painful, mindful and beautiful. And it looked pretty, too.
Oct 30, 2013
Darker days approaching
Autumn is in high swing, and more or less over night (more, since it has to do with the clocks being set back one hour for winter) my yearly winter depression started looming.
Last year and even more so the year before that, I had it bad, but that's no wonder since I was exhausted. Stress accounted for a lot of it, but the fact is that I've been down during the winter for most of my life, and so has my mother. It's probably hereditary in one way or another, either by learning history and conditioning or more biologically, a vulnerability to lack of sunlight. Either way, here it comes, depression train approaching station.
I made a poster yesterday, when I was contemplating what I could do to lessen this. What approach was needed, what can I do? And I came up with three words that encompasses the things I need to get through the coming four month with sanity, relationship and self respect intact:
Acceptance.
Patience.
Trust.
I need to accept that this is how it is right now, that even though I can do some things to make it better I can't make the problem go away, nor does wishing it so or being angry at it make anything better. It is as it is. My brain works this way, and I'm not to blame for that, no more than I should blame myself for my brown hair or being 5"5. The more I fight against reality, the deeper I sink in the quicksand. This is how it is.
And I need to let it take time. It's going to be like this for awhile. That too is as it is.
And I need to trust in the sun coming out eventually. It's all going to be okay in the end. Even though it might take awhile, and even though it might not be precisely as I wish it would be in the meantime.
Right now, I'm going to drink coffee with Mistress who's working from home. And I think I'll enjoy it, and there's a good chance I'll actually feel what the coffee tastes like. I'm not going onboard the depression train just yet.
Last year and even more so the year before that, I had it bad, but that's no wonder since I was exhausted. Stress accounted for a lot of it, but the fact is that I've been down during the winter for most of my life, and so has my mother. It's probably hereditary in one way or another, either by learning history and conditioning or more biologically, a vulnerability to lack of sunlight. Either way, here it comes, depression train approaching station.
I made a poster yesterday, when I was contemplating what I could do to lessen this. What approach was needed, what can I do? And I came up with three words that encompasses the things I need to get through the coming four month with sanity, relationship and self respect intact:
Acceptance.
Patience.
Trust.
I need to accept that this is how it is right now, that even though I can do some things to make it better I can't make the problem go away, nor does wishing it so or being angry at it make anything better. It is as it is. My brain works this way, and I'm not to blame for that, no more than I should blame myself for my brown hair or being 5"5. The more I fight against reality, the deeper I sink in the quicksand. This is how it is.
And I need to let it take time. It's going to be like this for awhile. That too is as it is.
And I need to trust in the sun coming out eventually. It's all going to be okay in the end. Even though it might take awhile, and even though it might not be precisely as I wish it would be in the meantime.
Right now, I'm going to drink coffee with Mistress who's working from home. And I think I'll enjoy it, and there's a good chance I'll actually feel what the coffee tastes like. I'm not going onboard the depression train just yet.
Oct 24, 2013
Bad decisions and consequences
There was this discussion on Fet about punishments, and a few posts described really harsh things. I contered with a very low key account of getting a few swats on my pants for being uppity. I consider our relationship to have a "punishment dynamic", since there is punishment at times. But the thing is that the stuff she does to me for positive for more positively associated reasons are way more bloody and painful than the corrections I get.
She came home Friday six days ago, and as always things were a bit weird after she's been gone. I had a hard time finding my bearing, kept clinging to her and at the same time got bouts of anger and insecurity. I don't handle separation well, it's not as if I have very healthy patterns from childhood in the attachment area of things (yeah, I'm a shrink, I think like that).
Anyway, come Saturday when the kid was asleep, she pointed me to the bedroom, had me lay on my stomach and proceeded to tie me down, hands and feet to the bedposts. "I'm going to beat you" she said, and my stomach did a happy and scared flip, "there's not going to be any peace and quite around her 'til I do, anyway." And then she did, a lot.
She ended it with a volley of blows with the thick rattan on my ass that made me try to faint and fly at the same time. It wouldn't have surprised me one bit if I had started to levitate. And if I remember this correctly, it simply ended with her untying me and cuddling on the sofa. Or was this the time she fucked me silly? That might have been the day after. It was good, anyhow.
Two days later I marvelled over the tenderness I still felt, and when I checked in the mirror, there were actual bruises. I had bruises on my ass! That hasn't happened for forever, no matter what agony she puts me true, I never get to show it off, 'cause it simply doesn't show. But this time it did.
So that's the stuff she does just because she want to, and to keep me her good, calm, submissive little slut.
Now this morning, when Mistress hade left for work and I was about to herd the kid through the door on our way to the pre-school said kid had a complete meltdown over Mistress choosing black pants for her. She didn't want black pants, they were ugly, she only wanted pink pants, pink and purple were the only pretty colours, why couldn't she have pretty pants, she hated us, she wasn't going to play with anyone at pre-school, and oh why did she have to have ugly clothes??!!
My interest in taking off all her layers of outdoor clothes that covered the black pants in question was non-existent. I tried some halfhearted attempts of compromising, offering her other pants to change to at lunchtime when they go inside, but it failed because we actually didn't have any other suitable pants. They were in the hamper. I sighed and was preparing myself for ignoring her wailing and bodily drag her to the pre-school.
And then a memory came to me, of when I was around four or five, and had a fight with my mom over a pair of pants. She wanted me to wear some sort of bib-and-brace overalls, and I just refused. They were baby-pants! Ugly baby-pants! I remember my mother pleading with me that I had worn them last week and liked them just fine, and I remember how utterly illogical that argument was in my ears. That feeling of having to wear something that didn't fit who I was, that felt demeaning and wrong and humiliating. It's only a snapshot, and I don't know how it went, but I'm guessing I lost the fight since I remember it so vividly. Or, equally likely, I didn't have to wear the pants but my mother reacted with coldness and hostility and punished me by withdrawing her love because I voiced my opinion.
Anyway, I know what it feels like having to go around in clothes that makes you feel bad and makes you feel ugly. I don't care that the pants in question was gorgeous and supercomfy and that Mistress has an exact copy of them, they didn't match little S' view of herself. And suddenly I thought, what the hell, we'll fix this. And I got the kid in the car instead of the stroller, and headed for the nearest mall on the way to the pre-school. We were going to buy pants!
Only, the shops didn't open as early as I had hoped, but then I was on a mission, so we went ten minutes in another direction, found a supermarket with a small clothes aisle, and eventually a pair of pants. That were actually in a set with a cute matching top. And then we got a pair of warm winter mittens, and three pairs of gloves, because those always get dirty or lost, and it's good to have a few to change with. And it was really cheap, too. On the way out past the register little S got a balloon too, for free, and we made our way to the pre-school quite happily. I was pleased with little S getting new clothes and with being able to leave a contented child for the day.
And then I got home and texted Mistress about my adventure. The first text was rather optimistic, like "oh, and I got some clothes for little S, wasn't that great?". The next one, ten minutes later was more along the lines of "Uhm... I just realised I should have asked first. I should have asked for permission, shouldn't I? Sorry..." That one got a terse answer, that yes, I should definitely have asked permission first.
Epic slut fail.
So now I got punished. And remember those bruises on my butt? If she does that simply for maintenance, what does she do when I spend money without permission and goes on errands completely without telling her about it? Well... she docked the money for the clothes from my allowance this month, about a fifth of the sum I get for lunches and other indulgenses. And I had to complete a task that I was supposed to do today anyway, before lunch instead of whenever I wanted. That's the punishment.
And now I'm forgiven. I'm still a bit ashamed, and feeling greatful to her for holding me to her standards, and very much decided that I'll never to that again and always text her about my doings and plans, as I usually do.
I feel punished. And I feel contrite. And I feel very much that she owns me, and that I made a mistake, and that I should do better in the future. It does matter that she holds me accountable. It does matter that she meets out punishment. It doesn't, however, have to be cruel or nasty or bloody. A short jerk, a disappointed voice, a reminder that she's not pleased with my actions. It makes me thankful to be hers, and it makes me feel safe and secure and looked after.
She came home Friday six days ago, and as always things were a bit weird after she's been gone. I had a hard time finding my bearing, kept clinging to her and at the same time got bouts of anger and insecurity. I don't handle separation well, it's not as if I have very healthy patterns from childhood in the attachment area of things (yeah, I'm a shrink, I think like that).
Anyway, come Saturday when the kid was asleep, she pointed me to the bedroom, had me lay on my stomach and proceeded to tie me down, hands and feet to the bedposts. "I'm going to beat you" she said, and my stomach did a happy and scared flip, "there's not going to be any peace and quite around her 'til I do, anyway." And then she did, a lot.
She ended it with a volley of blows with the thick rattan on my ass that made me try to faint and fly at the same time. It wouldn't have surprised me one bit if I had started to levitate. And if I remember this correctly, it simply ended with her untying me and cuddling on the sofa. Or was this the time she fucked me silly? That might have been the day after. It was good, anyhow.
Two days later I marvelled over the tenderness I still felt, and when I checked in the mirror, there were actual bruises. I had bruises on my ass! That hasn't happened for forever, no matter what agony she puts me true, I never get to show it off, 'cause it simply doesn't show. But this time it did.
So that's the stuff she does just because she want to, and to keep me her good, calm, submissive little slut.
Now this morning, when Mistress hade left for work and I was about to herd the kid through the door on our way to the pre-school said kid had a complete meltdown over Mistress choosing black pants for her. She didn't want black pants, they were ugly, she only wanted pink pants, pink and purple were the only pretty colours, why couldn't she have pretty pants, she hated us, she wasn't going to play with anyone at pre-school, and oh why did she have to have ugly clothes??!!
My interest in taking off all her layers of outdoor clothes that covered the black pants in question was non-existent. I tried some halfhearted attempts of compromising, offering her other pants to change to at lunchtime when they go inside, but it failed because we actually didn't have any other suitable pants. They were in the hamper. I sighed and was preparing myself for ignoring her wailing and bodily drag her to the pre-school.
And then a memory came to me, of when I was around four or five, and had a fight with my mom over a pair of pants. She wanted me to wear some sort of bib-and-brace overalls, and I just refused. They were baby-pants! Ugly baby-pants! I remember my mother pleading with me that I had worn them last week and liked them just fine, and I remember how utterly illogical that argument was in my ears. That feeling of having to wear something that didn't fit who I was, that felt demeaning and wrong and humiliating. It's only a snapshot, and I don't know how it went, but I'm guessing I lost the fight since I remember it so vividly. Or, equally likely, I didn't have to wear the pants but my mother reacted with coldness and hostility and punished me by withdrawing her love because I voiced my opinion.
Anyway, I know what it feels like having to go around in clothes that makes you feel bad and makes you feel ugly. I don't care that the pants in question was gorgeous and supercomfy and that Mistress has an exact copy of them, they didn't match little S' view of herself. And suddenly I thought, what the hell, we'll fix this. And I got the kid in the car instead of the stroller, and headed for the nearest mall on the way to the pre-school. We were going to buy pants!
Only, the shops didn't open as early as I had hoped, but then I was on a mission, so we went ten minutes in another direction, found a supermarket with a small clothes aisle, and eventually a pair of pants. That were actually in a set with a cute matching top. And then we got a pair of warm winter mittens, and three pairs of gloves, because those always get dirty or lost, and it's good to have a few to change with. And it was really cheap, too. On the way out past the register little S got a balloon too, for free, and we made our way to the pre-school quite happily. I was pleased with little S getting new clothes and with being able to leave a contented child for the day.
And then I got home and texted Mistress about my adventure. The first text was rather optimistic, like "oh, and I got some clothes for little S, wasn't that great?". The next one, ten minutes later was more along the lines of "Uhm... I just realised I should have asked first. I should have asked for permission, shouldn't I? Sorry..." That one got a terse answer, that yes, I should definitely have asked permission first.
Epic slut fail.
So now I got punished. And remember those bruises on my butt? If she does that simply for maintenance, what does she do when I spend money without permission and goes on errands completely without telling her about it? Well... she docked the money for the clothes from my allowance this month, about a fifth of the sum I get for lunches and other indulgenses. And I had to complete a task that I was supposed to do today anyway, before lunch instead of whenever I wanted. That's the punishment.
And now I'm forgiven. I'm still a bit ashamed, and feeling greatful to her for holding me to her standards, and very much decided that I'll never to that again and always text her about my doings and plans, as I usually do.
I feel punished. And I feel contrite. And I feel very much that she owns me, and that I made a mistake, and that I should do better in the future. It does matter that she holds me accountable. It does matter that she meets out punishment. It doesn't, however, have to be cruel or nasty or bloody. A short jerk, a disappointed voice, a reminder that she's not pleased with my actions. It makes me thankful to be hers, and it makes me feel safe and secure and looked after.
Oct 20, 2013
A good call
Uhm... And then it turned out that well, I had jumped to conclusions and she had in fact kept her promise and not done "that thing". It was a misunderstanding, completely my fault too. So yeah... It only makes me glader I sat on my ass and wrote a semi-bitter blogpost about it instead of starting a fight.
In fact, when I had posted yesterday, I sat down and breathed and meditated a bit, and after a while I decided I'd rather sit with her than all alone in the living room, so I got out to where she was working at the kitchen table and simply sat down beside her, on my knees with my head in her lap.
