Flakey Thoughts

Happy Friday!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 25 Jul 2014 22:37:00 +0000

TGIF and All That Jazz...

It's been a busy Friday for me which is honestly saying something. Since my surgery just four weeks past, I've been on a graduating scale of inactivity. The "no lifting anything over 5lbs" restriction really can put a crimp in your style.. lemme tell you! Not to mention, after having three surgeries in just about a year on top of some other invasive tests, I'm pretty damned pooped. I talked to my doctor about it this week and he said that is to be expected with this many procedures.. My body SHOULD be downright exhausted!

So where did that leave me today?!? Let's see..

Senor Grumpy Pants and I had to head down to campus to resolve the mystery of the scholarship that's never been applied. The school sets up a system and deadline to pay tuition. Then, they say you're sooooo amazing, we're going to give you this awesome scholarship because we know you've been busting your tail (thank you kindly!) and once you register we'll apply it. So I registered a month ago and the tuition came due yesterday. The scholarship is there on my account.

They can see it. It's not invisible. It's not a mystery scholarship all invisible like that I imagined receiving to help me endure another fucking semester of twenty-something year old classmates. I actually received this shit and they know it. They just haven't decided which ONE of my classes they're going to apply it to..

Ummm.. pick one?!? Because see, here's the deal.. in their perfect system they've devised.. you can't pay your tuition, set up an installment plan, do JACK DOODLEY FUCKING SQUAT TO PAY SHIT.. without dragging your happy ass down there to stand in line to discuss this loveliness with the cashier.

With Senor Grumpy Pants. Am I repeating myself?

O.o

Soooo.. he got up at 0630 because today was his big day at work. He didn't wake me up. I don't know what he thought was going to happen when it came time to go to the school.

So Senor and I leave..

Oh, did I mention that his battery was dead - TWICE?!?

We were at the school bright and early when they opened. It sucks being at a school standing in fucking line waiting for stupid shit knowing you could be in pajamas at home having coffee. It really fucking sucks.

He left. I left. Romantic, eh? (That's his Canadian rubbing off on me.)

I got home.. I cleaned because I am a domestic goddesssssssssss. Let's be clear.. I can clean on such a limited scale right now that I'm like one of those murky unknown goddesses that archaeologists find out about after digging up some rock. Not a cool rock in an pyramid that will end up in a museum.. some scrubby rock that looks like a farmer hit it with his plow more than it has a goddess carving on it.

I can slide a dust mop though! Lord I hate a dusty fucking floor..

After the floor was free of debris and the dogs ran for their lives from the microfiber floor demon, my girlfriend's asked me to lunch. What kind of goddess would I be if I denied my peeps?!? I shall provide!!!! It was so good seeing them.. but you know, they complain about a lot of stuff. I adore them. But they complain about things they do actually have the power to change.. and they never do anything about it. An hour of that is a lot for me..

On my way home.. picked up a birthday card for my favorite cousin and mailed it.. and came home to rest.. cuz well.. you guessed it.. I'm pooped.

I will say this.. resting on this sofa as much as I have has not caused me to appreciate it at all.

Hello from Yoda

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 23 Jul 2014 22:57:00 +0000

Well hello stranger! :)

It's been some time since I've posted. I've missed you.

I've spent the last few hours reading and re-reading some of the posts from this blog as well as a private online journal I kept. It's funny tracing my personal journey through those words. I can feel the ebb and flow of my life in those posts.

Where am I today? On the surface, newly married but in theory the same as before. You know the problem with theories though? They're always waiting for the next super genius, pencil pusher to come along with their amazing statistical analysis to explain to you why they weren't really wrong to believe as they did before but why they must actually change the way they think now. I try to tell the Hubby/M-type/not-sure-what-he-is-or-i-am-now that this really means they're wrong but he swiftly corrects me that right and wrong couldn't possibly apply to scientists because they're smart and constantly evolving their technology and that they're only a "little" wrong.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen.. those are crickets you're hearing.

I wonder if I were a little wrong back in the olden days if I could have avoided getting my ass beat.
I wonder if I were a little wrong if I could avoid speeding tickets? Well, yes.. I could.. but he couldn't..LOL I do think that's the thing that proves the fucking rule.

Anyhow, I digress.

