I left with little S after breakfast this morning and we came home again in the afternoon. It's a fact of life in our family that we all actually have a better time if we split up. It's sad and not at all how we thought it would be to be parents, but it is what it is. We do things all three of us every now and then but we need a lot of time apart too.
So in a way it's been a really good day, little S and I had a good outing and now she and Mistress are playing downstairs before bedtime and I'm relaxing upstairs. I think the little one has had a good day, and both me and Mistress has gotten time on our own and a chance to rest and recuperate. What we haven't got is anytime together.
We said a brief good morning before breakfast, but we can't have any normal grown up conversations over the meal or around it. And when we came home we pretty much changed shifts at the car. Mistress stayed outside and played and I went inside and rested. Before bed I'll watch a video with little S in bed and tonight it's my turn to read the bedtime story.
When little S is asleep, it's our time, we can be grown ups for an hour or so, and say anything we need to say. Cuddle and hang out and possibly doing something sexy or kinky. But we go to bed at around ten, and we would even if we didn't have to go to work or school because little S always wake up early and can't abide one minute without a parent.
One way to look at it is of course that we have a spoiled kid, that if we just raised her better she would be able to let other people finish a conversation uniterrupted or stand that her parents hug each other. Another view is that she's perfectly normal and behaves like every six year old and that the idea that parents would be able to exchange a sentence during a day together is asking for too much (that's my mothers' view, by the way).
I honestly don't think there's all that much we can do differently, without resorting to threats or physical violence. We've tried a lot of different tactics and I'm pretty convinced little S does everything she can to please us and do what we want her to do. I also don't think she's exactly like every other kid on the planet. I've seen the other kids, and even more, I've talked to their parents. They can do stuff we can't, without even thinking about it.
I do think we have an intense kid with a high need for social interaction and with a low impulse control for her age. She's all over the place and need a lot of time and attention in order to manage ordinary everyday things. If we don't support her, her anxiety levels goes through the roof. She's also really smart, kind, sweet, a good friend, has a great imagination, she's brave and caring and wonderful in many ways. But... no. She's not like most kids.
And that means that we can't do things many parents, many families, can. Get five minutes, or even one minute, alone together during a day, being the one we miss the most. We need to arrange things, make sure we get that time, because it doesn't just happen.
On the other hand this spring we went on a trip to Iceland and we rode Icelandic horses all three of us. Little S rode on a horse on her own, trotting and galopping and climbing the rocks and wading the rivers just like the adults. She had better control over her horse than most of the adult tourists on the tour. There's things we can't do, but there's a lot of things we can do and do that other families wouldn't. I don't want to change her a bit. I just want her to go to sleep soon so that I can cuddle with her other mother...
Showing posts with label little S. Show all posts
Showing posts with label little S. Show all posts
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 23, 2016
Assignment
Mistress is reading bedtime story to little S, and she gave me a few assignments to do while she was occupied. One was writing a blog entry, about whatever I wanted. Another was laying out three things she could hit me with and three things she could use to penetrate me with.
I love that. I get to choose the things I like and hope for, but I can't make her use any one thing or influence how she uses it.
She used the carpet beater on me yesterday. Ingeniously she varied the padding on me instead of the power of her strokes to serve as warm up. Well, at first she hit me with my trousers down but apparently I whimpered to much so she put them back on, and then something else - my dressing gown I think. Or maybe a blanket. And hit me full force for a while, which hurt but only just. She removed on thing at a time until she was down to bare skin again and by then I was all mellow and floaty.
Also, she used my own breathing technique on me, making me exhale and then not inhale until she told me to. I teach patients that to calm down and lessen anxiety, but counting seconds by hits with a carpet beater was not part of the original instructions. Worked very well, though.
Today we've been all kinds om jittery. I have what feels like bruises, but nothing shows, and I think we were both touched in our hearts. After reconnecting through pain and dominance we both have a need for cuddling and reassurance and just being close.
Unfortunately what was on the agenda was taking turns parenting a needy, hyper active and extremly jealous six year old. We both love her, deeply and dearly, but I think if a space ship had landed and asked to abduct her for a couple of hours, with a solemn promise of returning her unharmed and with a wiped memory, we just might have agreed.
The trick is to keep staying connected. To keep taking all the chances we get. It's hard, because it's so painful to get separated when we've been reunited. But the alternative, staying apart and distant from eachother, is frankly not acceptable.
Also, new rule. Or deal. Or experiment or whatever. When we are separated overnight, usually because Mistress travels for work, when we're reunited we wont argue. There's an arguing ban. No discussions, no conflicts, no solving of anything whatsoever. Twelve hours onwards from reuniting we are to swollow and accept anything and everything from eachother and forgive every wrong, look beyond every mistake and turn the other cheek at every slight. We're so damn nervy and twitchy and prone to conflict and crisis when we've been apart - if we could just keep quite and sit still for a day or so, I think it would spare us a lot of grief. So we'll try this radical, rather unflexible approach and see what happens.
And Mistress has formulated a goal that she shall beat me as soon as possible when she gets home, and at least withing 48 hours. We usually go sweet reunion --> horrible argument --> making up -->spanking. It would be nice if we could by pass those two in the middle.
I love that. I get to choose the things I like and hope for, but I can't make her use any one thing or influence how she uses it.
She used the carpet beater on me yesterday. Ingeniously she varied the padding on me instead of the power of her strokes to serve as warm up. Well, at first she hit me with my trousers down but apparently I whimpered to much so she put them back on, and then something else - my dressing gown I think. Or maybe a blanket. And hit me full force for a while, which hurt but only just. She removed on thing at a time until she was down to bare skin again and by then I was all mellow and floaty.
Also, she used my own breathing technique on me, making me exhale and then not inhale until she told me to. I teach patients that to calm down and lessen anxiety, but counting seconds by hits with a carpet beater was not part of the original instructions. Worked very well, though.
Today we've been all kinds om jittery. I have what feels like bruises, but nothing shows, and I think we were both touched in our hearts. After reconnecting through pain and dominance we both have a need for cuddling and reassurance and just being close.
Unfortunately what was on the agenda was taking turns parenting a needy, hyper active and extremly jealous six year old. We both love her, deeply and dearly, but I think if a space ship had landed and asked to abduct her for a couple of hours, with a solemn promise of returning her unharmed and with a wiped memory, we just might have agreed.
The trick is to keep staying connected. To keep taking all the chances we get. It's hard, because it's so painful to get separated when we've been reunited. But the alternative, staying apart and distant from eachother, is frankly not acceptable.