And yes, when she finally stopped working and we were curled up together on the sofa, she asked me what was wrong and I said that I was upset and sad from before, and it was then I found out that my freak-out was completely unnecessary. It did make me a bit relieved still, especially about that broken-promise-thing, but it wasn't this big deal it would have been if I hadn't already decided I could live with it.
In fact, when I had posted yesterday, I sat down and breathed and meditated a bit, and after a while I decided I'd rather sit with her than all alone in the living room, so I got out to where she was working at the kitchen table and simply sat down beside her, on my knees with my head in her lap.
And yes, when she finally stopped working and we were curled up together on the sofa, she asked me what was wrong and I said that I was upset and sad from before, and it was then I found out that my freak-out was completely unnecessary. It did make me a bit relieved still, especially about that broken-promise-thing, but it wasn't this big deal it would have been if I hadn't already decided I could live with it.
Oct 19, 2013
Pet peeve
I was formulating a question to one of the groups on Fetlife, maybe Master&slaves or Owner/property, silently in my head. But while I was wording it, I also imagined the potential responses, and realised I already knew them.
It's not like it's a new or unique problem.
The thing is, there's this thing Mistress does that I really really hate. I'm not going into what it is, but it's a stress relief thing, something she does when she gets overwhelmed with stress or emotions, kind of to re-boot the system or something. It could have been something like nail-chewing or smoking or shouting loud profanities. It's a sudden outburst that makes her feel a bit better in the moment.
But, as mentioned, I hate it. With a vengeance. Everyt time she does it, I get an instant emotional reaction, I get furious and panicky and feel betrayed and a whole chorus of negative voices goes on in my head. I see that particular action as something destructive, bad for her and for me and a bad example for the kid, only making her feel worse in the long run and simply... simply a bad thing to do. I get an emotional reaction close to how I would feel if she hit me in anger, or destroyed something pricey. I get scared and insecure and angry.
We've talked about this. A lot. For a very very long time, ever since we first fell in love, as a matter of fact. She knows how I feel about it, and I think she agrees in theory about that particular thing being a bad example for the kid and not helping in the long run. She's even promised never to do it again. In fact, she has repeatedly said that she wont do it again, and when she still did, she finally made a serious, carefully worded promise to not do it.
And she's usually extremely good at keeping her word, extremely good. It's a corner stone of her personality. She doesn't lie, ever, and she doesn't make promises she can't keep nor does she break a promise once it's been given. Except for this one thing. Because she still does it. And I still hate it.
And when she did it again an hour ago, one of the things I started to do was whining my plight in an imaginary opening post on Fetlife. About how my Owner did this one annoying thing and wouldn't stop even though she knew it made me feel bad, and how I didn't know if I could live with it, but I can't leave her, and what shall I do to make her stop doing it!!!!
And yeah. There's only two answers to that question. It's either "suck it up, buttercup, you're owned and you can't make her do a damn thing" or "if you can't take it, leave - why are you with her if that thing is so unbearable?".
And that's it, really. I don't have to ask anyone else about this. I can't make her do squat. That's the long and the short of it. If this thing she does is so deplorable to me that I can't stand living with her and raising our kid together with her, then I have to leave. Or, on the other hand, if I'm not going to divorce her over it, if the reality is that even though it makes me feel yucky all over it's something I actually can live with, then I better just shut up and stop trying to bully her into changing.
She knows how I feel. Telling her one more time wont make any difference. It doesn't matter what I do or say or feel or think, there's not a thing I can do to make her behave in one way or another. If I could influence this, I would have by now.
So I give. I guess I'll tell her that too. I give in, I don't care anymore, I wont say another word about it. I'm still going to feel yucky, but I wont keep the illusion that if I manage to convey to her just how yucky it makes me feel that will influence her to not do it anymore. I think she knows how it makes me feel. I just think that isn't changing the situation.
I choose to be hers, her slave, her property, her wife, her best friend, hers, no matter what. If she wants to do this thing, then well, that sucks for me, but then that's the way it is. I still belong to her, I still want to belong to her, and that means accepting whatever she throws my way. I wont fake anything, but I wont badger her or argue with her or try to punish her anymore. I'm hers, and she can do whatever she want to. Including this.
(Even if I really do hate it.)
I accept it.
I accept it.
It's okay.
It's going to be okay.
It's not like it's a new or unique problem.
The thing is, there's this thing Mistress does that I really really hate. I'm not going into what it is, but it's a stress relief thing, something she does when she gets overwhelmed with stress or emotions, kind of to re-boot the system or something. It could have been something like nail-chewing or smoking or shouting loud profanities. It's a sudden outburst that makes her feel a bit better in the moment.
But, as mentioned, I hate it. With a vengeance. Everyt time she does it, I get an instant emotional reaction, I get furious and panicky and feel betrayed and a whole chorus of negative voices goes on in my head. I see that particular action as something destructive, bad for her and for me and a bad example for the kid, only making her feel worse in the long run and simply... simply a bad thing to do. I get an emotional reaction close to how I would feel if she hit me in anger, or destroyed something pricey. I get scared and insecure and angry.
We've talked about this. A lot. For a very very long time, ever since we first fell in love, as a matter of fact. She knows how I feel about it, and I think she agrees in theory about that particular thing being a bad example for the kid and not helping in the long run. She's even promised never to do it again. In fact, she has repeatedly said that she wont do it again, and when she still did, she finally made a serious, carefully worded promise to not do it.
And she's usually extremely good at keeping her word, extremely good. It's a corner stone of her personality. She doesn't lie, ever, and she doesn't make promises she can't keep nor does she break a promise once it's been given. Except for this one thing. Because she still does it. And I still hate it.
And when she did it again an hour ago, one of the things I started to do was whining my plight in an imaginary opening post on Fetlife. About how my Owner did this one annoying thing and wouldn't stop even though she knew it made me feel bad, and how I didn't know if I could live with it, but I can't leave her, and what shall I do to make her stop doing it!!!!
And yeah. There's only two answers to that question. It's either "suck it up, buttercup, you're owned and you can't make her do a damn thing" or "if you can't take it, leave - why are you with her if that thing is so unbearable?".
And that's it, really. I don't have to ask anyone else about this. I can't make her do squat. That's the long and the short of it. If this thing she does is so deplorable to me that I can't stand living with her and raising our kid together with her, then I have to leave. Or, on the other hand, if I'm not going to divorce her over it, if the reality is that even though it makes me feel yucky all over it's something I actually can live with, then I better just shut up and stop trying to bully her into changing.
She knows how I feel. Telling her one more time wont make any difference. It doesn't matter what I do or say or feel or think, there's not a thing I can do to make her behave in one way or another. If I could influence this, I would have by now.
So I give. I guess I'll tell her that too. I give in, I don't care anymore, I wont say another word about it. I'm still going to feel yucky, but I wont keep the illusion that if I manage to convey to her just how yucky it makes me feel that will influence her to not do it anymore. I think she knows how it makes me feel. I just think that isn't changing the situation.
I choose to be hers, her slave, her property, her wife, her best friend, hers, no matter what. If she wants to do this thing, then well, that sucks for me, but then that's the way it is. I still belong to her, I still want to belong to her, and that means accepting whatever she throws my way. I wont fake anything, but I wont badger her or argue with her or try to punish her anymore. I'm hers, and she can do whatever she want to. Including this.
(Even if I really do hate it.)
I accept it.
I accept it.
It's okay.
It's going to be okay.
Oct 16, 2013
A better day
It's funny what a difference it did that we talked a bit on webcam this morning. Little S seemed happy too, even though it's a little bit strange with mommy on the computer and not in hugging distance. And for me it ment that the day seemed somehow normal. I could start my day with her, and just now we talked a bit again, and somehow anchoring my day with Mistress in the beginning and the end of it, everything feels more like it should be.
Half is done now. Friday she'll be back.
Half is done now. Friday she'll be back.
Oct 15, 2013
The tough and the weak
I miss her. Insanely. I cried today when I finally got to see her on the webcam. I can't remember if I've ever acutally cried from missing her before. And in a way it made it easier. It's not as hard and difficult when I don't have to be strong and brave and tough it out.
This time I don't have to. I don't have to be as strong, because the work isn't as hard. I don't have to go to school or be at home all day alone with the kid, and I'm not even half as tired as I used to be just a little while ago. For the first time in a long while it's not unusual for me to get through a normal day and not be crushed by fatigue and despair some time after dinner.
And I don't have to be as brave, because finally (finally!) both me and the people around me have a realistic view of what I can and can't do (okay, everyone except for my mom, but I'll leave her out of this...). No one is expecting me to not be a wreck when Mistress finally gets home. It's part of the equation. I don't have to feel guilty, and I don't have to hide it. It's okay, it can be what it is.
I'm not normal. I wish I was, or at least that the things that makes my life difficult could be toned down a little, but I'm not. What's new and exciting and uplifting is that I no longer have to act as if I'm normal, and I'm no longer expected to react as if I was. How I'm in fact wired, what really happens with me and my brain, is taken into account now. There's no longer this glaring mismatch between the map (how everybody else works) and reality (how I react in real life).
Which means I can skip the brave face and stay vulnerable. Stay present. Stay in touch with my emotions. And that is so much less work than dealing with the side-effects of the brave-face-approach. The brave face means walls and detachments, means self-sufficiency and loneliness, means independence and distance.
I hate the brave face. I love the privilege of weakness and dependence and softness and crying after Mistress because I miss her so so much, and I need her so so much. I love the freedom that comes with the luxury of openness and vulnerability and honesty and humility. I'm allowed to miss her. I'm allowed the weakness that comes with that feeling now, when I don't have to perform to the utmost of my ability at all times any longer.
I still have to tough it out, though, because today is Tuesday and she'll be home Friday afternoon. Two days down, three more to go.
This time I don't have to. I don't have to be as strong, because the work isn't as hard. I don't have to go to school or be at home all day alone with the kid, and I'm not even half as tired as I used to be just a little while ago. For the first time in a long while it's not unusual for me to get through a normal day and not be crushed by fatigue and despair some time after dinner.
And I don't have to be as brave, because finally (finally!) both me and the people around me have a realistic view of what I can and can't do (okay, everyone except for my mom, but I'll leave her out of this...). No one is expecting me to not be a wreck when Mistress finally gets home. It's part of the equation. I don't have to feel guilty, and I don't have to hide it. It's okay, it can be what it is.
I'm not normal. I wish I was, or at least that the things that makes my life difficult could be toned down a little, but I'm not. What's new and exciting and uplifting is that I no longer have to act as if I'm normal, and I'm no longer expected to react as if I was. How I'm in fact wired, what really happens with me and my brain, is taken into account now. There's no longer this glaring mismatch between the map (how everybody else works) and reality (how I react in real life).
Which means I can skip the brave face and stay vulnerable. Stay present. Stay in touch with my emotions. And that is so much less work than dealing with the side-effects of the brave-face-approach. The brave face means walls and detachments, means self-sufficiency and loneliness, means independence and distance.
I hate the brave face. I love the privilege of weakness and dependence and softness and crying after Mistress because I miss her so so much, and I need her so so much. I love the freedom that comes with the luxury of openness and vulnerability and honesty and humility. I'm allowed to miss her. I'm allowed the weakness that comes with that feeling now, when I don't have to perform to the utmost of my ability at all times any longer.
I still have to tough it out, though, because today is Tuesday and she'll be home Friday afternoon. Two days down, three more to go.
Oct 13, 2013
Going away
Tomorrow morning Mistress leaves for Spain. She'll be back Friday, and even though I really don't like her going away from me, it feels a lot better than the last time she travelled. One of the main reason is probably that this time neither I nor anyone else thinks I'm okay with it, and expects me to be perfectly all right when she gets back.
We have all kinds of support in place, the biggest one being my in-laws coming and living with me and little S from Tuesday to Thursday. And we're going to talk every day, and I'll have a schedule, and there's food in the fridge, and everything is going to be okay. Except that I'll miss her like crazy.
Yesterday she whipped me, hard and deliciously cruel. Today we made our version of sweet love, including a whole lot of nipple pinching and strangling. I feel safe and loved and treasured. It's going to be okay. And at least she'll be home soon.
We have all kinds of support in place, the biggest one being my in-laws coming and living with me and little S from Tuesday to Thursday. And we're going to talk every day, and I'll have a schedule, and there's food in the fridge, and everything is going to be okay. Except that I'll miss her like crazy.
Yesterday she whipped me, hard and deliciously cruel. Today we made our version of sweet love, including a whole lot of nipple pinching and strangling. I feel safe and loved and treasured. It's going to be okay. And at least she'll be home soon.
Oct 10, 2013
Broken down
I took the car today, to have lunch with a friend. I really didn't need to, I could have taken my bike, but it was raining and I was feeling tired and grumpy. Or the bus, but truth be told, I fell asleep and when I woke up I would just make it in time with the car.
I had a lovely lunch with an old friend I haven't seen in ages, and when it was time for her to return to work I offered to drive her. When we got there, I turned the engine off while we finished our conversation, we hugged and said good bye and I turned the ignition key, and got nothing.
The car wouldn't start. And that turned a so far good but a little low day in to a rather horrid one.