I feel like I need to reorient myself to this as it's been so long since I've posted. I was introduced to this life in 1999. I've had a lot of fun and lot of various injuries mostly because I'm not graceful... and because I'm wayyyyy too willing to try shit. In fact, at one point, I was considered his "enabler". Those other bitches just didn't get it that I was trying to liven things up a little... pfft!

I just did the math - that's 15 years for me.. oy vey.

So, I met a man who I ended up marrying. He's flavored like me. We should be compatible this way and that. Here's the rub.. Real life is creeping in. How do you make that shit work?!? I've had 3 surgeries in about a year. That's been a royal pain - literally and figuratively.

He is looking at me differently now. Like I'm frail. That pisses me off. It makes me angry.

15 years - I've seen so much. I feel like a yoda for slaves minus the green twat and hairy ears. I miss the feelings I had in some of those posts.

Maybe it's time to evaluate yoda's place in the universe.

Mr. Man-O-Gram

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 03:01:00 +0000

So..

Yes..

I'm 40.. at least the doctor is convinced I am. He wouldn't give me anymore HRT without having a mammogram. Tell me that's not some fucking conspiracy. And whoooooooo would go to jail for the atrocities that would surely be committed when the estrogen ran out?!?

Me. Not him. What a fucking bastard.

So.. In order to save the whole wide world without having to wear spandex or a stupid fucking cape tied to my neck, I scheduled the fucking mammogram (and this goofy blood test he wanted done).

I did it today. Now.. this isn't my first. I had my first mammogram six months after the assault. They were checking for damage lingering from the fucker. I thought that maybe it wasn't so bad because they knew I was only 30-something and why it was necessary. I thought they were being fucking nice to me.

I thought wrong. I got no special treatment that day. No gentle, caring treatment to help mend me after the trauma. Nope ladies and gentleman.. I was just another boob in the chute.

How do I know this thing?!? Because, today, it was exactly the same thing. No big pain.. no big problem.. just a little squishy squishy. The hardest part of the fucking thing was balancing on one leg, holding my breath on one crutch while they shot my tit.

Frankly speaking, Gregoryk squishes my boobs a fuck of a lot harder than any bitch with two glass plates ever could. He's a walking fucking manual mammogram. A fucking man-o-gram.

He left a hand print on it the other night that I thought for sure was going to look like a hand turkey on the tata today. It is kind of weird, by the by, having a 60 year old woman pick up your boob and position it like she were settling a cake on a plate.

I got done pretty quickly with the breast smashing and then on to the bloodwork. I think bitches should not be allowed to draw blood when they're distracted by someone's crutches. I have never.. ever.. in all my fucking life seen blood settling like it did in my arm.. and I have to tell you, that after four kids and all the bazillion surgeries I've had.. I know what its like to get a needle in the arm.

If I wasn't so busy trying not to faint, I would have cracked her in the shin with my crutch.

I think I'm going to start calling him Mr. Mammogram.. or Man-o-gram.

Maybe I'll get another exam for my efforts.

The 3 B's..

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 02:35:00 +0000

Note: This is a rant. Not a rant about my friends. Rather.. about fucktards.

My daughter is blonde. As an adolescent, she and I would often exchange blonde jokes. as her brother's got older, they joined in. It became quite the joke competition. My daughter is also dyslexic. She's smart as a whip and even more stubborn than me.

So one day, we're in the car. She was looking at something and misread it.

She says.. mom, I'm the 3 B's..

Three B's? says I..

Yup.. says she. I'm Blonde, Blind and Deaf.

O.o

That's still to me the best joke she ever told because at the moment, she was all serious (the dyslexia was a lil bitch to her at times).

But you know, I fucking see so many other people who should have the bleeping 3 B's tattooed on their fucking forehead.

Too blind to see something than their own opinion? Yup, we got em.

Blonde? I'm sure there's a blonde root in there somewhere.. cuz lord knows there's some shit going on there.

Deaf? Yeah.. when was the last time they heard an opinion they liked that didn't match their own. We definitely got those.

FFS.

You know.. 3+ years ago when I joined Fet, I was a member of the Politics! group. My friends know I love political talks. How cool would it be to have passionate political discourse with a group of people with shared interests? It would be so fucking cool.

Take that concept and then consider that the group of people I'm trying to have a discussion with are a group that has historically been on the receiving end of personal bigotries and such. Personally, I would expect a group like that to be more open towards others with a different POV than the "bad guys".