Also, new rule. Or deal. Or experiment or whatever. When we are separated overnight, usually because Mistress travels for work, when we're reunited we wont argue. There's an arguing ban. No discussions, no conflicts, no solving of anything whatsoever. Twelve hours onwards from reuniting we are to swollow and accept anything and everything from eachother and forgive every wrong, look beyond every mistake and turn the other cheek at every slight. We're so damn nervy and twitchy and prone to conflict and crisis when we've been apart - if we could just keep quite and sit still for a day or so, I think it would spare us a lot of grief. So we'll try this radical, rather unflexible approach and see what happens.
And Mistress has formulated a goal that she shall beat me as soon as possible when she gets home, and at least withing 48 hours. We usually go sweet reunion --> horrible argument --> making up -->spanking. It would be nice if we could by pass those two in the middle.
Jan 1, 2016
Looking back and feeling loved
It's ten years ago now that me and Mistress moved in together. Or it will be, in a week or so. I remember Christmas 2005, it was horrible. Our poly triad was in it's death throes and I was so utterly miserable, with almost every aspect of my life. It was that Christmas I decided I would spend a week at my mothers' home and not talk to either of them, Mistress or my boyfriend/then-Master.
After a few days I missed her. I didn't miss him. And that was kind of it. It still took me about two weeks after that to actually make up my mind and say something about it. Two absolutely miserable weeks. And then one night me and him were laying in bed, he tried to have sex with me, I pushed him away and he started to cry. And I said I wanted to break up with him, that it was over. I don't remember everything we said, but I remember the despair. And that he said he would kill himself, and I said alright, if you do that I'll kill myself to. Come on, let's do it. He didn't, obviously, and I guess we fell asleep after that.
I left as soon as I could, but there were a lot of agonising moments before we were finally separated. Packing up stuff, moving, seeing each other and not talking. The bleak despair of it all. And Mistress, suffering from our agony and afraid I think that I would leave her too - and yet by my side, all the time, supporting me.
I moved in with her, and I remember that we both agreed that it would be best for me to get my own place somewhere, to land on my feet and be self sufficient before we could build a life togehter. It sounded so wise and thoughtful and right. But I didn't want to be anywhere except exactly where she was, so that didn't happen. In March 2006 she proposed to me and I said yes, and we lived in her apartment until she bought us a bigger one in June that year.
We got married in August 2007, little S was conceived during the fall of 2008, with a lot of frustrating trips to the hospital, and she was born in August 2009. We moved again in the summer of 2010, to a three bedroom apartment in the same city.
I began my studies in psychology that same year me and Mistress moved in together, my first term started in January 2006. I took a slightly involuntary break in 2008 because I wanted to change schools to my home town to get out of commuting and hade to wait for a spot to open up in the right term in my new school. And then I took some more leave because of little S. In the end, I didn't graduate until the spring of 2013.
What we didn't know until the fall of 2012 was that I have ADHD. It's a bit strange now to think back and realise how different we would have looked at things if we knew. But we didn't, and we made the best decisions we could with what we knew. I got sick from exhaustion, from trying to be a good mom to a high need baby and successfull at a demanding education and managing all of the life stresses that everyone has to handle. I'm quite a bit worse at that than most people, however, and by the summer of 2012, I was in a really really bad shape. We were training to become therapists in school by then, and I remember that my first patient was in much better shape than I was (though I never told anyone in school (and of course didn't say anything to my patient)).
I got medication and eventually an ADHD-diagnosis and medication for that too, just in time to save the paper I had to write for my Masters degree. And I got my degree as a psychologist. Then I didn't get a job. It was actually a really good time, the summer and fall of 2013. I didn't do much, I mostly recuperated. Eventually I got a job, but in a different part of the country, and my heroic family moved with me in the summer of 2014 for a year in exile. And in the summer of 2015 I was done, got my license and a job back home again. And here we are now.
It's been quite a ride these last ten years. And all this time, in all the ups and downs and varying circumstances, Mistress has been with me. She has kept me, in all the meanings of the word. She has her job, and even though it's stressfull and bad and she's not appreciated as she should be (because of patriarchy and misogynistic pricks for bosses) at times, it's also fun I think, and the job itself seems to suit her. It's paid our bills all this time, she has supported me through school (I've worked some, and have student loans, but it's a pittance compared to her contribution) and we would never been able to afford going to school with a kid without her income.
And she's loved me. Every day. A few days ago we discussed that I can take critique in a better way now (even if I'm still bad at it). And I realised that one important thing is that now, at 35, I've lived more years in a loving, supporting environment, than I did in the suppressive, hateful one I grew up in. It's much easier admitting mistakes when it's finally sunk in that it wont mean being ridiculed. I'm loved. No matter what happens in the future, I know I'm loved.
(Also, spanked and controlled and fucked. That's good stuff to.)
After a few days I missed her. I didn't miss him. And that was kind of it. It still took me about two weeks after that to actually make up my mind and say something about it. Two absolutely miserable weeks. And then one night me and him were laying in bed, he tried to have sex with me, I pushed him away and he started to cry. And I said I wanted to break up with him, that it was over. I don't remember everything we said, but I remember the despair. And that he said he would kill himself, and I said alright, if you do that I'll kill myself to. Come on, let's do it. He didn't, obviously, and I guess we fell asleep after that.
I left as soon as I could, but there were a lot of agonising moments before we were finally separated. Packing up stuff, moving, seeing each other and not talking. The bleak despair of it all. And Mistress, suffering from our agony and afraid I think that I would leave her too - and yet by my side, all the time, supporting me.
I moved in with her, and I remember that we both agreed that it would be best for me to get my own place somewhere, to land on my feet and be self sufficient before we could build a life togehter. It sounded so wise and thoughtful and right. But I didn't want to be anywhere except exactly where she was, so that didn't happen. In March 2006 she proposed to me and I said yes, and we lived in her apartment until she bought us a bigger one in June that year.
We got married in August 2007, little S was conceived during the fall of 2008, with a lot of frustrating trips to the hospital, and she was born in August 2009. We moved again in the summer of 2010, to a three bedroom apartment in the same city.
I began my studies in psychology that same year me and Mistress moved in together, my first term started in January 2006. I took a slightly involuntary break in 2008 because I wanted to change schools to my home town to get out of commuting and hade to wait for a spot to open up in the right term in my new school. And then I took some more leave because of little S. In the end, I didn't graduate until the spring of 2013.
What we didn't know until the fall of 2012 was that I have ADHD. It's a bit strange now to think back and realise how different we would have looked at things if we knew. But we didn't, and we made the best decisions we could with what we knew. I got sick from exhaustion, from trying to be a good mom to a high need baby and successfull at a demanding education and managing all of the life stresses that everyone has to handle. I'm quite a bit worse at that than most people, however, and by the summer of 2012, I was in a really really bad shape. We were training to become therapists in school by then, and I remember that my first patient was in much better shape than I was (though I never told anyone in school (and of course didn't say anything to my patient)).