In the end, I got home again around six-thirty, and the worst part of the whole day was the look in Mistress' eyes. She looked so sad, and defeated, and tired and angry and well, just generally frazzled. Most of it has nothing to do with me, or with the car, but knowing that decisions I've made today, like taking the car at all for instance, made her day worse makes me hate myself a little.
I don't know if she's angry with me for any of it. I texted her as soon as it happened, and she was informed of every decision I made and I did as she told me to when she had any input, but in the end I still feel guilty. Like I should have done better. I know she hates it when unexpected things happen, and especially when she's not in control of them. I think she would much have preferred being the one waiting by the broken down car over having to leave work early and pick up the kid and fix dinner and play nice and be in a good mood with a cranky four-year-old.
And now her mother called. Today we know whether her dad has skeletal cancer or not. Today is not an easy day.
---------
Mistress is still on the phone with her mom, but she just gave me a thumbs up. The relief is immense.
I had a lovely lunch with an old friend I haven't seen in ages, and when it was time for her to return to work I offered to drive her. When we got there, I turned the engine off while we finished our conversation, we hugged and said good bye and I turned the ignition key, and got nothing.
The car wouldn't start. And that turned a so far good but a little low day in to a rather horrid one.
In the end, I got home again around six-thirty, and the worst part of the whole day was the look in Mistress' eyes. She looked so sad, and defeated, and tired and angry and well, just generally frazzled. Most of it has nothing to do with me, or with the car, but knowing that decisions I've made today, like taking the car at all for instance, made her day worse makes me hate myself a little.
I don't know if she's angry with me for any of it. I texted her as soon as it happened, and she was informed of every decision I made and I did as she told me to when she had any input, but in the end I still feel guilty. Like I should have done better. I know she hates it when unexpected things happen, and especially when she's not in control of them. I think she would much have preferred being the one waiting by the broken down car over having to leave work early and pick up the kid and fix dinner and play nice and be in a good mood with a cranky four-year-old.
And now her mother called. Today we know whether her dad has skeletal cancer or not. Today is not an easy day.
---------
Mistress is still on the phone with her mom, but she just gave me a thumbs up. The relief is immense.
Oct 5, 2013
A day in the life of a stay-at-home slave
I'm having trouble accepting just how good things are right now. That's a first world problem if I ever heard of one... But really, it scares me a bit, because how it is right now is something I could live with forever. And that's a bit troublesome, because right now I don't do much.
I'm a stay-at-home slave for the moment. I mean, I'm not even a stay-at-home mom, because that would require my kid to be, you know, at home. But she's not, she's almost full time at pre-school. I usually get home around nine thirty after dropping her off in the morning, and then I go pick her up after four in the afternoon. And really I'm not a housewife either, because doesn't a housewife do like all the housework?
I once read a study where a lot of couples in Sweden had filled in surveys about the amount of housework they did, each person in the household answering separately. And of course, in heterosexual relationships with kids the woman did an insane amount more of the housework, many more hours per week more than the man, unrelated to their professional workload. Except for if the woman worked full time and the man was unemployed, those couples were statistically most equal, since then the men did roughly half...
So yeah. In that scenario, I'm the guy. Mistress works full time, and she still does all the laundry, most of the grocery shopping, all the planning, always cleans up after dinner and do most of the vacuuming. I vacuum occasionally, clean the bathroom, cook dinner, sometimes empty the dishwasher, shop some groceries and do strange errands like picking up parcels at the post office or getting shoes mended and other odd things, and usually leaves off and picks up the kid, but at best one can say I do half. Which is an enormous improvement compared to last year, when I did literary nothing, since I devoted all my energy to getting through school.
But the thing is, I love this. Finally, for the fist time in my life or at least since I was five, the demands placed on me are equal to or lower than my resources. I'm not exhausted. I'm enough. What I'm capable of doing without getting sick is for the first time enough for the tasks that I need to fulfil. I've always felt like Bilbo in the Lord of the Rings when he explains the effect the Ring has on him as thinning him out, like to little butter on a to big piece of toast. I've always felt stretched, always felt that what I am and what I do and what I manage isn't enough. Naturally, since it hasn't been enough, since I have lived my whole life with an undiagnosed neurological handicap.
I love being Mistress' stay-at-home slave. I love it so much. For the first time, we have a routine that actually works. And it shows on Mistress too. She's been able to go to the gym. She had lunch with a friend the other day (they realised that they hadn't seen each other alone for two years, and they live 20 minutes apart...). Even though I regularly have depressive thoughts about not doing enough for us as a family, Mistress seems to appreciate the things I actually manage to do a lot. And that means the world to me.
I like my days. I get home in the morning, I drink coffee and rest for a while, and then I usually do something - go to the gym, or to a pony I've started to take for walks in the woods. She's young and she's much to small for me to ride, but the owner appreciates that she gets attention and exercise, and I appreciate the equestrian company. Then I have lunch, either at home or a lunch date with one of my friends, and around two I go rest. I always rest in the afternoon, and it's a really good thing for me. I usually start with a mindfulness-exercise laying on the bed, and after that I just roll over and sleep for an hour.
And then it's time to get myself ready, take a shower if I haven't done that, prepare dinner and straighten things up a little bit, and then go get little S. Mistress comes home around five, she plays with the kid and I finish dinner or the other way around, we eat at five-thirty, Mistress cleans the kitchen while little S and I watch telly and then usually they play until bedtime and I go rest again (I rest a lot). But the other day I actually went to the store and got milk and bread and stuff, that was a bit of a milestone too.
And then we have our going-to-bed routine that takes from six-thirty to seven-thirty, and after that it's time for me and Mistress to hang out, talk about our day and cuddle on the sofa.
I love this routine. I have no idea how I'm ever going to be able to stuff another full time job in to this family again. Last year we both worked more than full time. No wonder we're exhausted. That was crazy. Now, when I'm left to my own devices most of the day, I can rest, exercise and meet friends as much as I need to during the day, and have just enough energy over for my family the rest of the time. I get why I got sick, and I definitely get why I haven't been to the gym, eaten healthy or had much of a social life the last couple of year. I had, obviously, school instead.
I like this. I'm going to take a nap now.
Oh, and this was my 200th post. Yey!
I'm a stay-at-home slave for the moment. I mean, I'm not even a stay-at-home mom, because that would require my kid to be, you know, at home. But she's not, she's almost full time at pre-school. I usually get home around nine thirty after dropping her off in the morning, and then I go pick her up after four in the afternoon. And really I'm not a housewife either, because doesn't a housewife do like all the housework?
I once read a study where a lot of couples in Sweden had filled in surveys about the amount of housework they did, each person in the household answering separately. And of course, in heterosexual relationships with kids the woman did an insane amount more of the housework, many more hours per week more than the man, unrelated to their professional workload. Except for if the woman worked full time and the man was unemployed, those couples were statistically most equal, since then the men did roughly half...
So yeah. In that scenario, I'm the guy. Mistress works full time, and she still does all the laundry, most of the grocery shopping, all the planning, always cleans up after dinner and do most of the vacuuming. I vacuum occasionally, clean the bathroom, cook dinner, sometimes empty the dishwasher, shop some groceries and do strange errands like picking up parcels at the post office or getting shoes mended and other odd things, and usually leaves off and picks up the kid, but at best one can say I do half. Which is an enormous improvement compared to last year, when I did literary nothing, since I devoted all my energy to getting through school.
But the thing is, I love this. Finally, for the fist time in my life or at least since I was five, the demands placed on me are equal to or lower than my resources. I'm not exhausted. I'm enough. What I'm capable of doing without getting sick is for the first time enough for the tasks that I need to fulfil. I've always felt like Bilbo in the Lord of the Rings when he explains the effect the Ring has on him as thinning him out, like to little butter on a to big piece of toast. I've always felt stretched, always felt that what I am and what I do and what I manage isn't enough. Naturally, since it hasn't been enough, since I have lived my whole life with an undiagnosed neurological handicap.
I love being Mistress' stay-at-home slave. I love it so much. For the first time, we have a routine that actually works. And it shows on Mistress too. She's been able to go to the gym. She had lunch with a friend the other day (they realised that they hadn't seen each other alone for two years, and they live 20 minutes apart...). Even though I regularly have depressive thoughts about not doing enough for us as a family, Mistress seems to appreciate the things I actually manage to do a lot. And that means the world to me.
I like my days. I get home in the morning, I drink coffee and rest for a while, and then I usually do something - go to the gym, or to a pony I've started to take for walks in the woods. She's young and she's much to small for me to ride, but the owner appreciates that she gets attention and exercise, and I appreciate the equestrian company. Then I have lunch, either at home or a lunch date with one of my friends, and around two I go rest. I always rest in the afternoon, and it's a really good thing for me. I usually start with a mindfulness-exercise laying on the bed, and after that I just roll over and sleep for an hour.
And then it's time to get myself ready, take a shower if I haven't done that, prepare dinner and straighten things up a little bit, and then go get little S. Mistress comes home around five, she plays with the kid and I finish dinner or the other way around, we eat at five-thirty, Mistress cleans the kitchen while little S and I watch telly and then usually they play until bedtime and I go rest again (I rest a lot). But the other day I actually went to the store and got milk and bread and stuff, that was a bit of a milestone too.
And then we have our going-to-bed routine that takes from six-thirty to seven-thirty, and after that it's time for me and Mistress to hang out, talk about our day and cuddle on the sofa.
I love this routine. I have no idea how I'm ever going to be able to stuff another full time job in to this family again. Last year we both worked more than full time. No wonder we're exhausted. That was crazy. Now, when I'm left to my own devices most of the day, I can rest, exercise and meet friends as much as I need to during the day, and have just enough energy over for my family the rest of the time. I get why I got sick, and I definitely get why I haven't been to the gym, eaten healthy or had much of a social life the last couple of year. I had, obviously, school instead.
I like this. I'm going to take a nap now.
Oh, and this was my 200th post. Yey!
Sep 29, 2013
Getting the no
I wanted to go to a thing a couple of days ago, a "Fight Club" organised by our favourite club. I got all excited the first time I heard about it, and Mistress was very apprehensive already at that point. I understood that she wouldn't want to go, and I didn't think she would let me, but in the end I still asked if I could.
And she said, predictably, no. It doesn't happen that often. Partly because I think I usually know what the answer's going to be, and if I don't think it's something she'll approve of, I don't bother asking. But also, I think, because if there's no obvious thing in the way, like money or time, she likes to let me do fun stuff.
This time though, it was about our differing views of fun. "I wont let anyone hurt you" she said when we talked about it later. I had already yielded and didn't try to persuade her, but still couldn't help answering back "but I wouldn't get hurt. I would take anyone there down, and you know it."
Ah well. I guess this time was not the time to do a drag king act of "Gunther the Grunter" a la 80ies wrestler with big hair and moustache. Another day. But I really do think I would have won over anyone there. And as it seems, I will be allowed to keep thinking that, since I'm not going to be allowed to try that hypothesis out.
And she said, predictably, no. It doesn't happen that often. Partly because I think I usually know what the answer's going to be, and if I don't think it's something she'll approve of, I don't bother asking. But also, I think, because if there's no obvious thing in the way, like money or time, she likes to let me do fun stuff.
This time though, it was about our differing views of fun. "I wont let anyone hurt you" she said when we talked about it later. I had already yielded and didn't try to persuade her, but still couldn't help answering back "but I wouldn't get hurt. I would take anyone there down, and you know it."
Ah well. I guess this time was not the time to do a drag king act of "Gunther the Grunter" a la 80ies wrestler with big hair and moustache. Another day. But I really do think I would have won over anyone there. And as it seems, I will be allowed to keep thinking that, since I'm not going to be allowed to try that hypothesis out.
Sep 13, 2013
General weirdness
We actually do have sex and stuff. Kinky sex to. And we're good, relationship-wise. Everythings good(ish). "As well as can be expected under the circumstances" have been my standard reply for the last five years, and it's still true. The circumstances at this particular time being my fucked up brain and it's inability to get better at the rate I want it to.
I've applied for a job I really want, and they haven't gotten back to me, and I lay awake some nights before going to sleep and worry about never getting an employment. But that's nothing new.
All is well, the kid thrive and Mistress isn't hating her job at the moment. She's even getting home earlier today and picks up little S on her way home, yey!
I've been feeling weird all week, and finally realised it's because I upped my dosage of methylfenidat (ADHD-meds) and that caused some weird sensations. Like all the hair standing up all over my body. Some sort of itchy feeling under the skin, all over. And an inability to relax but at the same time extreme exhaustion. Also, I've been doing some funny thing with my teeth, pressing the lower jaw forward so that the lower front teeth are constantly pushing at the upper front teeth. As if I've been going around all week trying to create an under bite by shear force. It wasn't unpleasant, necessarily, not all the time, but it was extremely unsettling and annoying. I lowered the dose yesterday, and now I'm back to being normally exhausted and dim-witted.
Why can't I get to functional normally without feeling high or hyper? Meh. I was enjoying waking up in the morning with a fully awake and functioning brain. Now it's soon 10 AM, and I still feel like a zombie. A sleepy, dazed zombie. Bleergh. I want it all. I want to wake up and being awake, I want to have the energy to go to the gym, make lunch, fill the dishwasher and still be able to form coherent sentences over dinner. But I don't want to go around gnashing my teeth and feeling high all the time.