I know a lot on here aren't religious.. but really.. there is merit in the golden rule.

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

That does not fucking mean .. Look what society has done to me, so fuck you.

I get that I might have a different opinion than you. Me having a different opinion doesn't make me feel defensive. I am not married to being right. Moreover, I don't really give a rat's ass if you (that collective you.. you know what I mean?) agree with me or not. I don't write shit down on here hoping that I will see my inbox flooded with people saying how awesome I am.

Really.. I'm fucking surprised anyone ever reads this shit anyway. I write this shit for me. ME.

(that's the singular me.. as in ME)

So how the fuck did a group get so fucking enraptured with the 3 B's?!? I swear its like a contagion on this site.

We love you as long as you agree with us.

We like you so long as you share our same pov.

You can play ball as long as you know, we are right and you are wrong.

We're smart. You're dumb.

We can figure shit out a lot better than you can.

^That shit runs through this site like the motherfucking plague.

If I had a pair of fucking shoes for every time someone on this site dismissed my point of view because they didn't agree with it.

You know.. its not that I'm disagreed with.. its more I'm disgusted.

D-fucking-gusted.

Where is the elite?
Where is the morally superior?
Where is someone that I can actually respect because they fucking respect me?

So fuck you and your blonde, blind and deaf self.

Fuck you and your arrogance.

Fuck you and your unwillingness to respect the different.

Fuck you and your personal bigotry.

In short.

FUCK YOU.

Need

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 01:46:00 +0000

Logically, I know and understand that all things have a need. In fact, the reality is that all things generally have more than one. So why is accepting our needs seemingly so difficult?

You know, part of me thinks that the better you are at enunciating your needs the more likely you are to have a successful relationship. And by relationship, I do not mean purely the intimate sort. Rather, I think that that if you are able to speak clearly about your needs, all your interpersonal relationships will be better off.

Why is that we cannot see our own needs evolving, changing or morphing? It's almost like we feel like we are static beings held fast in a timeless moment. As if I will not or cannot change. If I can change, so can my needs.

I used to think that there was a perfect set of needs. A set of needs that were minimal and that only the most perfectly mentally healthy person could survive on that sparse set of requisite things. I am not that mentally healthy. (No shit rings out from the peanut gallery!)

I am a little older and a little wiser now. I am the best me I can be.. and that me needs.

I need order, structure and to feel the ability to let go of control. I need to follow. I need to be free from chaos. I need to not feel the need to take charge.

I need a simple life full of small pleasure and calm serenity. I need to admire the values, temperament and actions of my Master. I need to be proud of him.

I need to trust him. I need to feel small under his eye.

I need those things.

One thing I am sure of is that my needs later on life will most likely have changed slightly. I'm ok with that.

Minvans and Hoverounds

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 16:53:00 +0000

Here's a forewarning.. this post is purely a mix of rant and shock mixed in with a little more rant and then sprinkled with whining.

Rant-shock-whine-on..

My fucking boobies hurt. My fucking ribs hurt. My fucking shoulders feel like I've gotten a bazillion booster shots in each one. My wrist (with the nerve damage) fucking hurts.

Oddly.. thanks to the sadistic crutches, all of those parts actually hurt more than my leg.. which is being gentle on me since I'm not putting weight on it anymore.

Who thought this was a good idea? Trade one painful body part for seven others?!? Surely that's the kind of math you encounter in the DMV or the IRS or ..well.. anytime Obama tries to figure out what the actual unemployment rate is..

Seriously though..

You know the ding-dong nurse at the ortho tried to convince me that I was actually 5'6" tall? I mean really.. cuz like at 40 years old, I would have lapsed into a moment of senility that would self correct with a swift Duh! just at the question. I've been 5-bleeping-2 since I was 12.. I know damned well I wouldn't just shoot up another 4 inches because I broke my freaking leg.

So anyhow..

And then I get all emotionally gooey and shit. WTF?!? That's like a body fail. That's like when you're all mad and shit and all you can do is cry.. so then all the guys around you look like you're all emotional.. but you're just so pissed and the fucking estrogen in your body took the opportunity to fuck you over just one more time.

Total body fail.

Emotions should come with a remote control.

So my darling baby boy.. my lil'est guy who has had the distinct pleasure of snapping his femur and spending time in a full body cast and then a halo set up on his leg for four months.. as well as snapping the tibia in the other leg..