I got medication and eventually an ADHD-diagnosis and medication for that too, just in time to save the paper I had to write for my Masters degree. And I got my degree as a psychologist. Then I didn't get a job. It was actually a really good time, the summer and fall of 2013. I didn't do much, I mostly recuperated. Eventually I got a job, but in a different part of the country, and my heroic family moved with me in the summer of 2014 for a year in exile. And in the summer of 2015 I was done, got my license and a job back home again. And here we are now.
It's been quite a ride these last ten years. And all this time, in all the ups and downs and varying circumstances, Mistress has been with me. She has kept me, in all the meanings of the word. She has her job, and even though it's stressfull and bad and she's not appreciated as she should be (because of patriarchy and misogynistic pricks for bosses) at times, it's also fun I think, and the job itself seems to suit her. It's paid our bills all this time, she has supported me through school (I've worked some, and have student loans, but it's a pittance compared to her contribution) and we would never been able to afford going to school with a kid without her income.
And she's loved me. Every day. A few days ago we discussed that I can take critique in a better way now (even if I'm still bad at it). And I realised that one important thing is that now, at 35, I've lived more years in a loving, supporting environment, than I did in the suppressive, hateful one I grew up in. It's much easier admitting mistakes when it's finally sunk in that it wont mean being ridiculed. I'm loved. No matter what happens in the future, I know I'm loved.
(Also, spanked and controlled and fucked. That's good stuff to.)
Dec 25, 2015
Random thoughts on Christmas Day
Our first Christmas in the new house. This is our seventh Christmas as parents, and some of them have been remarkably lousy. Like the year when the kid had a stomach bug that just wouldn't let up and we went to the ER in the middle of the night in fear of her being dehydrated. Or the one when she started the day with picking up a piece of glass and putting it in her mouth. She spent all of Christmas dinner crying, and we had no idea why until later when we discovered she had cut herself. Anyway, big family gathering with lots of expectations has a tendency to end up disappointing.
This was a good one, though. Everybody was more or less nice to each other, and our kid played happily with her two cousins a lot of the day. We even managed to make the preparations and clean up for two meals (with ten people) not be entirely done by the females of the crowd. My brother and uncle didn't volunter, but they did agree when asked directly, and that will have to count as good enough.
That's a bit ridiculous actually. We were seven adults; me and Mistress, my brother and his wife, my mother, and my fathers brother och and his older sister. I have ADHD and a history of burn out and I'm very easily fatigued. My sister in law has Ehler-Danlos syndrome, a chronic illness that gives pain and physical weakness and fatigue. My mother had a stroke two years ago, and my aunt has Parkinson. So of us seven, only three are in fighting shape; my wife, my brother and my uncle. That didn't stop the two guys from spending a good part of the afternoon in beds on their backs, telling each other facts about unrelated things. Male privilege. I kind of hate it.
Anyway, today is spent at home just the three of us. I'm doing the privilege thing and lounging about upstairs while Mistress is playing with little S right now. But I'll join them soon, and my plan is that Mistress will be doing the lounging after dinner.
Of kink there is for the time beeing absolutely none. Because of life, and sickness and stress and missed opportunities and well... life. Mistress doesn't do kink or sex or anything like that when she's stressed, and we've been sick in some flu-like virus the week before Christmas. So yeah.
It's interesting, because I can feel how I slowly start to lose my good manners when we drift apart. I'm not intentionally bad in any way, but I get careless I guess. Or insecure, and therefore a bit obnoxious. It doesn't really make any sense, because we're not in a bad place actually. We just haven't had the opportunity for play or sex for a while. In every other way we're all good. But still. I lose my sense of place in the world, I get all uncomfortable and I don't like it.
The more I can behave myself and be the obedient and loving partner my Mistress wants me to be, the better it will be. The sooner we'll get on the right track again. If I start acting up and panic, we'll have to put a lot of valuable time and energy into fixing things, resources better spent having fun. So I'm trying.
I have a paper sign I've made to myself, several years ago, on the refrigerator. It has the words "acceptance, patience, trust" written on it. I try to remember that and be as well as I can in the moment.
This was a good one, though. Everybody was more or less nice to each other, and our kid played happily with her two cousins a lot of the day. We even managed to make the preparations and clean up for two meals (with ten people) not be entirely done by the females of the crowd. My brother and uncle didn't volunter, but they did agree when asked directly, and that will have to count as good enough.
That's a bit ridiculous actually. We were seven adults; me and Mistress, my brother and his wife, my mother, and my fathers brother och and his older sister. I have ADHD and a history of burn out and I'm very easily fatigued. My sister in law has Ehler-Danlos syndrome, a chronic illness that gives pain and physical weakness and fatigue. My mother had a stroke two years ago, and my aunt has Parkinson. So of us seven, only three are in fighting shape; my wife, my brother and my uncle. That didn't stop the two guys from spending a good part of the afternoon in beds on their backs, telling each other facts about unrelated things. Male privilege. I kind of hate it.
Anyway, today is spent at home just the three of us. I'm doing the privilege thing and lounging about upstairs while Mistress is playing with little S right now. But I'll join them soon, and my plan is that Mistress will be doing the lounging after dinner.
Of kink there is for the time beeing absolutely none. Because of life, and sickness and stress and missed opportunities and well... life. Mistress doesn't do kink or sex or anything like that when she's stressed, and we've been sick in some flu-like virus the week before Christmas. So yeah.
It's interesting, because I can feel how I slowly start to lose my good manners when we drift apart. I'm not intentionally bad in any way, but I get careless I guess. Or insecure, and therefore a bit obnoxious. It doesn't really make any sense, because we're not in a bad place actually. We just haven't had the opportunity for play or sex for a while. In every other way we're all good. But still. I lose my sense of place in the world, I get all uncomfortable and I don't like it.
The more I can behave myself and be the obedient and loving partner my Mistress wants me to be, the better it will be. The sooner we'll get on the right track again. If I start acting up and panic, we'll have to put a lot of valuable time and energy into fixing things, resources better spent having fun. So I'm trying.
I have a paper sign I've made to myself, several years ago, on the refrigerator. It has the words "acceptance, patience, trust" written on it. I try to remember that and be as well as I can in the moment.
Oct 27, 2015
Life by the woods
We had a lovely day today. Both at home, little S at day camp petting horses and bunnies. We put up some shelves and curtains, and took a walk in our woods. Had lunch in front of the teve, and then some spanking and sex. I was pretty much spent after that and haven't done much of anything afterwards. Mistress went to get little S, they're getting sushi dinner at a shopping mall and I'm supposed to go get something for myself about now. I'll do that, anytime now.
We have woods. We took a walk together in our woods. That we own. It's marvellous, amazing. We've lived here for two months now, but this was actually the first time we had the opportunity to explore together. It's not like we've bought all that much, it took us about 45 minutes to go around the perimeter of the woods We have some fields too, and a big outhouse. There will be horses there, eventually, and chickens and maybe sheep. Or miniature cows, who knows, it might happen. For now, it's still empty.