And I must admit all these weird feelings and health issues makes the O/p-part of things fall into the background a bit. Mistress is my rock, my best friend, my sanity in all this. She owns me, sure, but I know that. It's not something I spend a lot of time thinking about right now. It's just there, thankfully, making me feel connected and present and as a real person even when I have a lot of reasons to feel like I'm a figment of imagination, drifting alone in the darkness of space. I'm real and I'm here, 'cause I'm hers.
And tonight we're having tacos in front of the telly with the kid spilling salsa over the sofa and me and Mistress cuddling a little behind her back. Just because stuff feels weird inside my brain it doesn't mean that's what the world actually looks like.
I've applied for a job I really want, and they haven't gotten back to me, and I lay awake some nights before going to sleep and worry about never getting an employment. But that's nothing new.
All is well, the kid thrive and Mistress isn't hating her job at the moment. She's even getting home earlier today and picks up little S on her way home, yey!
I've been feeling weird all week, and finally realised it's because I upped my dosage of methylfenidat (ADHD-meds) and that caused some weird sensations. Like all the hair standing up all over my body. Some sort of itchy feeling under the skin, all over. And an inability to relax but at the same time extreme exhaustion. Also, I've been doing some funny thing with my teeth, pressing the lower jaw forward so that the lower front teeth are constantly pushing at the upper front teeth. As if I've been going around all week trying to create an under bite by shear force. It wasn't unpleasant, necessarily, not all the time, but it was extremely unsettling and annoying. I lowered the dose yesterday, and now I'm back to being normally exhausted and dim-witted.
Why can't I get to functional normally without feeling high or hyper? Meh. I was enjoying waking up in the morning with a fully awake and functioning brain. Now it's soon 10 AM, and I still feel like a zombie. A sleepy, dazed zombie. Bleergh. I want it all. I want to wake up and being awake, I want to have the energy to go to the gym, make lunch, fill the dishwasher and still be able to form coherent sentences over dinner. But I don't want to go around gnashing my teeth and feeling high all the time.
And I must admit all these weird feelings and health issues makes the O/p-part of things fall into the background a bit. Mistress is my rock, my best friend, my sanity in all this. She owns me, sure, but I know that. It's not something I spend a lot of time thinking about right now. It's just there, thankfully, making me feel connected and present and as a real person even when I have a lot of reasons to feel like I'm a figment of imagination, drifting alone in the darkness of space. I'm real and I'm here, 'cause I'm hers.
And tonight we're having tacos in front of the telly with the kid spilling salsa over the sofa and me and Mistress cuddling a little behind her back. Just because stuff feels weird inside my brain it doesn't mean that's what the world actually looks like.
Aug 17, 2013
Brain managing
Mistress went to Hamburg for two days this week, on a job thing. It felt like it should have been a piece of cake - all I had to do was drop little S off at the pre-school in the morning and get her in the afternoon, make us dinner and watch the telly, and put her to bed. She's still not sleeping through the night most of the time but it's not the nightly terror it used to be - she gets up, you lead her back to bed, she goes back to sleep. She might do it again a couple of times before morning, but there's no crying or fuzziness or trying to get up and having play time between midnight and two any more.
I should have been easy. I thought it would be. I'm overconfident that way.
Instead, when Mistress got back I was an exhausted wreck. It's true I don't like responsibility. It wasn't the chores themselves that did me in, nor being constantly on call night and day, it was the being all alone with it. When my brain has nothing to stop it, it goes in all directions at once, and the mere act of reigning it in and trying to stay on course makes me exhausted.
Mistress is travelling a couple of more times this fall, once for a whole week, and I have a plan for next time. The first step is stream lining and eliminating as much as possible of the day to day tasks. I hate routine. It's incredibly difficult for me to do things that are boring, and anything that has to be done more than once is definitely on that list. A major clean up of a whole house, all done in one go, working all hours for two days? Count me in! Emptying and refilling the dishwasher once a day everyday several days in row? Kill me now, please.
So - paper plates and labelled dinner boxes. No household things besides the bare bones essentials. That's one thing. Another is eliminating choices. When I have a whole day stretching out before me, or in this case three days, my brain fills them up and rearranges the plans constantly. And I mean constantly. The amount of mental energy spent on figuring out the best schedules and activities is ridiculous. With no one else around saying "it's lunch time" or "you don't have time for that, you were supposed to be doing this" I behave like a butterfly, fluttering about constantly. I'm going to ask Mistress to write me a schedule, with everything from "watch this movie Tuesday night" to "meet up with this friend at that time for lunch". I don't want alternatives and decisions. Freedom sucks.
And the third and most important part - I need something fun to focus on. Something that engages me and that easily catches my attention. I easily get involved in projects, at least for a while, and it stills my inner butterfly.
Again - I'm a dog. I need a chewing bone. This time I was the restless dog that went from window to window constantly barking at anyone outside, restlessly guarding and waiting, unable to relax until my Owner came home. And I was exactly as stressed out as such dogs usually gets, losing appetite and sleep, feeling run down and depressed, and wanting nothing but sleep when the ordeal is over.
So - a project. A fun, time consuming project that engages me without inducing performance anxiety. I'm thinking I'll sew something, construct a garment from scratch in some nice fabric, and that will keep me occupied enough so that my brain doesn't run amok on me.
Did I mention that ADHD sucks? At least sometimes.
I should have been easy. I thought it would be. I'm overconfident that way.
Instead, when Mistress got back I was an exhausted wreck. It's true I don't like responsibility. It wasn't the chores themselves that did me in, nor being constantly on call night and day, it was the being all alone with it. When my brain has nothing to stop it, it goes in all directions at once, and the mere act of reigning it in and trying to stay on course makes me exhausted.
Mistress is travelling a couple of more times this fall, once for a whole week, and I have a plan for next time. The first step is stream lining and eliminating as much as possible of the day to day tasks. I hate routine. It's incredibly difficult for me to do things that are boring, and anything that has to be done more than once is definitely on that list. A major clean up of a whole house, all done in one go, working all hours for two days? Count me in! Emptying and refilling the dishwasher once a day everyday several days in row? Kill me now, please.
So - paper plates and labelled dinner boxes. No household things besides the bare bones essentials. That's one thing. Another is eliminating choices. When I have a whole day stretching out before me, or in this case three days, my brain fills them up and rearranges the plans constantly. And I mean constantly. The amount of mental energy spent on figuring out the best schedules and activities is ridiculous. With no one else around saying "it's lunch time" or "you don't have time for that, you were supposed to be doing this" I behave like a butterfly, fluttering about constantly. I'm going to ask Mistress to write me a schedule, with everything from "watch this movie Tuesday night" to "meet up with this friend at that time for lunch". I don't want alternatives and decisions. Freedom sucks.
And the third and most important part - I need something fun to focus on. Something that engages me and that easily catches my attention. I easily get involved in projects, at least for a while, and it stills my inner butterfly.
Again - I'm a dog. I need a chewing bone. This time I was the restless dog that went from window to window constantly barking at anyone outside, restlessly guarding and waiting, unable to relax until my Owner came home. And I was exactly as stressed out as such dogs usually gets, losing appetite and sleep, feeling run down and depressed, and wanting nothing but sleep when the ordeal is over.
So - a project. A fun, time consuming project that engages me without inducing performance anxiety. I'm thinking I'll sew something, construct a garment from scratch in some nice fabric, and that will keep me occupied enough so that my brain doesn't run amok on me.
Did I mention that ADHD sucks? At least sometimes.
Aug 8, 2013
Big small things
Sometimes there is so much to say that nothing comes out. We're great, though. We had an amazing Pride Stockholm and our four week vacation ended yesterday. Mistress is back at work, the kid is back in pre-school, and I'm... I'm not in school, because I'm all done and graduated. This is a bit of a time for orientation and reflection. I'm not really sure where I'm going to go from here, or what's going to happen on a practical level in our lives, but I'm pretty sure it's going to be great.
Today I did the weekly grocery shopping. For the first time in a year, at least. I was actually a bit nervous, but I could do it, without falling to pieces afterwards. I even put away the groceries when I got home. Amazing what I can accomplish when I'm not sick and not studying full time.
It's a bit disorienting, this new daily life I have all of a sudden. I'm not exhausted all the time any more. It leaves me a little bewildered.
Today I did the weekly grocery shopping. For the first time in a year, at least. I was actually a bit nervous, but I could do it, without falling to pieces afterwards. I even put away the groceries when I got home. Amazing what I can accomplish when I'm not sick and not studying full time.
It's a bit disorienting, this new daily life I have all of a sudden. I'm not exhausted all the time any more. It leaves me a little bewildered.
Jul 24, 2013
Tattoos and trouble
I have my first ever tattoo now, finally. Or well, not as finally as I would have liked, since it isn't finished yet. It took to long, and about 1,5 hour after the time I had told Mistress I would be home, I said enough, and decided that the rest would have to be done another day.
In a way, it sucks. It sucks that the design got much more complicated than I had anticipated, that the appointment was made in a hurry and at an odd time, and that before I called it a day I got a terse text message from Mistress that even though she would try to be supportive and loving when I got back, she was furious and disappointed and worried that it would cost a lot more than agreed on, and that she would have a hard time being supportive.
And I totally got that.
Fortunately, the cost didn't sky rocket, we had agreed on a price before hand (thank god!) and it's now paid (almost) in full by the money I got as a graduation gift from my dad and his side of the family. I got home 1,5 hour late and didn't get to say good night to little S, which sucked, but we hugged this morning and she forgave me. Mistress did too, of course, once I was home again and eaten dinner and we had cuddled for awhile.
But it feels a bit typical for us. I suck at making plans and keeping track of time, she sucks at having plans change or things not going as she has expected. So the simplest things can turn in to huge drama, and this wasn't really a simple thing.
I wanted the tattoo to be a beautiful reminder of who we are for each other. I guess it is, now. For good and bad.
It is beautiful, by the way. And just before we fell asleep, when I was lying chained to the bed on her arm, and she had said good night so that I wasn't allowed to speak any more, she whispered in my ear that I was her slut, her good little girl, that she was proud of me, and as the last thing, that I was her marked little slut.
And I love that I am.
In a way, it sucks. It sucks that the design got much more complicated than I had anticipated, that the appointment was made in a hurry and at an odd time, and that before I called it a day I got a terse text message from Mistress that even though she would try to be supportive and loving when I got back, she was furious and disappointed and worried that it would cost a lot more than agreed on, and that she would have a hard time being supportive.
And I totally got that.
Fortunately, the cost didn't sky rocket, we had agreed on a price before hand (thank god!) and it's now paid (almost) in full by the money I got as a graduation gift from my dad and his side of the family. I got home 1,5 hour late and didn't get to say good night to little S, which sucked, but we hugged this morning and she forgave me. Mistress did too, of course, once I was home again and eaten dinner and we had cuddled for awhile.
But it feels a bit typical for us. I suck at making plans and keeping track of time, she sucks at having plans change or things not going as she has expected. So the simplest things can turn in to huge drama, and this wasn't really a simple thing.
I wanted the tattoo to be a beautiful reminder of who we are for each other. I guess it is, now. For good and bad.
It is beautiful, by the way. And just before we fell asleep, when I was lying chained to the bed on her arm, and she had said good night so that I wasn't allowed to speak any more, she whispered in my ear that I was her slut, her good little girl, that she was proud of me, and as the last thing, that I was her marked little slut.
And I love that I am.
Jul 10, 2013
Brazilian, beer and ponies - or something like that.
Yesterday I had a busy day in a couple of different ways, and voila! today I woke up with despair and a slight fever. Yeah. That's the brain I know and love.
I haven't been resting as much as maybe I should have today though, it's a bit of a bind this being restless and hyper and at the same time getting exhausted really quickly. At times Mistress has physically bound me just to allow me some rest from the constant effort of reining myself in. Today she was away all morning and working all afternoon, so I had to do the reining myself, and I have to admit it went so-so.
In the afternoon Mistress unusually went to pick up little S from pre-school and then grocery-shopping (she's a superhero - the idea of doing weekly shopping at the supermarket with a three year old makes my head hurt just thinking about it, but she does that regularly). I did rest, in a way - but I had to mind the laundry and prep some things for dinner, and though the tasks themselves were small and simple they prevented me from relaxing properly. Another fun brain-thingy - if there's a to-do-list around, it revolves constantly around in my head and keeps me on my toes in an active, hyper state. Since I only have like two gears, top one and neutral, having something to do every thirty minutes effectively makes me go all hyper.
Anyway, I spent the time waxing. Like, the Brazilian kind. I've never done that to this extent before, and I did it purely because it was fun and I liked the result. Mistress has approved of my hair-removing activities before, it's been a gradual thing the last couple of years, but her main concern has been me removing to much. She doesn't mind hair, but she really doesn't like the hairless, childlike look, and that has held me back a little.
I'm still not hairless, since Mistress doesn't like that. But I'm more or less hairless on all the places where I don't want to have hair, and it feels great. I think it's pretty.