Well he took great pleasure in telling me that I could use one of those hoverounds or smart carts. No way I'll ever use one of those. No way jose.

Until tonight.

Motherfucker.. there I was riding around the Tom Thumb in a granny cart. WTF?!? I'm a victim of the crutches. I can't fucking believe it. Those lil carts were on my hard limit list right up there with poo-facials and mini-vans.

I got no fucking safewords.

I got no fucking aftercare.

What I did get was my baby boy telling me I was awfully short riding around in that cart. 5'6" short I ask? He just laughs.

Sigh. I'm starting to count the days til I get off the crutches.

33 days and counting.

Leg / Knee Update

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 16:52:00 +0000

Saw the Ortho Specialist this morning.

By the way, the fucking xray tech was a sadistic bastard who will not be getting xmas cookies from me - and I told him such. He made me do an xray in a deep knee bend with a fucking broken leg. WTF?!?

Anywho..

The knee is great. Yeah. The leg is not. Un-Yeah.

The tibia is apparently split from the top of the bone down along the length.

Good news is its not dislocated. Yeah. Bad news is I'm totally non-weight bearing at least a month. Un-yeah.

If it dislocates, it will require surgery and screws. Sigh.

Soooooo... Ya'll better be keeping your fingers crossed for me. It would really fucking hurt for me to beat you with my crutch.

Stupid Bitches, Eyerolls and WebMD

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 16:51:00 +0000

Q: What do stupid bitches, eyerolls and WebMd all have in common?

A: I've spent experienced all of these things in the last 24 hours.

That's some bullshit, isn't it?

FFS.. (yes, I should probably put out an advisory now for all the timid, gentle readers who have their moral sensibilities offended by the word 'fuck'.. yes, i'm going to be using 'fuck' a lot on my journal entry on a kinky website where people display pics of their pumped, gaping, 'eye of soren' assholes regularly.. get the fuck over it..)

Anyhow.. back to the regularly scheduled programming.

I'm sitting here.. under two blankets, cuz I'm cold (yeah!) in my pajamas with my knee wrapped and elevated. It fucking hurts. It fuckety-fuck-fuck-FUCKing hurts. It wasn't hurting this bad when I went to the doc's before. But something happened last weekend. I got bumped coming out of the hockey game. It was a sharp, immediate pain. And then my lil-est guy came up behind me for a hug and did a weeble wobble move. Holy FUCK that hurt.

After the girl at work spent all morning scaring me with predictions about crutches and torn ligaments and tendons and the utter destruction of whatever groovy part of me that makes me so fabulous, I spent a whole hour fucking around on WebMD and other scary sites. Do you realize how bad your mind can fuck with you when you're looking at anatomical drawings of an ACL tendon?!?

I mean really? That shit is worse than a horror flick.

Stupid? meh.. its not as stupid as some of the stupid fucking bitches (one in particular who shall remain nameless but for those that know me well.. I bet you can guess) I've seen. Dear lord, there needs to be a magical overseer for stupid bitches that shut them the fuck up.

And then.. it makes me wondered.. these owned stupid bitches.. do their owners realize how stupid their bitch is?!? or did they just actually go out to find a stupid bitch that will froth at the mouth like a rabid vagina fresh off a vagisil treatment?!? Shut yer bitch up, please. Take away her fucking typing privileges, please. Surely there is some domestic task she could perform.. or some group of football players she could service that will keep from fucking typing stupid fucking nonsensical bullshit and professing the uber-ness of your magnificent perfection. OMG.. ugh..

(i'm cranky.. can you tell?)

Speaking of domestic shit. I do domestic shit. Yes I do. I even have domestic skillz. I have domestic tools and a real life vacuum.

So.. when me and my vagina suggest using the vacuum cleaner, why does that require a penis enhanced unit to make an eyeroll with a duh expression?!?

WTF.

What the fuh-huck?!?

Sucky-sucky? Hoover will get you lucky lucky.

Thanks Given..

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 16:50:00 +0000

It's Thanksgiving - the prepared federally acknowledged day designed to herd everyone together to give thanks, prop up profits for the grocery stores and to give a prep day for retailers getting ready for Black Friday.

Cynical? Um.. a little.