We have this beautiful big timber two storey house, with tile stoves and a huge kitchen range. We've bought another car, and we have to drive little S twenty minutes to her school, and I have ten minutes drive to the train station and then about twenty more minutes to work. If we run out of milk we have to take our coffee black, and when we realised to our horror that we had run out of coffee before guests arrived we had to text them and ask them to buy some on the way, because a round trip to the store takes about an hour all in all. It's not all that convenient.
But it's beautiful and it's quiet and even when we had a whole family with little kids staying the night it didn't seem crowded. We have neighbours, the house is in the center of an old farm village, but we can't hear them and there's almost no cars going past. We here the neighbours' chickens, and cows and horses, and sometimes the ravens talking about raven things across the fields. And the wind in the birches. But that's about it.
I think we'll be happy here.
We have woods. We took a walk together in our woods. That we own. It's marvellous, amazing. We've lived here for two months now, but this was actually the first time we had the opportunity to explore together. It's not like we've bought all that much, it took us about 45 minutes to go around the perimeter of the woods We have some fields too, and a big outhouse. There will be horses there, eventually, and chickens and maybe sheep. Or miniature cows, who knows, it might happen. For now, it's still empty.
We have this beautiful big timber two storey house, with tile stoves and a huge kitchen range. We've bought another car, and we have to drive little S twenty minutes to her school, and I have ten minutes drive to the train station and then about twenty more minutes to work. If we run out of milk we have to take our coffee black, and when we realised to our horror that we had run out of coffee before guests arrived we had to text them and ask them to buy some on the way, because a round trip to the store takes about an hour all in all. It's not all that convenient.
But it's beautiful and it's quiet and even when we had a whole family with little kids staying the night it didn't seem crowded. We have neighbours, the house is in the center of an old farm village, but we can't hear them and there's almost no cars going past. We here the neighbours' chickens, and cows and horses, and sometimes the ravens talking about raven things across the fields. And the wind in the birches. But that's about it.
I think we'll be happy here.
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| The house. |
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| View from the balcony. |
May 25, 2014
The important things
I'm still owned. Actually, being away from Mistress this much, having to make do on my own on a level I haven't experienced for quite a few years, have underscored how much I belong to her, more then anything else. I was afraid we would drift further and further apart, but we haven't.
I miss her knowing exactly what I do all the time every day. She knows in general now, in the same way I know about her days. She's seen my office at work, she's seen the room I sleep in at my friends house, she knows more or less what it is that I do. But it's not things she has ever done, and I sleep in a bed she has never slept in. She doesn't know what I have for lunch or dinner, she doesn't know what clothes I wear (though she knows exactly what clothes I have to choose from, of course), she doesn't know if I slept well or if I had nightmares.
Some of it I manage to tell her, we share as much as we can, but all those details aren't that interesting to talk about the precious moments we have on the phone each day. I'd rather tell her how I feel or what I think, than what I'm wearing or had for lunch, and she's more interested in hearing that too. But this separation, this dividing of our everyday life, it's strange. I'm still hers, but... it's on a really long leash.
I've been working since the 7th of April, so almost two months by now. The first week I left on Monday and came home Friday afternoon, but that's the only week I've been away four nights in a row. There's been a lot of red-letter-days, thankfully, and I've taken out vacation days for the rest. Last week I worked half day on Wednesday and came in an hour late on Thursday, so that I could take the train home and pick up little S from pre-school and sleep a night in my own bed. I can't go four nights without checking in on my baby. It hurts to much. It's like a low level stress, that intensifies as time goes on.
If you have kids, or ever babysat someone elses for that matter - you know that feeling when you're in a supermarket or similar place with a small child, and you look away for a second and then you can't see the kid anymore? You look around, feeling the panic rising, calling out in a low voice, walking around shelves and trying to see as much as possible around you, looking for that special little jacket or pixie cap or whatever it is that you remember the kid wearing? That worry, that rising panic, that focus on finding him or her and making sure everythings alright? You know that feeling?
That's how I feel after a few days when I haven't seen little S. Diluted, maybe like only a tenth of the supermarket-panic, but constant. When I haven't smelled her, touched her, made sure she's alright for a couple of days, I'm not okay anymore. I need my baby. I need to be with her, to be her mommy, to hug her and hold her hand, and talk to her and listen to her talk (incessantly...) to feel safe, to feel okay, to feel that I'm where I'm supposed to be in the world.
I don't need to be with her all day every day, quite the opposite actually. I like going to work, I'm happy that she's big enough to be at pre-school, I'm relieved that the days of constant guarding and catering to a small baby's every need 24/7 is behind us. I like that she falls asleep at seven in the evening and wakes up at 6.30 in the morning. But I need to see her twice a day, at least, or else I can't relax and enjoy my grown up life. And not only through Skype, or being told she's alright - I need to smell her. I'm thinking it's a mammal thing.
I miss Mistress as much, but in a different way. I'm more okay with not smelling her or touching her every day, but I really really miss the amount of time we used to have. Not enough time, never enough, but a lot more than now. We're back where we where a couple of years ago, getting just enough time to say the most important things, but never really spending hours and hours together.
Except for long weekends at her parents cabin, where we'll be going on Thursday, four days from now. I'm so looking forward to it.
At the end of June they're moving to me, we've fixed most of the things that needs fixing. Little S has a place at new pre-school, and we have a lease on an apartment. The current problem is that the apartment building hasn't got broadband, and we need to figure out a way to get good enough internet connection for Mistress to be able to work from home. She deals with a lot of big files and video conferences, and needs high speed connection. Ah well. We're going to fix that too.
My job is great, as far as the actual job goes. Several of the people at my job arn't as great, though. There's around 40 people at the workplace in totat, and out of those two or three annoys me no end. I guess it's called "working with other people". I take a lot of strength from being Mistress', from knowing my place in the world, from knowing I have a family and a home and an identity that has nothing to do with jerks at work, and every time I've been home I return to work feeling like myself again, feeling centered and ready for anything.
And soon soon soon that will be every afternoon. I can't wait.
I miss her knowing exactly what I do all the time every day. She knows in general now, in the same way I know about her days. She's seen my office at work, she's seen the room I sleep in at my friends house, she knows more or less what it is that I do. But it's not things she has ever done, and I sleep in a bed she has never slept in. She doesn't know what I have for lunch or dinner, she doesn't know what clothes I wear (though she knows exactly what clothes I have to choose from, of course), she doesn't know if I slept well or if I had nightmares.
Some of it I manage to tell her, we share as much as we can, but all those details aren't that interesting to talk about the precious moments we have on the phone each day. I'd rather tell her how I feel or what I think, than what I'm wearing or had for lunch, and she's more interested in hearing that too. But this separation, this dividing of our everyday life, it's strange. I'm still hers, but... it's on a really long leash.