Mistress said she had to work tonight, and asked me what I wanted to do. "Well", I said, "I want to show you my well-coiffed crotch and then get a sound thrashing." Alas, that's not what's going on. She doesn't much care whether or not there's hairs on my inner thighs, and there's no whips in sight. She's at her computer, and I'm in the bed beside her, drinking non-alcoholic beer and goofing around. I think my evening will be spent watching My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic on youtube.
Oh the joys of being a kinky O/p-couple. My inner twenty-year old are glaring at me and pointing fingers. The worst part of it is that I'm quite happy and content right now. Where will it end?
---
Uhm... Might have to revise the above. When she'd finish working, she did want to see the result. In fact, she wanted to inspect all of me. And whip me for the hairs that were left. And whip me a lot more. And fuck me. And yeah... I have to quit with the whining now. I'm all good. All whipped and fucked and taken care of. This, I must say, is even better.
I haven't been resting as much as maybe I should have today though, it's a bit of a bind this being restless and hyper and at the same time getting exhausted really quickly. At times Mistress has physically bound me just to allow me some rest from the constant effort of reining myself in. Today she was away all morning and working all afternoon, so I had to do the reining myself, and I have to admit it went so-so.
In the afternoon Mistress unusually went to pick up little S from pre-school and then grocery-shopping (she's a superhero - the idea of doing weekly shopping at the supermarket with a three year old makes my head hurt just thinking about it, but she does that regularly). I did rest, in a way - but I had to mind the laundry and prep some things for dinner, and though the tasks themselves were small and simple they prevented me from relaxing properly. Another fun brain-thingy - if there's a to-do-list around, it revolves constantly around in my head and keeps me on my toes in an active, hyper state. Since I only have like two gears, top one and neutral, having something to do every thirty minutes effectively makes me go all hyper.
Anyway, I spent the time waxing. Like, the Brazilian kind. I've never done that to this extent before, and I did it purely because it was fun and I liked the result. Mistress has approved of my hair-removing activities before, it's been a gradual thing the last couple of years, but her main concern has been me removing to much. She doesn't mind hair, but she really doesn't like the hairless, childlike look, and that has held me back a little.
I'm still not hairless, since Mistress doesn't like that. But I'm more or less hairless on all the places where I don't want to have hair, and it feels great. I think it's pretty.
Mistress said she had to work tonight, and asked me what I wanted to do. "Well", I said, "I want to show you my well-coiffed crotch and then get a sound thrashing." Alas, that's not what's going on. She doesn't much care whether or not there's hairs on my inner thighs, and there's no whips in sight. She's at her computer, and I'm in the bed beside her, drinking non-alcoholic beer and goofing around. I think my evening will be spent watching My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic on youtube.
Oh the joys of being a kinky O/p-couple. My inner twenty-year old are glaring at me and pointing fingers. The worst part of it is that I'm quite happy and content right now. Where will it end?
---
Uhm... Might have to revise the above. When she'd finish working, she did want to see the result. In fact, she wanted to inspect all of me. And whip me for the hairs that were left. And whip me a lot more. And fuck me. And yeah... I have to quit with the whining now. I'm all good. All whipped and fucked and taken care of. This, I must say, is even better.
Jul 9, 2013
Unfortunate side-effects
We were at my inlaws cabin by the sea again for four days this weekend. "Oh, we thought in advance, we'll finally resurrect our extinct sex-life!" Until I woke up on Thursday morning sniffling like an allergic bloodhound, and sneezing over anyone I came in to contact with.
Mistress claims she doesn't find virus infections sexy. Imagine that.
For once I didn't either, actually. My body seems to be a bit strange that way at other times - whenever I get a cold or a hangover, I get desperately horny. Unfortunately my prospective partner in any horny-related activities doesn't share my feelings, and have a more sensible idea that I should drink lots of water and rest. I want her to boink my skull off, she wants me to shut up and rest 'til I'm healtny again. Spoil sport.
Any way, we had a good long week end but without much excitement. Except for Sunday night when I finally managed to convince Mistress that we should sneak away in the car to the nearest gas station and get us some chips and beer. After two days at the same place, I was having cabin fever (literary, very funny), and was dying for some diversion (since I wasn't going to get to go to the movies nor get whipped and fucked, I at least wanted a beer to our Harry Potter-movie on the laptop...).
Do you know what happens when someone, say for example me, take anti-depressants, metylphenidate (that's ADHD-medication, like ritalin for example) and combines it with even a very small amount of alcohol? Bad things. Very bad things.
I mean, it does say so on the package. It says "don't combine with alcohol". But... somethings I just have to try by myself. What happened was that I was starting to feel queasy, went to bed and woke up a couple of hours later and had to run outside to... yeah. Hurl. Gross gross gross.
Also, no running water at our small (tiny, really, just a cupboard) cabin down by the pier, and no water closet or shower at the whole place.
And the whole of next day I had a hangover, with head ache and nausea, without even getting the benefit of a) having been drunk or b) drunk anything good or noteworthy. So, yeah. I guess I'm going to be a rather involuntary teetotaler in the future. And I don't want to!
The anti-depressants are a temporary thing, I hope, though my mother eats something similar permanently and has done that for the last ten years or so, so I might be in for the same fate (rather medication than recurring depressions, any day). The metylphenidate however helps with my ADHD-symptoms, and I have no reason to believe they will ever lessen or that I at some point wont benefit from the medication.
The next experiment will be to see what happens with me if I skip the ADHD-meds for two days, and drink on the night in between. I like the meds, they make me get through my days much easier and with much less effort, but it would be nice to know that I have a choice, that I could have alcohol at special occasions. Both me and Mistress are a bit of whisky-aficionados, and I would grieve if our beautiful bottles of Caol Ila and Laphroaig and Glenfiddich would be out of my reach for the rest of my life. And I got a bottle of real champagne at my graduation party, and I would like to be able to drink it one day, perhaps at our six-year anniversary in August. It's not about the amount in any way, but to not be able to have even one glass without puking feels a little sad.
Ah well. If my problems aren't bigger than this, I guess life is pretty okay right now.
Mistress claims she doesn't find virus infections sexy. Imagine that.
For once I didn't either, actually. My body seems to be a bit strange that way at other times - whenever I get a cold or a hangover, I get desperately horny. Unfortunately my prospective partner in any horny-related activities doesn't share my feelings, and have a more sensible idea that I should drink lots of water and rest. I want her to boink my skull off, she wants me to shut up and rest 'til I'm healtny again. Spoil sport.
Any way, we had a good long week end but without much excitement. Except for Sunday night when I finally managed to convince Mistress that we should sneak away in the car to the nearest gas station and get us some chips and beer. After two days at the same place, I was having cabin fever (literary, very funny), and was dying for some diversion (since I wasn't going to get to go to the movies nor get whipped and fucked, I at least wanted a beer to our Harry Potter-movie on the laptop...).
Do you know what happens when someone, say for example me, take anti-depressants, metylphenidate (that's ADHD-medication, like ritalin for example) and combines it with even a very small amount of alcohol? Bad things. Very bad things.
I mean, it does say so on the package. It says "don't combine with alcohol". But... somethings I just have to try by myself. What happened was that I was starting to feel queasy, went to bed and woke up a couple of hours later and had to run outside to... yeah. Hurl. Gross gross gross.
Also, no running water at our small (tiny, really, just a cupboard) cabin down by the pier, and no water closet or shower at the whole place.
And the whole of next day I had a hangover, with head ache and nausea, without even getting the benefit of a) having been drunk or b) drunk anything good or noteworthy. So, yeah. I guess I'm going to be a rather involuntary teetotaler in the future. And I don't want to!
The anti-depressants are a temporary thing, I hope, though my mother eats something similar permanently and has done that for the last ten years or so, so I might be in for the same fate (rather medication than recurring depressions, any day). The metylphenidate however helps with my ADHD-symptoms, and I have no reason to believe they will ever lessen or that I at some point wont benefit from the medication.
The next experiment will be to see what happens with me if I skip the ADHD-meds for two days, and drink on the night in between. I like the meds, they make me get through my days much easier and with much less effort, but it would be nice to know that I have a choice, that I could have alcohol at special occasions. Both me and Mistress are a bit of whisky-aficionados, and I would grieve if our beautiful bottles of Caol Ila and Laphroaig and Glenfiddich would be out of my reach for the rest of my life. And I got a bottle of real champagne at my graduation party, and I would like to be able to drink it one day, perhaps at our six-year anniversary in August. It's not about the amount in any way, but to not be able to have even one glass without puking feels a little sad.
Ah well. If my problems aren't bigger than this, I guess life is pretty okay right now.
Jun 27, 2013
Setback
For different reasons my brain problems got worse this week, I had a little setback plain and simple. It's very hard not to panic and despair, but when my rational mind takes the lead, I can convince myself that it's perfectly normal. There's ups and downs in everything, and it would be naïve to think my recovery would be a straight line upwards, with me fully functioning and prancing around all day long in August. It's more likely going to be like a mountain climb - a little up, a little down, and every time you reach the crest of one hill you see another rising before you. It's just how it is.
I have ADHD and recurring depressions, and I'm suffering from a burn out that started developing at least since the summer of 2010, and it's not even my first one. It's not going to go away in a puff of smoke in a couple of weeks. Some of it will never go away, and some of it will get better, in it's own time. I have to trust that I'm doing the right things, that my medication is helping, and that rest and time and love and patience will bring healing and recovery eventually.
Also, my worst days now is better than my average days last summer, or even this winter. It's definitely an improvement. I'm just not the super human I think I should be. Accepting that and loving me all the same is, I think, one of the most important parts of the journey I'm doing so far.
Right now I'm eating chips and surfing the web on the couch besides Mistress who's working. I'm counting this as constructive actions in regards to getting better...
I have ADHD and recurring depressions, and I'm suffering from a burn out that started developing at least since the summer of 2010, and it's not even my first one. It's not going to go away in a puff of smoke in a couple of weeks. Some of it will never go away, and some of it will get better, in it's own time. I have to trust that I'm doing the right things, that my medication is helping, and that rest and time and love and patience will bring healing and recovery eventually.
Also, my worst days now is better than my average days last summer, or even this winter. It's definitely an improvement. I'm just not the super human I think I should be. Accepting that and loving me all the same is, I think, one of the most important parts of the journey I'm doing so far.
Right now I'm eating chips and surfing the web on the couch besides Mistress who's working. I'm counting this as constructive actions in regards to getting better...
Jun 19, 2013
Test...
Found this on "A slave to Master"s blog: The-submissive-type-test
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Your result for The submissive type Test ...
-----------------
Your result for The submissive type Test ...
Slave
You scored 23% Humiliation, 71% Submissiveness, 58% Service, and 62% Pain!
Good luck in finding your best relationship :)
-------------------
This really doesn't qualify as profound, does it?
All deep thought postponed until further notice
I was going to write something insightful and astounding today. Possibly something about the pony play-experience, or my angst over not being in school or employed or even home with the kid and what does that make me? (Oh My God! I'm useless! What am I good for? I'm a lazy good-for-nothing! and so on and so forth.) Or maybe about... something else important.
However, I got a migraine yesterday afternoon, and now my brain is mush. I still have a headache and I'm nauseas and I don't want to do anything but sit perfectly still. Or possibly sleep, except I'm not sleepy. So no profound thoughts today.
We're leaving for my in-laws cabin by the sea tomorrow, celebrating Midsummer and having a mini-vacation. I'm supposed to be packing. All I've done so far is putting little S's life jacket on the comfy chair, together with her bathing suit and four squirt guns. I'm not sure that really constitutes packing. At all, actually. Oh well.
However, I got a migraine yesterday afternoon, and now my brain is mush. I still have a headache and I'm nauseas and I don't want to do anything but sit perfectly still. Or possibly sleep, except I'm not sleepy. So no profound thoughts today.
We're leaving for my in-laws cabin by the sea tomorrow, celebrating Midsummer and having a mini-vacation. I'm supposed to be packing. All I've done so far is putting little S's life jacket on the comfy chair, together with her bathing suit and four squirt guns. I'm not sure that really constitutes packing. At all, actually. Oh well.
Jun 16, 2013
Things you do for your health...
I've had an amazing weekend, in all manners of ways. My head is a bit frazzled at the moment, so I'll settle for listing all the things I've done that has been very, very good for my to-high blood pressure. I'm going to the doc to have it re-checked on Tuesday, so this was all very important activities from a health perspective. (That's totally why we did them, I promise...)
- Meditating on Power Animals and having a lovely visit from an imaginary badger, who promised me that it will all be al right.
- Talking with my friend I. about important and non-important things and simply enjoying the company.
- Relaxing with my head in Mistress lap and being stroked and petted absent-mindedly while surrounded by beautiful human ponies with friends and trainers.
- Being a pony for Mistress for the first time, with a lovely borrowed bridle and trotting and cantering for her in a paddock.
- Getting a good whipping with our new riding crop.
- And finally getting fucked well and good, with everything feeling just perfectly right and as it should be.
Jun 9, 2013
Sometimes, I'm just stupid
And no, nothing can ever be good for longer than say five minutes. Bleergh.
I've screwed up, and it ended with us spending our night out yesterday, when we were supposed to celebrate our joint achievement and the merry times ahead, crying our eyes out as discreetly as possible over pints in a pub. Yey.