The reality, for me at least, is that I've been pretty frustrated the last few weeks with the way the dice have rolled for me. November has simply not turned out as planned at all. I've been cooking for the last two days pretty much straight. I don't want to cook ANYMORE.. and yet, there is still a whole other turkey to cook.

WTF?!? A whole fucking 20 lb turkey. Ugh.

You know the one thing you can bank money on is that there is plenty of time to think when scalding a milk and heavy cream combo for an espresso - brandy cream sauce. So, thinking I have done.

Initially, I thought to myself in a grumpy mutter, what they ha-hay is there to be thankful for?!? I mean.. my knee still hurts.. work is nuts.. my ex is deploying again which is bad for my kids.. and also means my son will probably deploy again.. the list goes on.. and on.. and on.. Double fucking ugh.

But then somewhere around prepping the ice bath for said sauce, it occurred to me that I really am blessed all things considered.

I'm blessed with smart, happy children.. I'm blessed with their smile and the joy they bring into my life even when they leave egg shells and egg snot on the cooktop.

I'm blessed to work in an environment that keeps me active and my mind stimulated. I work in a place where I genuinely like most of the people. Hell, I'd even like the creeper if he'd keep his fucking hands to himself.

I'm blessed with better health this year. Last year, I was getting migraines so often.. 2 and 3 times a month for 3 or 4 days at a time. I am getting them about once every 5 or 6 weeks now.. and they're much milder than before. This was a big blessing cuz migraines are pukey.

I'm blessed with a new relationship.. which will undoubtedly mean I get groped in the baking aisle at the Super Target and give the little old man watching a hard-on and me a red face.

I'm blessed with great friends.. great friends in my life and great friends on here. Great friends like graceygirl, candy, vixen, kylie, Firmhand, raven, brigid, 247Ds, slinka and BW, JSF, Kali,

Now, I know there are definitely more people that come in and out of my life. People.. friends.. that affect me in ways that ripple through my days and make things go so well.

These blessings.. and make no doubt about it, they are indeed blessings.. come into my life and leave me for the better. They lubricate my days to make the passing of bad shit so much easier. They bring smiles and joy.

To all of you, every single one of you.. Thank you. Thank you for all the smiles you've directly or indirectly provided me. Thank you for the way you have shaped my future.

Thank you for the good and just as importantly, the bad. Thank you for it all. Life just wouldn't be quite as interesting without you all.

So Much For November..

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 16:49:00 +0000

Sigh..

I'm sitting here in my pajamas on the floor. I should be working. I have a lot to do. My mind is numb though.

Remind me again why people are drawn to relationships.. and commitments?

If I had my druthers..

Part of me is inclined to pour a nice glass of wine.. or even a vodka highball. I shouldn't though.. that doesn't solve anything.

My knee hurts. The news was better this week. Xrays weren't life altering. It still hurts though despite the prescription. I am still limping. I am feeling like maybe I should have gone to the doctor this past summer when a little bird outright insisted. Shoulda.. Woulda.. Coulda..

The doc spoke of scoping it. Do you realize that means a needle being inserted in my knee?

I nearly peed myself when he said that!

I found out tonight my ex is deploying again this spring. That means my baby boy will most likely be getting orders soon too. Just acknowledging that makes me cry. The night he left the last time.. it was like the further he drove away from me the less and less air I had in my lungs. I could feel myself suffocating with complete sadness.

A whole.. complete sadness.

My ex wanted to jack around with my holiday schedule too with the boys. Because somehow, because he chose to join the Army when he knew he'd be deploying over and over again somehow meant that my desire to have holidays with my children would go completely out the window.

Fuck him.

He didn't even have the balls to call me himself. He put the choice up to my boys again with the rationale that he wouldn't be home for Thanksgiving next year. Seven days from my holiday plans and now he wants to do this????

Vodka sounds better than wine.

The worst part is my baby calling me to talk about it and him hearing me cry. I tried to stop because I don't want to be that parent. The parent that uses his emotions to manipulate him into doing what I want. I don't want to be that parent.

God I hope that man has a permanent case of chafe the whole time his ass is playing in that sandbox.

I took the whole week off work to spend with my boys. Now I'm going to be wondering if they would really want to be spending it with their dad because they know he won't be home.

Damn him for doing this.

My knee hurts right now.. but I swear, I could still plant it in his balls if I were in the same room.