I've been working since the 7th of April, so almost two months by now. The first week I left on Monday and came home Friday afternoon, but that's the only week I've been away four nights in a row. There's been a lot of red-letter-days, thankfully, and I've taken out vacation days for the rest. Last week I worked half day on Wednesday and came in an hour late on Thursday, so that I could take the train home and pick up little S from pre-school and sleep a night in my own bed. I can't go four nights without checking in on my baby. It hurts to much. It's like a low level stress, that intensifies as time goes on.
If you have kids, or ever babysat someone elses for that matter - you know that feeling when you're in a supermarket or similar place with a small child, and you look away for a second and then you can't see the kid anymore? You look around, feeling the panic rising, calling out in a low voice, walking around shelves and trying to see as much as possible around you, looking for that special little jacket or pixie cap or whatever it is that you remember the kid wearing? That worry, that rising panic, that focus on finding him or her and making sure everythings alright? You know that feeling?
That's how I feel after a few days when I haven't seen little S. Diluted, maybe like only a tenth of the supermarket-panic, but constant. When I haven't smelled her, touched her, made sure she's alright for a couple of days, I'm not okay anymore. I need my baby. I need to be with her, to be her mommy, to hug her and hold her hand, and talk to her and listen to her talk (incessantly...) to feel safe, to feel okay, to feel that I'm where I'm supposed to be in the world.
I don't need to be with her all day every day, quite the opposite actually. I like going to work, I'm happy that she's big enough to be at pre-school, I'm relieved that the days of constant guarding and catering to a small baby's every need 24/7 is behind us. I like that she falls asleep at seven in the evening and wakes up at 6.30 in the morning. But I need to see her twice a day, at least, or else I can't relax and enjoy my grown up life. And not only through Skype, or being told she's alright - I need to smell her. I'm thinking it's a mammal thing.
I miss Mistress as much, but in a different way. I'm more okay with not smelling her or touching her every day, but I really really miss the amount of time we used to have. Not enough time, never enough, but a lot more than now. We're back where we where a couple of years ago, getting just enough time to say the most important things, but never really spending hours and hours together.
Except for long weekends at her parents cabin, where we'll be going on Thursday, four days from now. I'm so looking forward to it.
At the end of June they're moving to me, we've fixed most of the things that needs fixing. Little S has a place at new pre-school, and we have a lease on an apartment. The current problem is that the apartment building hasn't got broadband, and we need to figure out a way to get good enough internet connection for Mistress to be able to work from home. She deals with a lot of big files and video conferences, and needs high speed connection. Ah well. We're going to fix that too.
My job is great, as far as the actual job goes. Several of the people at my job arn't as great, though. There's around 40 people at the workplace in totat, and out of those two or three annoys me no end. I guess it's called "working with other people". I take a lot of strength from being Mistress', from knowing my place in the world, from knowing I have a family and a home and an identity that has nothing to do with jerks at work, and every time I've been home I return to work feeling like myself again, feeling centered and ready for anything.
And soon soon soon that will be every afternoon. I can't wait.
Apr 29, 2014
Longing
Did you guys know that working full time means less time to write blog posts? Huh! Who'dhavethunk?
I'm very very much in two minds about the whole thing. I like the job. I love being a therapist. I hate being away from Mistress, and I feel all lost and alone and shaky because I don't have my family with me.
I'm still hers. Amazingly, that doesn't waiver. But oh my God it's hard to be separated.
I'm very very much in two minds about the whole thing. I like the job. I love being a therapist. I hate being away from Mistress, and I feel all lost and alone and shaky because I don't have my family with me.
I'm still hers. Amazingly, that doesn't waiver. But oh my God it's hard to be separated.
Apr 12, 2014
Life change
And then, all of a sudden, I got a job offer. And accepted. I started six days ago, and since the workplace is 1,5 hours from home, I've been living in a hostel all week.
We're okay. I'm okay, a lot more okay than I thought I would be actually. But everything about our day to day life has been turned upside down, and we're reeling a bit from the shock of it. And has a ton of things to do, and a lot of major decisions to make.
I thought I'd be blogging a lot about the job and the change, but I think I've been to busy living it to have time or energy to reflect all that much. That will come later, but for now, I'm pretty much in the moment. Good thing, I think.
I wont be Mistress' stay-at-home-slave anymore for a while. The plan is to work full time for a year, provided we can stand it and no one gets sick. After that, we're pretty agreed on me not working full time ever ever again. But that's then. Now is now. And I'm not really sure how I feel about it all.
We're okay. I'm okay, a lot more okay than I thought I would be actually. But everything about our day to day life has been turned upside down, and we're reeling a bit from the shock of it. And has a ton of things to do, and a lot of major decisions to make.
I thought I'd be blogging a lot about the job and the change, but I think I've been to busy living it to have time or energy to reflect all that much. That will come later, but for now, I'm pretty much in the moment. Good thing, I think.
I wont be Mistress' stay-at-home-slave anymore for a while. The plan is to work full time for a year, provided we can stand it and no one gets sick. After that, we're pretty agreed on me not working full time ever ever again. But that's then. Now is now. And I'm not really sure how I feel about it all.
Mar 11, 2014
Questions 4! Babymaking.
Did you have the baby and how did you get pregnant?
Yeah, I had the baby. I really wanted to be pregnant and give birth, and Mistress really really didn't. We both wanted to have kids together, but it took like three seconds for us to figure out who would do the actual baby-building.
We went to the local hospital and I got inseminated with donor sperm. The donor is anonymous, but the kid can find out who he is, and read a letter he wrote when he donated, when she's 18. Since 2006 the rules for treatment of infertility in Swedish healthcare are the same for lesbian couples as for straight couples, so it all went relatively easy. It was about a year from the first phone call to the clinic until I was pregnant.
How are lesbians treated in Sweden?
I don't know if there's an easy answer to that one. On the one hand me and Mistress could get married, and had the right to assisted insemination at the hospital. No one is making fun of our kid at pre school or other places for having two moms (as far as I know) and me and Mistress holds hands on walks without usually thinking twice about it. On the other hand, there's two major political parties in Swedish parliament that are openly homophobic and they have about 20% of the Swedish votes, so it's not like it's universally accepted. It's not as if there's no homophobia or judgement going around, and we're often thankful that we live in a urban part of the country, where we're not alone.
Better than most of the rest of the world, I'd say, but still fucked up. Something like that.
Yeah, I had the baby. I really wanted to be pregnant and give birth, and Mistress really really didn't. We both wanted to have kids together, but it took like three seconds for us to figure out who would do the actual baby-building.