I like beer. It does not benefit from tears.
And now I just want to crawl away into some hole somewhere and bury myself in guilt and shame, but that would be stupid. I hurt Mistress, turns out I've hurt her several times over the last couple of years regarding the same issue, and I had no idea. We were so far from each other in our interpretations of the situation that it's not even funny.
We've got a dog. A five year old miniature pincher named Vilde, which is Swedish for Wild Thing. He's very aptly named, and when the kid was around a year old, we admitted defeat and left him at my in-laws place. He's been there ever since, even though we've made numerous attempts at bringing him home again. We go visit about every fortnight or so for a number of reasons, so it's not as if we've dumped him and forgotten about him, but still. He's not living at home.
And since I have no common sense and no impulse control (and have the papers to prove it, I might ad(h)d) I choose yesterday to bring this sore subject up again, declaring that I didn't think we would ever be able to take him home and that maybe it would be better to give up and start thinking about getting another dog. A nice one, one who doesn't bark incessantly and nips small kids in the face.
Which led to Mistress silently crying, staring out at the window and me feeling totally confused without any idea of what part of what I said was so horrible. I was even feeling kind of righteous - I was only trying to solve a problem that was obviously my responsibility, and I wanted to tell her that I gave up, that I admitted defeat and had failed. Why that would make her break down in tears was beyond me.
Did I mention the different interpretation thing? And how it so not funny? Not even a little bit, actually.
From Mistress point of view, I'm owned and collared. I've pledged allegiance to her countless times, and she's declared her intention to lead me and own me and take responsibility for our life together just as often. That should, one would think, mean that I would trust her to do that, and expect her to do that. That major problems in our life, for example who is and who isn't a part of our family, is up to her to figure out.
I on the other hand, has the default setting of "Much Fix All the Things!". The dog was her gift to me, I was the one convincing her that we should get him, I was the one calling breeders and arranging visits, I was the one who was at home with him for three months, who made him house broken and taught him to be home alone without barking or biting on stuff. I was the one who went to obedience classes with him. It was my responsibility. I was also the one who first said "this isn't working, we can't keep him, his not happy with us" - because it was my responsibility to make him happy with us, and I was the one failing at it.
All this time, all these years, I've taken my responsibility for the dog, and his place in our family, completely for granted. At the same time, Mistress has taken her responsibility for the situation equally for granted, and my attempts at "solving" or making decisions regarding it as usurping her. Every time I've said "nah, let's not do this, let's do this instead" or "maybe next month we could try again" or whatever, in her mind I've been telling her I don't trust her. That I don't trust her judgement, that I don't believe in her ability to make good decisions and make this right, and that her time is up - I'm done waiting for her and I'm taking it in my own hands.
That's what she's been thinking. And I had no idea. It didn't even occur to me that it would be possible that she didn't think that this was my mess and my job to solve it.
The fact that this is the same damn hole I keep falling in to, the Pit of Responsibility for Things that isn't Mine, doesn't make it feel even a little bit better.
She was right. I've screwed up. I've hurt her, I've hurt us, and it doesn't matter how sorry I am. What's done is done. I can't go back in time and make it right. I'm just sad, and have a hard time dealing with it.
I've screwed up, and it ended with us spending our night out yesterday, when we were supposed to celebrate our joint achievement and the merry times ahead, crying our eyes out as discreetly as possible over pints in a pub. Yey.
I like beer. It does not benefit from tears.
And now I just want to crawl away into some hole somewhere and bury myself in guilt and shame, but that would be stupid. I hurt Mistress, turns out I've hurt her several times over the last couple of years regarding the same issue, and I had no idea. We were so far from each other in our interpretations of the situation that it's not even funny.
We've got a dog. A five year old miniature pincher named Vilde, which is Swedish for Wild Thing. He's very aptly named, and when the kid was around a year old, we admitted defeat and left him at my in-laws place. He's been there ever since, even though we've made numerous attempts at bringing him home again. We go visit about every fortnight or so for a number of reasons, so it's not as if we've dumped him and forgotten about him, but still. He's not living at home.
And since I have no common sense and no impulse control (and have the papers to prove it, I might ad(h)d) I choose yesterday to bring this sore subject up again, declaring that I didn't think we would ever be able to take him home and that maybe it would be better to give up and start thinking about getting another dog. A nice one, one who doesn't bark incessantly and nips small kids in the face.
Which led to Mistress silently crying, staring out at the window and me feeling totally confused without any idea of what part of what I said was so horrible. I was even feeling kind of righteous - I was only trying to solve a problem that was obviously my responsibility, and I wanted to tell her that I gave up, that I admitted defeat and had failed. Why that would make her break down in tears was beyond me.
Did I mention the different interpretation thing? And how it so not funny? Not even a little bit, actually.
From Mistress point of view, I'm owned and collared. I've pledged allegiance to her countless times, and she's declared her intention to lead me and own me and take responsibility for our life together just as often. That should, one would think, mean that I would trust her to do that, and expect her to do that. That major problems in our life, for example who is and who isn't a part of our family, is up to her to figure out.
I on the other hand, has the default setting of "Much Fix All the Things!". The dog was her gift to me, I was the one convincing her that we should get him, I was the one calling breeders and arranging visits, I was the one who was at home with him for three months, who made him house broken and taught him to be home alone without barking or biting on stuff. I was the one who went to obedience classes with him. It was my responsibility. I was also the one who first said "this isn't working, we can't keep him, his not happy with us" - because it was my responsibility to make him happy with us, and I was the one failing at it.
All this time, all these years, I've taken my responsibility for the dog, and his place in our family, completely for granted. At the same time, Mistress has taken her responsibility for the situation equally for granted, and my attempts at "solving" or making decisions regarding it as usurping her. Every time I've said "nah, let's not do this, let's do this instead" or "maybe next month we could try again" or whatever, in her mind I've been telling her I don't trust her. That I don't trust her judgement, that I don't believe in her ability to make good decisions and make this right, and that her time is up - I'm done waiting for her and I'm taking it in my own hands.
That's what she's been thinking. And I had no idea. It didn't even occur to me that it would be possible that she didn't think that this was my mess and my job to solve it.
The fact that this is the same damn hole I keep falling in to, the Pit of Responsibility for Things that isn't Mine, doesn't make it feel even a little bit better.
She was right. I've screwed up. I've hurt her, I've hurt us, and it doesn't matter how sorry I am. What's done is done. I can't go back in time and make it right. I'm just sad, and have a hard time dealing with it.
Jun 8, 2013
Almost there
I had my graduation party yesterday. All my credits aren't registered yet, and I haven't turned in a finalised corrected version of the thesis, nor applied for an exam (one have to fill in a form and post it, and then the actual graduation certificate comes in the mail) so there's a little bit still to go before I'm done. But the ritualistic end-of-term ceremony was yesterday, in the University big and old lecture hall, with speeches and diplomas.
At the end of it we all walked down the stairs from the podium and through the big hall, and when I ventured down, my kid had worked her way up from the back of the hall all the way up front as close to me as she could get without actually climbing up on stage with me.
She was probably about to do that, but Mistress got after her, and when I walked by, they both stood there, and I simply grabbed the kid in passing and walked in the procession with my classmates with my diploma in one hand and holding my three year old on my hip with the other. And with Mistress collar around my neck. I don't think I ever have been that proud in my life. I might have been even happier when we got married, but I do think this was my proudest moment so far.
Today I'm feeling kind of sea-sick and almost hungover, but that's okay. I'm all done now, anyway.
At the end of it we all walked down the stairs from the podium and through the big hall, and when I ventured down, my kid had worked her way up from the back of the hall all the way up front as close to me as she could get without actually climbing up on stage with me.
She was probably about to do that, but Mistress got after her, and when I walked by, they both stood there, and I simply grabbed the kid in passing and walked in the procession with my classmates with my diploma in one hand and holding my three year old on my hip with the other. And with Mistress collar around my neck. I don't think I ever have been that proud in my life. I might have been even happier when we got married, but I do think this was my proudest moment so far.
Today I'm feeling kind of sea-sick and almost hungover, but that's okay. I'm all done now, anyway.
Jun 3, 2013
No worries
I don't know if me and Mistress has ever been in some sense so far apart from each other as we have been this last month. I've been working working working, and she has too, and we've more or less just passed each other by on our way between different chores. Every night we cuddle up together and fall asleep - but that's not enough, not by a long shot.
And now, when it's been several days, a whole week end, since I handed in my thesis, and Mistress for once hasn't got any pressing deadlines at work, we've still hadn't had sex. I'm not sure it's even been this long for us not having sex.
Well yes it has because the end part of pregnancy and the time after delivery weren't not all that sexy, but that was different. And also, we did have sex something like two weeks before delivery and three weeks after, so it was really a minimum of abstaining, considering the circumstances. Now it's like it's the same thing, only it's not a baby, it's a university graduation.
The amazing thing, though, is the lack of angst we're having over it. It's like I can for once completely put it down to limitations in time and energy, and I feel confident that it's neither anything to do with lack of love, or something that is going to last forever. Give us a couple of weeks of reasonable amount of work and some time spent together just the two of us, and I bet we'll be at it like rabbits again...
I'm looking forward to this summer so much that I can almost taste it.
And now, when it's been several days, a whole week end, since I handed in my thesis, and Mistress for once hasn't got any pressing deadlines at work, we've still hadn't had sex. I'm not sure it's even been this long for us not having sex.
Well yes it has because the end part of pregnancy and the time after delivery weren't not all that sexy, but that was different. And also, we did have sex something like two weeks before delivery and three weeks after, so it was really a minimum of abstaining, considering the circumstances. Now it's like it's the same thing, only it's not a baby, it's a university graduation.
The amazing thing, though, is the lack of angst we're having over it. It's like I can for once completely put it down to limitations in time and energy, and I feel confident that it's neither anything to do with lack of love, or something that is going to last forever. Give us a couple of weeks of reasonable amount of work and some time spent together just the two of us, and I bet we'll be at it like rabbits again...
I'm looking forward to this summer so much that I can almost taste it.
May 28, 2013
Final stages of school
Right now, I hate my Master thesis. It's 61 pages I never ever ever want to read again. Ever.
Tomorrow afternoon is it due. We're still waiting for the tutors comments for half of it - which he promised us he would give Monday morning. Aaargh.
And another person who commented filled up the result-section with happy suggestions along the lines of "here I would like a graph showing this and that in this way". I'm like, yeah, and I want a pony...
Soon soon soon. Mistress declared that I would "get so much ass-whopping when this is over!" and I'm... looking forward to it. I think.
I'm definitely looking forward to giving my poor brain a chance to recuperate. It's starting to smell burnt and there's smoke coming out of the ears.
Tomorrow afternoon is it due. We're still waiting for the tutors comments for half of it - which he promised us he would give Monday morning. Aaargh.
And another person who commented filled up the result-section with happy suggestions along the lines of "here I would like a graph showing this and that in this way". I'm like, yeah, and I want a pony...
Soon soon soon. Mistress declared that I would "get so much ass-whopping when this is over!" and I'm... looking forward to it. I think.
I'm definitely looking forward to giving my poor brain a chance to recuperate. It's starting to smell burnt and there's smoke coming out of the ears.
May 15, 2013
All work and no play
May 28th me and my partner are handing in the finalized draft of our Master thesis. We've been working on it all this semester, and we're in the final stages now. It's a lot of statistics, a lot of text, and a lot of work.
I'm exhausted.
That's about it.
I'm exhausted.
That's about it.
May 5, 2013
A seminar about a theoretical construct about D/s
I went to a lecture/workshop-thingy last week, I've been meaning to blog about it but not gotten around to it yet. Not really sure what to write anyway. The subject was "24/7 D/s from a non-sexual perspective". Not to mean that it's about asexual power exchange relationships, but about discussing the aspects of the dynamic that isn't about the sexual side of things.
So far so good. Since this was a regular work night and it was an hours drive to get there, I was a bit wary, however. I couldn't help but have misgivings about getting there and then spending my whole night becoming aggravated about people saying stupid things that would imply that me and my relationship doesn't exist. In that case, I would rather sit at home and cuddle with Mistress.
I'm perfectly okay with a speaker directing his or her focus on something that isn't relevant for me - but there's a real risk at these sort of occassions that I'll be told I'm not even real. That, for example, it's imperative to have a safe word, for everyone, or that it's really the submissive person in the relationship that actually has the power. Or that of course anyone can leave whenever they want. And so on. I even wrote a question to the organisers to have my fears laid to rest, which I got. And then I felt kind of silly. Maybe I was overreacting, or have been to tainted by Fetlife.
But honestly I don't think so. I've been to workshops and classes before. And there's a Swedish BDSM-community too, pre-dating Fetlife quite a bit, and there's the same discourse there. And of course everyone can discuss what they like - I'm just not always up for listening to it.
Anyway, the actual lecture didn't even touch upon my sensitive spots, so in the end it was much ado about nothing. The speaker, a middle aged man who was the dominant one in his relationship and had his young girlfriend there with him, had an idea about how D/s-relationship is built up, which was an okay and at times interesting construct.