The Cusp

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 29 Oct 2011 17:16:00 +0000

I'm a June baby. Interesting spidey factoid number whatever - my mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, nephew and I are all born on the same June day. I knew we were weird but that has to be some kind of metaphysical proof, right? Righhttt..

As a kid, there was a lot of weird stuff going on around me. One of the more tame things was my mother and step-father's interest in astrology. People are interested in it and a passing interest isn't so weird. But, I don't know that my parent's interests were so passing. They judged relationships and people based upon some kind of astrological perception of a personality time. They tried to predict behaviors in people or to justify actual actions based upon the individual's sign.

As June babies, our sign was Gemini on the old astrological whatever. Now there's a new one and now I'm supposed to be a Taurus (stubborn like a bull, right? Righhttt..)

The thing I find really interesting is the cusp. How one day you're one thing.. and then the next.. well you're something else entirely. If I had been born at 2358 on June 21st, I'd be a Gemini or a Taurus or whatever new calendar they come up with one day because of some other global bobble. But, if I'm born later - say 0030 on June 22nd, if for no other reason than the passage of time, I become something else.

Now, opinions and the reality of astrological implications vary and are wholly subjective. But, its an interesting thought, no? That, you pass the cusp for no other reason than the passage of time.

That time transitions you from one to the other. That you become not necessarily because of a passive or active effort. Rather, you can become purely because the current status quo has aged.

I can see it in my life - this transition. Part of me questions if the transition is always for the better. That perhaps if I had actually acted to change the status quo, it would have had a better result. Would my action in changing the current status quo exponentially influenced the potential aged status quo?

Blah blah blah. That's a lot of theory with little substance. It's interesting to debate and hypothesize but.. at the end of the discussion, you'd be no where near an actual solid answer.

The reality - and reality is really the important stuff, right? Righhttt.. The reality is that looking back, I can see myself one thing one day and something else the next. One day a vanilla woman / mother / divorcee headstrong and full of will and the next - property.

Did I cross the cusp in the closet? Or was the cusp for me long before that? Honestly? I think it was the long before the closet. The closet just really stopped the world around me long enough for me to realize where I was. My cusp was the minute - the precise second.. that I allowed myself to try to understand the logic of a power exchange relationship.

That moment.

In that moment, I did not see a power exchange as some perversion but as a functioning relationship at least worthy of understanding. To understand, I would have to dig into it and at least get a grasp on the components. Did I think I would get dirty in the process? lol not hardly. But I did, didn't I? Several times over.

It was that moment - the moment I breathed it in rather than holding my breath.

That moment.

Which brings me back to my life BK. Was the path laid out before as a child and the destination set to be arrived at by a certain time? Could I have been anything else but this with the emotional modeling experienced in my early years?

This sounds terribly fatalistic. And yet, it seems right.

Usually..

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 02:14:00 +0000

Sigh..

Me. I'm a pretty controlled person usually. I am consistent in my habits, responsiveness to stimuli, what I like and what I don't like. I am truly a creature of habit.. usually..

Habitual behavior keeps me in a routine. I usually go to sleep at the same time (thereabouts) and I get up at the same time (thereabouts). I work out on a schedule and eat on a schedule.

Usually.

Schedules help my migraines. A schedule puts my body in a rhythm that makes speedbumps and hurdles easier to overcome. I am usually really good at staying on my schedule. I'm self regulating.. stubborn.. and almost ritualistic with this.. usually.

Why? Because of the throbbing pain in my head that pays a visit when I don't. The two.. three.. four.. or five day boomer that parks its ass right between my ears and has its own personal NFL punter going at it with my cerebellum.

I know this. I live this.

Sigh..

So why do I stray from this? Its like there are times I feel like a child stuck at the kids table at the family dinner. I want to NOT be stuck in this schedule. There are times my schedule seems like my own personal albatross rather than my savior.

There are times I want to try that slice of pizza that's offered.. or that beautiful salad that most assuredly has been dosed with MSG to keep its perfect little leaves are sparkledy fresh looking. Or.. a piece of chocolate cake, warm from the oven where I baked it for my boy.

Why do I burst my own bubble? It's not that stupid emo-maso shit either. I don't enjoy the boomer afterwards. I don't create the environment that causes me to suffer. I didn't create the condition that makes me prone to these things rattling in my head.