We went to the local hospital and I got inseminated with donor sperm. The donor is anonymous, but the kid can find out who he is, and read a letter he wrote when he donated, when she's 18. Since 2006 the rules for treatment of infertility in Swedish healthcare are the same for lesbian couples as for straight couples, so it all went relatively easy. It was about a year from the first phone call to the clinic until I was pregnant.
How are lesbians treated in Sweden?
I don't know if there's an easy answer to that one. On the one hand me and Mistress could get married, and had the right to assisted insemination at the hospital. No one is making fun of our kid at pre school or other places for having two moms (as far as I know) and me and Mistress holds hands on walks without usually thinking twice about it. On the other hand, there's two major political parties in Swedish parliament that are openly homophobic and they have about 20% of the Swedish votes, so it's not like it's universally accepted. It's not as if there's no homophobia or judgement going around, and we're often thankful that we live in a urban part of the country, where we're not alone.
Better than most of the rest of the world, I'd say, but still fucked up. Something like that.
Mar 9, 2014
Getting through the days
March is question-month, and I want in on it. That is, I'd love to get questions since I usually have no idea who reads this and I'd love to getting hints of things to blog about. So if anyone want to know anything about me, just post a question in the comments, and I'll answer it.
More than question-month, March for us have been sickness month. When we got home from Paris, little S got chickenpox and I got the flu. Yesterday was the first day in two weeks I could take a bike ride without wanting to puke or cough up my lungs. Little S is still covered in scabs from the 'pox but at least she was virus-free and her old happy self again.
Except that she spent all day complaining about tummy ache, and half an hour before bedtime she throw up. She kept throwing up every halv hour the rest of the evening, and Mistress who slept in her room said that she was sick the last time at 2.30. Yey.
And I just shut down a bit for the time being. I don't want to play this game, but there's nowhere else to go. We'll just live through it and believe that we will get healthy again, despite the evidence to the contrary.
I was at a job interview last Thursday, and I will be going to another one next Thursday (unless I'm puking my guts out at the time). There's some kind of low level anxiety humming in the background all the time, and it contributes to me freaking out. What if no one wants me? What if they do want me? What if both jobs want me? And then again, what if they don't? What if no one will want to hire me ever? What if there's something wrong with me? And so on and so forth.
If I do get a job offer, I'll start fretting over whether or not I can do the job, and about the fact that it means we'll have to move and all the hassle that entails. But that's next on my fret list. For now, I'm stuck on "no one will ever want to employ me". Oh, and "we'll never have sex again, 'cause we'll be sick forever". Happy fun time all around.
More than question-month, March for us have been sickness month. When we got home from Paris, little S got chickenpox and I got the flu. Yesterday was the first day in two weeks I could take a bike ride without wanting to puke or cough up my lungs. Little S is still covered in scabs from the 'pox but at least she was virus-free and her old happy self again.
Except that she spent all day complaining about tummy ache, and half an hour before bedtime she throw up. She kept throwing up every halv hour the rest of the evening, and Mistress who slept in her room said that she was sick the last time at 2.30. Yey.
And I just shut down a bit for the time being. I don't want to play this game, but there's nowhere else to go. We'll just live through it and believe that we will get healthy again, despite the evidence to the contrary.
I was at a job interview last Thursday, and I will be going to another one next Thursday (unless I'm puking my guts out at the time). There's some kind of low level anxiety humming in the background all the time, and it contributes to me freaking out. What if no one wants me? What if they do want me? What if both jobs want me? And then again, what if they don't? What if no one will want to hire me ever? What if there's something wrong with me? And so on and so forth.
If I do get a job offer, I'll start fretting over whether or not I can do the job, and about the fact that it means we'll have to move and all the hassle that entails. But that's next on my fret list. For now, I'm stuck on "no one will ever want to employ me". Oh, and "we'll never have sex again, 'cause we'll be sick forever". Happy fun time all around.
Feb 25, 2014
General misery
Yesterday we had this huge breakdown and fight, with both of us feeling betrayed and pissed off and misunderstood and panicky. I hate when that happens.
At one point, just before I went to bed, I was on the toilet, trying to pee, but instead rocking back and forth in despair, crying soundlessly and hardly able to breath from heartache. It was the most miserable I have been in years, my brain was in some sort of panicky, primal state where everything is gone except misery.
Right now Mistress is in Tallinn, Estonia. Little S is in bed covered in chickenpox. I have the flu. The state of our little family is rather pitiful at the moment.
But we skyped just now, and talked for almost an hour about what went wrong yesterday. Apparently, Mistress assumes I will tell her without prompting if my cold develops into the flu with high fever, even if she's to busy to actually ask how I'm feeling. The fact that I assumes that if she wanted to know how I was she would ask doesn't exactly help, though. There might have been a slight misunderstanding regarding this, yesterday.
Right now, I'm going to obey orders and go to bed. I miss her.
I miss her.
I miss her.
I miss her.
At one point, just before I went to bed, I was on the toilet, trying to pee, but instead rocking back and forth in despair, crying soundlessly and hardly able to breath from heartache. It was the most miserable I have been in years, my brain was in some sort of panicky, primal state where everything is gone except misery.
Right now Mistress is in Tallinn, Estonia. Little S is in bed covered in chickenpox. I have the flu. The state of our little family is rather pitiful at the moment.
But we skyped just now, and talked for almost an hour about what went wrong yesterday. Apparently, Mistress assumes I will tell her without prompting if my cold develops into the flu with high fever, even if she's to busy to actually ask how I'm feeling. The fact that I assumes that if she wanted to know how I was she would ask doesn't exactly help, though. There might have been a slight misunderstanding regarding this, yesterday.
Right now, I'm going to obey orders and go to bed. I miss her.
I miss her.
I miss her.
I miss her.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Apr 19, 2013
Taking a break
I have only a few tasks today. I'm going to apply for a few jobs, I haven't decided how many yet. Not more than three, but only if I find three that I really want. We're not desperate yet, I can hold off applying for anything with a salary till after the summer.
And then I'm going to go out jogging for a bit. And pick up my meds from the pharmacy. That's it.
Okay, job applying is quite a chore, but I don't have to go anywhere. I don't have things interrupting me. I can call friends if I like, but I'm not seeing anyone or doing anything today.
Oh my God how I need this!
I actually had an exam today. But I haven't had time to study, and my brain is in such a bad state right now Mistress decided my time was better spent at home, recuperating and job hunting. There's another go at the exam in the end of May, I'll take it then instead.
Right now, it's quiet around me. Bliss.
(And little S didn't wake Mistress up at all during the night, we actually woke up before she called for Mommy! I got to snuggle with my wife before breakfast! Best morning ever!)
And then I'm going to go out jogging for a bit. And pick up my meds from the pharmacy. That's it.
Okay, job applying is quite a chore, but I don't have to go anywhere. I don't have things interrupting me. I can call friends if I like, but I'm not seeing anyone or doing anything today.