Unfortunately he choose to introduce the whole topic with a comparison with his view of vanilla relationship structures, which was a bit bad taste partly because his first words had been about how he never had been in one, and also because it was so clearly an attempt at "oh, look, over there is 'them' and we do it better!". And not the least because he pointed out getting kids and having joint economy as hallmarks of vanilla relationships, completely overlooking the fact that kids might be relevant for people in power exchange too.
Oh, and yes, he read an essay aloud about the norms regarding vanilla dating, continuously interpreting the patriarchal norms that makes the men into the subject and the active party in the mating ritual in a light as if that meant it was the women who had the power "because she just stands there, she is the one who accepts or rejects". Yeah.
My friend I. very promptly brought forward the concept of "slut shaming" and explained the norms that restricts women's choices and actions. The reason women doesn't usually ask a man out isn't because she holds the power - it's because if she does, she has immediately excluded herself from the cathegory "respectable women" and instead become a slut, a whore, not suitable for dating anyway (but possibly suitable for rape). It is about power - but the other way around.
This rather unfortunate example of cluelessness made the first 20 minutes of the evening a bit embarrassing and uncomfortable, but it did get better. As soon as the topic changed from Gender Issues 101 and vanilla-bashing, and he started to present his actual theory, it became a bit more interesting (and a lot less cringe-worthy).
The idea, in it's simplest form, was that D/s-relationships stand on four baseic building blocks- identifying needs and wants, "the magic", communication and trust. On that base, it is possible to add other blocks, like rituals, disciplin, rules, kinky sex, lust, order, service and so on. Possible, but not necessary (which I think makes a good point - especially after what a child ridden waste land the last years have been when it comes to the BDSM part of me and Mistress...) And on top of that comes what the lecturer choose to call life goals, but I would rather describe in my own mind as "valued direction". Not goals as such, but more important things one might want to strive for in life. Becoming a better person in specific ways, living a meaningful life, those sorts of things.
And well, yes, so far so good. I actually think there is some merit to this idea. I'm pretty sure most of it has been said before in one way or another, but collecting knowledge and presenting it in a cohesive way is important in it's on right.
Is the basis for all power exchange relationships identifying needs and wants, "magic", communication and trust?
I don't know. Maybe. I agree that it's all important things. A problem I see with this model though is that it was described as the basis that is layed down in the beginning, and then it's done. You need to have it there, but it was kind of put as if once it was established, you could go on to other things.
But honestly, me and Mistress has been openly in love since 2003 and married for almost six years now, and we're still constantly circling back to those things. It's in no way a done deal or a basis for our relationship we can always rely on. We rekindle the magic every week, blowing on the embers and trying to get a flame going. We're constantly exploring our needs and wants and trying to, and at times failing to, communicate with each other. And in all honestly -trust is the biggest issue for us, all the time.
Do you really want me? I think every argument or fight we've ever had has had that as the basis, the note that is always carried through every hurtful word and every angry stare. "Do you really want me? Am I really good enough for you? Really, really? Can I trust you not to find me to lacking and abandoning me?"
But the idea that the middle block of rituals and rules and hot steamy sex is optional and can be removed without necessarily damaging the foundation - I liked that. It was an image that resonates with my experience. The actual relationship is there, whether we have time to act on the power imbalance or not. Sometimes the fancy stuff simply can't be fitted in - that doesn't mean we're not we any more. We're just a bit more boring.
I love high protocol. I love orders and rituals. I hope to have a lot of those things in my life over time. But maybe not right now, when we're building a family. We have a long life ahead of us. There'll be plenty of time for Mistress to teach me fancy slave positions.
And the importance of valued direction I liked to. In a way I think that was a big part of what was lacking for me in my former relationship. That, and of course that I was in love with Mistress... But if I look only at me and my ex and accept the fact that it wouldn't have worked out anyway (because I really don't think it would have) I think the fact that my life was put on hold was an important aspect for me.
I wasn't happy with him, in the sense that the life we led didn't make me happy. I loved him, but living with him made me miserable. We were poor. I worked a lot, mostly night shift, and he was in charge of the money but spent them on junk food, his Coca-Cola-addiction and technical gadgets. I was constantly stressed out about money, at the same time that I actually worked and made a decent salary. We ate junk, and I gained tons of weight. Stress, night job and junk food combined with no exercise whatsoever because of lack of money, time and opportunities made horrible things with my health.
At it's worse, I weighed over 100 kg. I eventually rectified that, on my own and with the support of Mistress, when we were still in the poly-tryad, but he never helped or did anything to make it easier for me.
I had a job without prospects. I had no direction in life. And he made it clear that when he was done with med-school I was supposed to go where he got a job, no matter where that was, and that if we ever got a kid, he had no plans to share parenting equally or sacrifice his career for his kids. None of that was okay with me or my values or my goals in life.
With Mistress, we have so many plans. Before her, my future was blank to me, empty and black. Now - we have tons of dreams and plans. Living with her has made me secure enough to dare to voice my desire to write fiction. She encourages me to take the time to do that. She's supported me, emotionally and financially, through the whole of my university education. She made me get my drivers license. She got me a dog. And a kid. We're living a life, we're going forward, we share dreams and hopes and plans.
We have shared values, and I do think that is super important. Not only that I get to move towards things that are intrinsically valuable to me, but that she is aware of what is valuable to her in her life, and that our values match. I don't think this really has anything to do with the power dynamic between us - but it do have a lot to do with us being able to live happily ever after together.
So far so good. Since this was a regular work night and it was an hours drive to get there, I was a bit wary, however. I couldn't help but have misgivings about getting there and then spending my whole night becoming aggravated about people saying stupid things that would imply that me and my relationship doesn't exist. In that case, I would rather sit at home and cuddle with Mistress.
I'm perfectly okay with a speaker directing his or her focus on something that isn't relevant for me - but there's a real risk at these sort of occassions that I'll be told I'm not even real. That, for example, it's imperative to have a safe word, for everyone, or that it's really the submissive person in the relationship that actually has the power. Or that of course anyone can leave whenever they want. And so on. I even wrote a question to the organisers to have my fears laid to rest, which I got. And then I felt kind of silly. Maybe I was overreacting, or have been to tainted by Fetlife.
But honestly I don't think so. I've been to workshops and classes before. And there's a Swedish BDSM-community too, pre-dating Fetlife quite a bit, and there's the same discourse there. And of course everyone can discuss what they like - I'm just not always up for listening to it.
Anyway, the actual lecture didn't even touch upon my sensitive spots, so in the end it was much ado about nothing. The speaker, a middle aged man who was the dominant one in his relationship and had his young girlfriend there with him, had an idea about how D/s-relationship is built up, which was an okay and at times interesting construct.
Unfortunately he choose to introduce the whole topic with a comparison with his view of vanilla relationship structures, which was a bit bad taste partly because his first words had been about how he never had been in one, and also because it was so clearly an attempt at "oh, look, over there is 'them' and we do it better!". And not the least because he pointed out getting kids and having joint economy as hallmarks of vanilla relationships, completely overlooking the fact that kids might be relevant for people in power exchange too.
Oh, and yes, he read an essay aloud about the norms regarding vanilla dating, continuously interpreting the patriarchal norms that makes the men into the subject and the active party in the mating ritual in a light as if that meant it was the women who had the power "because she just stands there, she is the one who accepts or rejects". Yeah.
My friend I. very promptly brought forward the concept of "slut shaming" and explained the norms that restricts women's choices and actions. The reason women doesn't usually ask a man out isn't because she holds the power - it's because if she does, she has immediately excluded herself from the cathegory "respectable women" and instead become a slut, a whore, not suitable for dating anyway (but possibly suitable for rape). It is about power - but the other way around.
This rather unfortunate example of cluelessness made the first 20 minutes of the evening a bit embarrassing and uncomfortable, but it did get better. As soon as the topic changed from Gender Issues 101 and vanilla-bashing, and he started to present his actual theory, it became a bit more interesting (and a lot less cringe-worthy).
The idea, in it's simplest form, was that D/s-relationships stand on four baseic building blocks- identifying needs and wants, "the magic", communication and trust. On that base, it is possible to add other blocks, like rituals, disciplin, rules, kinky sex, lust, order, service and so on. Possible, but not necessary (which I think makes a good point - especially after what a child ridden waste land the last years have been when it comes to the BDSM part of me and Mistress...) And on top of that comes what the lecturer choose to call life goals, but I would rather describe in my own mind as "valued direction". Not goals as such, but more important things one might want to strive for in life. Becoming a better person in specific ways, living a meaningful life, those sorts of things.
And well, yes, so far so good. I actually think there is some merit to this idea. I'm pretty sure most of it has been said before in one way or another, but collecting knowledge and presenting it in a cohesive way is important in it's on right.
Is the basis for all power exchange relationships identifying needs and wants, "magic", communication and trust?
I don't know. Maybe. I agree that it's all important things. A problem I see with this model though is that it was described as the basis that is layed down in the beginning, and then it's done. You need to have it there, but it was kind of put as if once it was established, you could go on to other things.
But honestly, me and Mistress has been openly in love since 2003 and married for almost six years now, and we're still constantly circling back to those things. It's in no way a done deal or a basis for our relationship we can always rely on. We rekindle the magic every week, blowing on the embers and trying to get a flame going. We're constantly exploring our needs and wants and trying to, and at times failing to, communicate with each other. And in all honestly -trust is the biggest issue for us, all the time.
Do you really want me? I think every argument or fight we've ever had has had that as the basis, the note that is always carried through every hurtful word and every angry stare. "Do you really want me? Am I really good enough for you? Really, really? Can I trust you not to find me to lacking and abandoning me?"
But the idea that the middle block of rituals and rules and hot steamy sex is optional and can be removed without necessarily damaging the foundation - I liked that. It was an image that resonates with my experience. The actual relationship is there, whether we have time to act on the power imbalance or not. Sometimes the fancy stuff simply can't be fitted in - that doesn't mean we're not we any more. We're just a bit more boring.
I love high protocol. I love orders and rituals. I hope to have a lot of those things in my life over time. But maybe not right now, when we're building a family. We have a long life ahead of us. There'll be plenty of time for Mistress to teach me fancy slave positions.
And the importance of valued direction I liked to. In a way I think that was a big part of what was lacking for me in my former relationship. That, and of course that I was in love with Mistress... But if I look only at me and my ex and accept the fact that it wouldn't have worked out anyway (because I really don't think it would have) I think the fact that my life was put on hold was an important aspect for me.
I wasn't happy with him, in the sense that the life we led didn't make me happy. I loved him, but living with him made me miserable. We were poor. I worked a lot, mostly night shift, and he was in charge of the money but spent them on junk food, his Coca-Cola-addiction and technical gadgets. I was constantly stressed out about money, at the same time that I actually worked and made a decent salary. We ate junk, and I gained tons of weight. Stress, night job and junk food combined with no exercise whatsoever because of lack of money, time and opportunities made horrible things with my health.
At it's worse, I weighed over 100 kg. I eventually rectified that, on my own and with the support of Mistress, when we were still in the poly-tryad, but he never helped or did anything to make it easier for me.
I had a job without prospects. I had no direction in life. And he made it clear that when he was done with med-school I was supposed to go where he got a job, no matter where that was, and that if we ever got a kid, he had no plans to share parenting equally or sacrifice his career for his kids. None of that was okay with me or my values or my goals in life.
With Mistress, we have so many plans. Before her, my future was blank to me, empty and black. Now - we have tons of dreams and plans. Living with her has made me secure enough to dare to voice my desire to write fiction. She encourages me to take the time to do that. She's supported me, emotionally and financially, through the whole of my university education. She made me get my drivers license. She got me a dog. And a kid. We're living a life, we're going forward, we share dreams and hopes and plans.
We have shared values, and I do think that is super important. Not only that I get to move towards things that are intrinsically valuable to me, but that she is aware of what is valuable to her in her life, and that our values match. I don't think this really has anything to do with the power dynamic between us - but it do have a lot to do with us being able to live happily ever after together.
May 4, 2013
Getting hooked
When we went to bed last night we followed our usual ritual; I ask for permission before going into the bed and curling up on her arm. She lifted the leash that is fastened on the bed head to snap it on to my collar, but I was feeling a little bratty, a little restless and wistful so I made a move as if to avoid it. She recognised my mood, as she always does. Sometimes she ignores it, trusting in me to deal with it myself without becoming a nuisance to her. Sometimes she deals with it for me.
This time, she answered my unspoken plea for dominance and attention. As usual, as soon as I get the reaction I was fishing for I deeply regret it. Instead of hooking the leash to my collar, she signalled to me to be still, and fastened the snap hook in my nose. It's a strong and thin hook, and it hurt, a lot. My whole body tensed up, and it was almost impossible for me not to flail about.
She told me to be still, and went on reading her book. I stayed perfectly still on her arm, tense as a bowstring, intensely focused on the the pain in my nose. But as these things always go, eventually the panic and hyper-focus and impulse to get away drifted away. It was as it was, and I was going to endure what she choose to give me, and obey her. I started to relax, and at last I curled up to her, still hooked by my nose, and took my usual position by her side. As soon as she felt me giving in, she turned to me and unhooked me, putting the snap hook at the collar instead.
I curled up close to her, and the last thing I said before "good night" was "thank you, Mistress".