I think its more feeling stifled. I think its more feeling like I can't or that somehow this makes me an inferior replacement for my former self. I think its a healthy, or even unhealthy at that, dose of of denial regarding my body's needs.

Its frustrating. Really fucking frustrating. I got this boomer last Thursday. I thought it was going away on Sunday.. it was fading. And then boom, we're back in the thick of it again this morning.

What kind of life is it to count the weeks between migraines? My aunt died a few months ago. A friend of mine saw me the day after and assumed I looked like I did because of a migraine. If i look ill, my coworkers say.. headache? And then, invariably, a good natured friend will offer suggestions or tell me that if I just did XYZ, it would help.

It makes me sad. It makes me sad to feel frail. To feel like I'm balancing on a ball.

Lord knows, I'm not that fucking graceful.

A Dance..

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 10 Sep 2011 03:52:00 +0000

I was standing on the belt.. shoes laced.. feeling limber.. readying myself.. preparing mentally for a lil pain in my calves which seems to be my dance partner on my runs lately.

I fixed the ipod in its case. Pink ear buds nestled securely in my ears. I have a playlist of about 500 songs I float through at work and then at the gym. It's kind of my all time favorites and has everything from Johnny Cash to Metallica. It's a glorious mix.

I push the button and the belt moves under me. Faster .. and still a little faster. Two and a half.. Three.. and then I find a nice pace at Three and a half. Incline's progressing upwards until I'm hitting 21 degrees. I'm finding my rhythm. It's a good warm up.

.10
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.30
.40

We're fully inclined now.. and the songs change. I almost stopped and splatted my face on the belt. I could feel my whole body sigh when it played.

I'm trying to keep my pace. I'm trying to not let the thoughts in my head distract my feet. Another body shuddering sigh.

Jaw locks. Determined to not flounder on that belt. Eyes close now. The song is evolving in its chorus. I'm holding onto the crossbar. Feet moving. I'm dancing on the belt. Dancing to a song that was a gift.

.50
.60

My bottom is getting tight. Calves and hamstrings are feeling the incline. I hit the back button to hear the song again. I want that song again. I don't care about the incline.. the pain.. the muscle ache.

I want that moment wherever I've managed to find it again. It's fleeting.. and I know it. I hit that replay button two more times before I'm done.

When I opened my eyes, the belt was still moving under my feet. I was still moving. But my dance was over and I knew it.

In a Moment..

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 07 Sep 2011 02:47:00 +0000

It's been a really hot summer. Most of my friends have heard me whining about the temps and begging for snow (still begging, just sayin..). Heck, Friday we were like 105 or there abouts.. and now? In what seemed like such a monumental moment, we're only in the 80's.

The weathermen were forecasting highs only in the 90's all week. We were giddy. But this???? This is purely divine. We had lows overnight for almost 2-1/2 months at about 83 degrees. And now, today, to only have a high of 85???

In a word - Wow!

Its such a nice thing, you know.. until you look around. You can't enjoy the weather because the alerts are scrolling along the bottom of the monitor reminding you that Texas is burning. Bastrop, a little community with about 10k people lost 500 homes overnight.

The fires are out of control. Hell (appropriate, no?), the Bastrop fire jumped the Colorado River twice to continue its gleeful rampage.

My ex used to volunteer as a fireman when we were stationed at Bragg. Many a cold fall night was spent at the local station watching a bunch of dudes in blue cargo pants sporting emergency scissors and a utility belt supervise the Turkey Shoot.

Sidebar: A Turkey Shoot is a very.. very.. very.. interesting place to people watch. Especially in North Carolina. :)

Anyhow.. After years of midnight fire calls and hours spent (one time on my back in the hose bed of the big pumper - pun intended) at the station with the veteran firemen, the one thing I've learned is to appreciate the destructive nature of fire. It's almost a living, breathing demon the feeds on our lives.

Just as quickly as it comes, it goes. In just a moment, its there in all its fiery glory and the next, all is ash.

The map has DFW surrounded by fire. I'm not in any way in danger mind you. But my heart breaks for those in the way of the fire. How life altering. How devastating.

We are blessed to have the resources we have available. We are blessed to have local fire departments.. and fire departments from not so near communities.. the volunteers. the communities supporting each other.

Despite it all, we are blessed.