Oh my God how I need this!
I actually had an exam today. But I haven't had time to study, and my brain is in such a bad state right now Mistress decided my time was better spent at home, recuperating and job hunting. There's another go at the exam in the end of May, I'll take it then instead.
Right now, it's quiet around me. Bliss.
(And little S didn't wake Mistress up at all during the night, we actually woke up before she called for Mommy! I got to snuggle with my wife before breakfast! Best morning ever!)
Apr 18, 2013
Brainy
It's mostly just work and stress around here. There's some good bits tucked in here and there too, but I'm usually to tired to write about them.
Or tired or something. I say "tired" but it's not in the usual sense. It's not sleepiness, nor is it physical exhaustion. It's... it's like the check engine light in the car has started to blink and all of a sudden there's a weird burnt smell and some kind of funny noise is coming from under the hood. If, that is, my brain was a car.
I stop functioning. It was like that all the time a year or so ago, especially in the summer and fall, but it's getting progressively better. But even if the amount of cognitive tasks I can perform each day without the whole system going hay-wire has increased, it's still limited. The combination of a lot of school work and Mistress working like a crazy person the last couple of weeks has emptied out any and all reserves. Again, my brain is broken.
I broke my brain!! Aaaaahhhhh!!
But of course I didn't. The brain is a splendid thing, and it's both plastic and repairable. But right now, it needs repairing. It needs calm and quite and an absence of pressure or demands, and not to much stress in the executive functioning area.
Mistress talked to her mother yesterday and mentioned the stress we're under, and she answered "well, you'll have to relax during the weekend."
Yeah. I think that very much highlights the problem. Relax during the weekend? How?
Little S still wakes Mistress up at six o'clock. At weekends we don't have pre-school, which means we take turns taking care of the kid all day - a job that is far more nerve-wracking, exhausting and stressful than anything we do during week days. If we want to see each other at all we also have to both be out and about at play grounds or play dates or doing Play-Dooh in the kitchen, since that's where the kid is. It might be fun, and I love our kid, but relaxing? Not so much.
And since even with working at evenings can't get what we need done, we usually spend the time not taking care of kid working. Or at least Mistress does. I tend to just veg out, but that time is not nearly enough for any real recuperation, and also, it's not filled with anything.
It's rest, but if my life only revolves around hard work that destroys my brain, or empty rest, devoid of amusement, social life or meaningful activity, then I get depressed. It's not rocket science. The surest way to make you feel like there's nothing fun in your life is to lead a life without anything fun in it.
But okay, that's unfair, I do have fun things in my life. I'm just a little too tired or brain-fucked right now. I love playing with little S. I love doing fun stuff with her, going places with her, I love reading to her and playing games with her, and cuddling and tickling her. It's not all stress and a burden - it's a lot of fun and love and happiness too. It's just more so when my brain isn't fried.
And me and Mistress do get time together every day, we usually hangs out in front of the television an hour or so every night. And we have nice family breakfasts every morning, and sometimes we even get to talk to each other during those...
And I actually like my school work right now. I like doing a project, and I like writing this thesis. But it's hard work, and at the same time that I like doing it, it scares me. There's a lot of stress just around the idea that we might somehow fail. I don't think we will, but there's still this feeling of fear and apprehension, of performance anxiety.
I'm going to rest my head now. Obviously, blogging is hard work too, says my brain.
Or tired or something. I say "tired" but it's not in the usual sense. It's not sleepiness, nor is it physical exhaustion. It's... it's like the check engine light in the car has started to blink and all of a sudden there's a weird burnt smell and some kind of funny noise is coming from under the hood. If, that is, my brain was a car.
I stop functioning. It was like that all the time a year or so ago, especially in the summer and fall, but it's getting progressively better. But even if the amount of cognitive tasks I can perform each day without the whole system going hay-wire has increased, it's still limited. The combination of a lot of school work and Mistress working like a crazy person the last couple of weeks has emptied out any and all reserves. Again, my brain is broken.
I broke my brain!! Aaaaahhhhh!!
But of course I didn't. The brain is a splendid thing, and it's both plastic and repairable. But right now, it needs repairing. It needs calm and quite and an absence of pressure or demands, and not to much stress in the executive functioning area.
Mistress talked to her mother yesterday and mentioned the stress we're under, and she answered "well, you'll have to relax during the weekend."
Yeah. I think that very much highlights the problem. Relax during the weekend? How?
Little S still wakes Mistress up at six o'clock. At weekends we don't have pre-school, which means we take turns taking care of the kid all day - a job that is far more nerve-wracking, exhausting and stressful than anything we do during week days. If we want to see each other at all we also have to both be out and about at play grounds or play dates or doing Play-Dooh in the kitchen, since that's where the kid is. It might be fun, and I love our kid, but relaxing? Not so much.
And since even with working at evenings can't get what we need done, we usually spend the time not taking care of kid working. Or at least Mistress does. I tend to just veg out, but that time is not nearly enough for any real recuperation, and also, it's not filled with anything.
It's rest, but if my life only revolves around hard work that destroys my brain, or empty rest, devoid of amusement, social life or meaningful activity, then I get depressed. It's not rocket science. The surest way to make you feel like there's nothing fun in your life is to lead a life without anything fun in it.
But okay, that's unfair, I do have fun things in my life. I'm just a little too tired or brain-fucked right now. I love playing with little S. I love doing fun stuff with her, going places with her, I love reading to her and playing games with her, and cuddling and tickling her. It's not all stress and a burden - it's a lot of fun and love and happiness too. It's just more so when my brain isn't fried.
And me and Mistress do get time together every day, we usually hangs out in front of the television an hour or so every night. And we have nice family breakfasts every morning, and sometimes we even get to talk to each other during those...
And I actually like my school work right now. I like doing a project, and I like writing this thesis. But it's hard work, and at the same time that I like doing it, it scares me. There's a lot of stress just around the idea that we might somehow fail. I don't think we will, but there's still this feeling of fear and apprehension, of performance anxiety.
I'm going to rest my head now. Obviously, blogging is hard work too, says my brain.
Apr 12, 2013
Preparations
"latex model sweden teapot tattoo" was a search term someone used on google and got this blog as a hit. I guess whomever that was must be disappointed. The only thing there is about latex here is references to me being allergic.
But I guess there's probably a gorgeous model photo shoot out there with a girl in latex who has a teapot tattoo.
I want a chain tattoo, around my left ankle, in all the colours of the rainbow and with a golden heart shaped padlock on the inside of the leg, just between the malleous and the Achille's tendon. Only that requires me to actually take some initiative, like going in to the tattoo parlour I pass every time I go and get milk in the grocery store and book an appointment. For something I've been wanting for like two years, I'm showing a remarkable lack of actual action.