This time, she answered my unspoken plea for dominance and attention. As usual, as soon as I get the reaction I was fishing for I deeply regret it. Instead of hooking the leash to my collar, she signalled to me to be still, and fastened the snap hook in my nose. It's a strong and thin hook, and it hurt, a lot. My whole body tensed up, and it was almost impossible for me not to flail about.
She told me to be still, and went on reading her book. I stayed perfectly still on her arm, tense as a bowstring, intensely focused on the the pain in my nose. But as these things always go, eventually the panic and hyper-focus and impulse to get away drifted away. It was as it was, and I was going to endure what she choose to give me, and obey her. I started to relax, and at last I curled up to her, still hooked by my nose, and took my usual position by her side. As soon as she felt me giving in, she turned to me and unhooked me, putting the snap hook at the collar instead.
I curled up close to her, and the last thing I said before "good night" was "thank you, Mistress".
May 3, 2013
Getting what I need
I have a sleeping dog beside me. That always make sitting on the couch with the laptop even nicer than usual. I'm hungry and need coffee, however, so in a short while I'm going to disturb the peace.
I should be heading out by now, to see my thesis-colleague. But some things are much easier now than say a year ago. I got migraine or something similar yesterday, and gritted my teeth through the afternoon. When I finally got home, feeling sick and shaking with cold and with a headache that felt like something was trying to get out of my skull by sheer force, I could finally take some pills and go lay down. The pills helped quite nicely, but I felt weird all evening.
And when we were, eventually, curled up on the sofa together after little S had fallen asleep, I asked Mistress if I could meet a friend in the afternoon, after seeing with my colleague. And she looked at me with utter astonishment and said that I hadn't mention having made any dates, and that she had taken for granted that I would be at home resting after the migraine.
And do you know what I did? I said "yes, Mistress, you're right. I didn't think about that. I probably shouldn't go anywhere or do anything hard tomorrow. I'll text M. and tell her our meeting is cancelled." And then I did.
No angst. No anger. No drama. No "but I really really have to! We'll never make it otherwise! I'm sure I'm fine tomorrow and then I'll feel bad for ditching school when I feel okay!". None of that.
But now Mistress texted me with the word: "Coffee!" which means I should stop this and go take a cup and a sandwich.
-----------
Well, that was about the whole story. I'm lounging about at home after having dropped litte S off later than usual at the pre-school. I have a small task to do for school, and nothing else. And I even get to go see my friend I. and have a latte with her down town, since luckily Mistress agreed with me that taking a bike ride in the sun down to the river and chatting with a friend probably does more good than harm when it comes to stress and stress symptoms.
There's no point in itself in sitting at home - the important thing for me is to no be exposed to situations that demands more concentration or executive functioning of me than I have the capacity to give.No noise, no crowd, no waiting, no decisions. Everything has to be calm and ordered and not demand anything in particular of me.
It feels so damn good to be allowed, and to allow myself, to listen to my body and my brain and take care of myself and not overdo it. To not force ahead at full speed no matter what and assume that it's perfectly normal to feel like shit all the time. It's not normal, it's not expected of me, and I don't have to do it. I can just sit her, on my couch, with my dog, and let my attention wander as it wants. It's exactly what I need right now.
Oh, and coffee of course!
I should be heading out by now, to see my thesis-colleague. But some things are much easier now than say a year ago. I got migraine or something similar yesterday, and gritted my teeth through the afternoon. When I finally got home, feeling sick and shaking with cold and with a headache that felt like something was trying to get out of my skull by sheer force, I could finally take some pills and go lay down. The pills helped quite nicely, but I felt weird all evening.
And when we were, eventually, curled up on the sofa together after little S had fallen asleep, I asked Mistress if I could meet a friend in the afternoon, after seeing with my colleague. And she looked at me with utter astonishment and said that I hadn't mention having made any dates, and that she had taken for granted that I would be at home resting after the migraine.
And do you know what I did? I said "yes, Mistress, you're right. I didn't think about that. I probably shouldn't go anywhere or do anything hard tomorrow. I'll text M. and tell her our meeting is cancelled." And then I did.
No angst. No anger. No drama. No "but I really really have to! We'll never make it otherwise! I'm sure I'm fine tomorrow and then I'll feel bad for ditching school when I feel okay!". None of that.
But now Mistress texted me with the word: "Coffee!" which means I should stop this and go take a cup and a sandwich.
-----------
Well, that was about the whole story. I'm lounging about at home after having dropped litte S off later than usual at the pre-school. I have a small task to do for school, and nothing else. And I even get to go see my friend I. and have a latte with her down town, since luckily Mistress agreed with me that taking a bike ride in the sun down to the river and chatting with a friend probably does more good than harm when it comes to stress and stress symptoms.
There's no point in itself in sitting at home - the important thing for me is to no be exposed to situations that demands more concentration or executive functioning of me than I have the capacity to give.No noise, no crowd, no waiting, no decisions. Everything has to be calm and ordered and not demand anything in particular of me.
It feels so damn good to be allowed, and to allow myself, to listen to my body and my brain and take care of myself and not overdo it. To not force ahead at full speed no matter what and assume that it's perfectly normal to feel like shit all the time. It's not normal, it's not expected of me, and I don't have to do it. I can just sit her, on my couch, with my dog, and let my attention wander as it wants. It's exactly what I need right now.
Oh, and coffee of course!
May 1, 2013
Back and forth
A few days ago Mistress finally took advantage of me, after a weeks hiatus. It started out with a notion from her that she wanted to cut me again, but when she unpacked the playthings I had put in the bag her plans developed a little. We were at her parents place, and I had packed an assortment of things, this and that which fit in the bag.
In the end, she tied me securely to the bed, blindfolded and gagged me, inserted a butt plug, and used both the tawse and the whip on me before creating a small piece of art on my shoulder blade with her knife. Or maybe she whipped me afterwards, I don't recall it exactly. I was mostly floating away.
Or rather, in the end I was floating. In the beginning I was scared, and stiff and a little apprehensive. We've had busy weeks for a while, not very much time for each other, and in order to not nag at her, I've stifled my own needs. And withdrawn. With withdrawal comes walls, and tearing them down, opening up again, hurts. It's scary and it hurts.
She commented on that afterwards too, that she felt something big was needed this time. It was. It was very much needed.
It's not until today, more or less, that I've fully realised how withdrawn I have become. I don't like it.
In the end, she tied me securely to the bed, blindfolded and gagged me, inserted a butt plug, and used both the tawse and the whip on me before creating a small piece of art on my shoulder blade with her knife. Or maybe she whipped me afterwards, I don't recall it exactly. I was mostly floating away.
Or rather, in the end I was floating. In the beginning I was scared, and stiff and a little apprehensive. We've had busy weeks for a while, not very much time for each other, and in order to not nag at her, I've stifled my own needs. And withdrawn. With withdrawal comes walls, and tearing them down, opening up again, hurts. It's scary and it hurts.
She commented on that afterwards too, that she felt something big was needed this time. It was. It was very much needed.
It's not until today, more or less, that I've fully realised how withdrawn I have become. I don't like it.
Apr 30, 2013
Collar revealed
We had vanilla friends, a married couple with two sons over for barbecue tonight, and as we were preparing things outside when they had arrived, my friend commented on my necklace. "That's pretty" she said, "but it looks like a wire." I agreed and remarked that it actually was a wire, stripped of plastic and polished. "I like that it's kind of glittery" I said, and she pressed on with a comment about how it looked like a chain, as if it was locked on to me, "to keep you in check". When I answered non-committally, she said "like something kinky". And then I caved.
"Yes" I said, and when I wasn't sure she had got it I repeated myself "yes, actually precisely like that. That's how it is. Yes." She laughed a little and hummed and hawed and then we changed the subject easily, without too much embarrassment. She didn't ask anything more and even though I would have answered any questions gladly this wasn't the time nor the place.
I hope she'll bring it up some other time, because I would love to talk to her about it. I would love for more of our friends, especially close, long-time friends like these people, to know the truth about me and Mistress and what the deal between us actually is like. But I wont press it. I'll wait for her to fish for it, I don't want to give her information she'd have preferred not to know.
She's the only one so far to comment on my collar without knowing anything about it in advance. And it made me really happy. I like my collar and I'm proud of it - if the world was a different place, I would have loved for anyone who saw it to know what it meant. As it is, I only answer if people come right out and ask. But if they do, I'll tell the truth.
"Yes" I said, and when I wasn't sure she had got it I repeated myself "yes, actually precisely like that. That's how it is. Yes." She laughed a little and hummed and hawed and then we changed the subject easily, without too much embarrassment. She didn't ask anything more and even though I would have answered any questions gladly this wasn't the time nor the place.
I hope she'll bring it up some other time, because I would love to talk to her about it. I would love for more of our friends, especially close, long-time friends like these people, to know the truth about me and Mistress and what the deal between us actually is like. But I wont press it. I'll wait for her to fish for it, I don't want to give her information she'd have preferred not to know.
She's the only one so far to comment on my collar without knowing anything about it in advance. And it made me really happy. I like my collar and I'm proud of it - if the world was a different place, I would have loved for anyone who saw it to know what it meant. As it is, I only answer if people come right out and ask. But if they do, I'll tell the truth.
Apr 21, 2013
Not a bad Sunday
We had a shaky start this morning, little S woke up with an eye infection which meant that our afternoon of babyfree time was threatened. Luckily it turned out that grandma was fine with hanging out with a little red eyed monster, but before we knew that the idea of another weekend comprised entirely of watching kid and working made the mood a little bleak.
I pick up on Mistress mood so goddamn strong and quick. Especially when I'm in the state I'm in now, overworked and overstressed and generally out of sorts. Her grumpiness gives me angst, and this morning I simply gave some excuse after breakfast and shut myself in the bedroom, curled up under the covers and tried to concentrate on counting my breaths and waiting for the panic to abate. It's a really unpleasant feeling, even though it helps knowing that it's not dangerous and that there's nothing really wrong except for me being to tired.
We had a nice outing before lunch, looking for a pair of joggers for little S. Unfortunately she's in a stage right now when she's realised that she's a girl, caught on to the idea that girls should have pink glitter on everything (not shared by either of her moms) and refusing every one of the sensible, multicoloured, good-for-running shoes we picked out. We, on the other hand, absolutely refused the glittery pink sandals she voted for. We'll give it another try tomorrow - some store somewhere must have realised that it's a good idea to make sensible, strong, practical shoes for three-year-olds and then colour them pink and put a lot of glitter on them. I would, if I made kids' shoes.
And then, finally, Mistress took little S on her bike to grandma, and when she returned we had coffee and ice cream on the patio, and it was warm and sunny for the first time this year, and afterwards we just went and layed down in bed together. And fell asleep. I think we were tired.
Mistress woke me up after a bit, and had decided that I would stay where I was, while she went to work at the computer beside the bed. She tied me up securely on my side, and left me there, to rest and slumber and wait for her. It was wonderful. I slept so good, and every time I drifted awake again I could feel the rope against me, knowing that there were nowhere else for me to be, and hearing her clattering on the computer. I was laying in a sun spot on the bed and it all felt so very very luxurious.
And then she got her strap on and fucked me silly 'til we both came.
All in all, a very good Sunday. And next week Mistress' deadline will have past and she'll get back to a more reasonable working schedule instead of the crazy one she's had for the last week. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to that.
I pick up on Mistress mood so goddamn strong and quick. Especially when I'm in the state I'm in now, overworked and overstressed and generally out of sorts. Her grumpiness gives me angst, and this morning I simply gave some excuse after breakfast and shut myself in the bedroom, curled up under the covers and tried to concentrate on counting my breaths and waiting for the panic to abate. It's a really unpleasant feeling, even though it helps knowing that it's not dangerous and that there's nothing really wrong except for me being to tired.
We had a nice outing before lunch, looking for a pair of joggers for little S. Unfortunately she's in a stage right now when she's realised that she's a girl, caught on to the idea that girls should have pink glitter on everything (not shared by either of her moms) and refusing every one of the sensible, multicoloured, good-for-running shoes we picked out. We, on the other hand, absolutely refused the glittery pink sandals she voted for. We'll give it another try tomorrow - some store somewhere must have realised that it's a good idea to make sensible, strong, practical shoes for three-year-olds and then colour them pink and put a lot of glitter on them. I would, if I made kids' shoes.
And then, finally, Mistress took little S on her bike to grandma, and when she returned we had coffee and ice cream on the patio, and it was warm and sunny for the first time this year, and afterwards we just went and layed down in bed together. And fell asleep. I think we were tired.
Mistress woke me up after a bit, and had decided that I would stay where I was, while she went to work at the computer beside the bed. She tied me up securely on my side, and left me there, to rest and slumber and wait for her. It was wonderful. I slept so good, and every time I drifted awake again I could feel the rope against me, knowing that there were nowhere else for me to be, and hearing her clattering on the computer. I was laying in a sun spot on the bed and it all felt so very very luxurious.
And then she got her strap on and fucked me silly 'til we both came.
All in all, a very good Sunday. And next week Mistress' deadline will have past and she'll get back to a more reasonable working schedule instead of the crazy one she's had for the last week. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to that.
Being tied up for over and hour gave me very pretty rope marks too. There's some spots there I even think will bruise and stay for awhile. It's like jewellery, in a way.
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