I think part of me is hesitant simply because I want it as a symbol for Mistress ownership over me, or maybe as a symbol of the life I lead and the person I am now, and have a hard time getting over the idea that it's her who should be doing the booking.
But Mistress isn't very inclined to book appointments at tattoo places. Not only do they intimidate both her and me, I think she's simply to busy with the everyday stuff. It's a long standing division of labour between us - handling the visionary, the stuff born from imagination, the dream and the future, is often my job. I'm the one who is supposed to lobby for the fun stuff - she decides what we'll do and makes it happen. So if I'm hesitant, nothing much is going to happen.
We had set a date for our ceremony in March. It came and went without much comment. One of the reasons, the main one, is that we've been crazy busy. Another one, I think, is that again, we're both a little intimidated. I know I am. I want it to be just right, but I'm extremely shy and a little embarrassed, and it's just... going slow.
But at the same time, I think we're preparing on the quiet. All this cutting me, for example, came about when we talked about her drawing blood from me and her during the ceremony. How much blood? From where? With what? Wont it get infected? Does she know how to do it?
Well, now she has two cool knifes, we know she can do it, and that it heals pretty fast and the risk for infection is low. If it was actual preparation, I would mark it on a list. As it is, I mark it on a list in my head.
I'm actually wearing the collar now, too. Not instead of a ceremony, but... in waiting for one. I sleep collared, but after two years of wear, the dog collar I used to have fell apart. Dogs don't sweat, but humans do, and eventually it didn't hold up. Instead of buying a new temporary one she used the permanent one over a weekend, and in the end neither one of us wanted her to take it off.
I think that was another thing about the ceremony - what if she puts this fancy collar on me with all sorts of pomp and circumstance, and then it turns out that it hurts me, for example? Or people point and stare? Or it starts... I don't know, rusting? That was another worry, would the collar in question actually work for permanent use?
It does. I've had it on me for a couple of weeks now, and I love it. I usually don't notice it, but when I do it gives me this great feeling of belonging and safety. I've been waiting for comments, from class mates or family or friends, but there has been none. I want to think it's because it looks so right were it is, as if it's always been there (in a more symbolic way, it has been there for the last five or six years or so...)
Another thing I've been doing is practising a song. There's this song written by a Swedish comedian, author and LGBT-activist named Jonas Gardell that I love, and that I suddenly decided I want to sing to Mistress at the ceremony. I can't actually think of something more horrifying, being cut up and vouching away my freedom forever is nothing compared to me trying to sing in public, but if for no other reason than that, I'm going to do it. I want the song sung to her, and it doesn't make sense from someone else than me.
So I practice - I listen to it, and then I record my own feeble attempts and listen back to it, trying to adjust and correct each time. When I grew up I was told and believed I was one of those persons that "can't sing". Now as an adult I know there is no such persons, but not having tried it for most of my life is a definite disadvantage. But since little S came along I've been singing and singing and singing every day, and to a very forgiving audience, and now I think I can sing. A little bit. At least I don't shatter glass.
Or maybe we'll only invite people who are tone deaf? Or completely dead. Or maybe I'll just chicken out and read the whole thing instead. But anyway, preparations are going ahead. On the quiet.
But I guess there's probably a gorgeous model photo shoot out there with a girl in latex who has a teapot tattoo.
I want a chain tattoo, around my left ankle, in all the colours of the rainbow and with a golden heart shaped padlock on the inside of the leg, just between the malleous and the Achille's tendon. Only that requires me to actually take some initiative, like going in to the tattoo parlour I pass every time I go and get milk in the grocery store and book an appointment. For something I've been wanting for like two years, I'm showing a remarkable lack of actual action.
I think part of me is hesitant simply because I want it as a symbol for Mistress ownership over me, or maybe as a symbol of the life I lead and the person I am now, and have a hard time getting over the idea that it's her who should be doing the booking.
But Mistress isn't very inclined to book appointments at tattoo places. Not only do they intimidate both her and me, I think she's simply to busy with the everyday stuff. It's a long standing division of labour between us - handling the visionary, the stuff born from imagination, the dream and the future, is often my job. I'm the one who is supposed to lobby for the fun stuff - she decides what we'll do and makes it happen. So if I'm hesitant, nothing much is going to happen.
We had set a date for our ceremony in March. It came and went without much comment. One of the reasons, the main one, is that we've been crazy busy. Another one, I think, is that again, we're both a little intimidated. I know I am. I want it to be just right, but I'm extremely shy and a little embarrassed, and it's just... going slow.
But at the same time, I think we're preparing on the quiet. All this cutting me, for example, came about when we talked about her drawing blood from me and her during the ceremony. How much blood? From where? With what? Wont it get infected? Does she know how to do it?
Well, now she has two cool knifes, we know she can do it, and that it heals pretty fast and the risk for infection is low. If it was actual preparation, I would mark it on a list. As it is, I mark it on a list in my head.
I'm actually wearing the collar now, too. Not instead of a ceremony, but... in waiting for one. I sleep collared, but after two years of wear, the dog collar I used to have fell apart. Dogs don't sweat, but humans do, and eventually it didn't hold up. Instead of buying a new temporary one she used the permanent one over a weekend, and in the end neither one of us wanted her to take it off.
I think that was another thing about the ceremony - what if she puts this fancy collar on me with all sorts of pomp and circumstance, and then it turns out that it hurts me, for example? Or people point and stare? Or it starts... I don't know, rusting? That was another worry, would the collar in question actually work for permanent use?
It does. I've had it on me for a couple of weeks now, and I love it. I usually don't notice it, but when I do it gives me this great feeling of belonging and safety. I've been waiting for comments, from class mates or family or friends, but there has been none. I want to think it's because it looks so right were it is, as if it's always been there (in a more symbolic way, it has been there for the last five or six years or so...)
Another thing I've been doing is practising a song. There's this song written by a Swedish comedian, author and LGBT-activist named Jonas Gardell that I love, and that I suddenly decided I want to sing to Mistress at the ceremony. I can't actually think of something more horrifying, being cut up and vouching away my freedom forever is nothing compared to me trying to sing in public, but if for no other reason than that, I'm going to do it. I want the song sung to her, and it doesn't make sense from someone else than me.
So I practice - I listen to it, and then I record my own feeble attempts and listen back to it, trying to adjust and correct each time. When I grew up I was told and believed I was one of those persons that "can't sing". Now as an adult I know there is no such persons, but not having tried it for most of my life is a definite disadvantage. But since little S came along I've been singing and singing and singing every day, and to a very forgiving audience, and now I think I can sing. A little bit. At least I don't shatter glass.
Or maybe we'll only invite people who are tone deaf? Or completely dead. Or maybe I'll just chicken out and read the whole thing instead. But anyway, preparations are going ahead. On the quiet.
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