My Life BK (Before Kink)

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 03 Sep 2011 01:13:00 +0000

For me, there is no zero year with my kink. Just as in the transition from BC to AD, my life pre-kink stopped one moment and my life with kink started the next. There was not gradual wading in of the waters until I became fully submerged. There was no lengthy transition from one paradigm to another.

One day I was vanilla. The next? Not so much.

When I look back at my life BK (Before Kink), it was a pretty typical vanilla life for a housewife and mother. I was a stay at home mom with little ones. We went to Church, I did class projects with the kids and new the Martha Stewart mantra so well I could recite it in my sleep. I baked (holy shit did I ever bake).. I could sew.. and I could even crochet and knit. I positively loved caring for my children and my family. I invested myself fully in caring for them.

My marriage was really dissolving though around me. In all honesty, it had been for some time. The Little Suzy Homemaker in me thought I could just hold it together til the kids were grown. Naive? Hell to the yes. My exhubby and I rarely fought - very, very rarely. Maybe if we had, we would have communicated our needs more clearly? Maybe.. maybe not.

There came a point though when we were were surviving in the marriage just so it would survive. Neither of us was really actively participating in a relationship with the other. I joke sometimes and say he had the penis falling off disease.. you know, where his weiner would just fall off into whatever vagina was standing still long enough near it. The truth of the matter is this - if our relationship were truly solid, he wouldn't have wanted that.. There was just something missing.

There was a point in time (I think when his mistress was calling the house and I was taking messages from her for him) that I realized just how anesthetized I had become to the emptiness in my relationship. I realized that I had gone so far as to realize my husband having a mistress blatantly didnt bother me so long as he didnt want that affection from me. That was when I knew.

We separated shortly thereafter. That was such a scary, nervous time for me. He had been my guy since I was 16. We got our driver's licenses together. He hassled me at my first job. I was the one that told him his father died. He taught me how to drive a stick shift and to race a car. I taught him to enjoy jazz and old films. We just grew up together - and now he was gone.

During the WK (With Kink) years, there are things he has done that were hurtful, disappointing and made me outright angry. But still, when I see him, I think of us as kids. I think of him with those goofy ass glasses and that cowboy hat on. I think of riding with him in that 69 GTO and.. actually riding him IN the 69 GTO (although, anymore, I really try to not think about that part).

Shortly after we split up, I met a man. This man said I was very submissive. I took that to be an insult and we had words. Who did he think I was exactly? I had spent so much of my life merely surviving, I didn't see my submission for the act of submitting. I didn't see my very nature was to serve the ones I loved.

But he did. In fact, he planted a seed that day. That was the moment whether I knew it at the time or not. I despised that man for saying I was submissive. Nonetheless, I kept circling back to investigate him. I would swoop in, deny-deny-deny and then run away. In hindsight, he knew exactly what I was doing. I think somewhere in my brain there was this notion going on that if I just denied hard enough it wouldn't be so.

He would say brutally hurtful things to me. They would enrage me and fill me self-righteous indignation. And while the things he said were way over the top, there were tiny little morsels of truth in them. Tiny little nuggets that festered in my brain. (Isn't this where we touch on female emotional masochism???? Yes, but I like my clit. Just sayin.)

My conversations with this man began to shift the ground under my feet like loose sand. The harder I tried to maintain that measure of personal space, he eroded it. I kept trying to keep my stance and my back straight, but each conversation shift level until I was on my knees.

The funny thing is.. he wasn't particularly nice to me. I think that if he had been, I'd have disregarded him immediately. I needed sincerity. I needed honesty. I didn't want (not really now either) that feeling that this is ass kissing with an agenda. He felt I was too willful.. too self centered..and rude.

And I was (some might say, and that's changed???).

He had a cure though in his mind. The instruction would ring out - bark for me five times.

No.

Do it girl.

Hell no. (start back at the beginning now)

Our conversations did that type of dance for months. He was so doggedly persistent. So was I though.. I had absolutely not a single, solitary intention of EVER giving that man the satisfaction of even thinking I would do that for him.

Hell to the no.

And then, I did. I did it because I had a need. I had had that need since he planted that seed whether I wanted to or not. I did it because keeping that strong willed son-of-a-bitch in my life became more important than my own ego. From there, everything changed. Or well, I thought everything changed. Every last thing changed after the infamous closet time but that was still six months out.

And so, my life WK continued at least so far as I was aware of it. We'd been in the WK time for quite a bit even though I was oblivious to it. There were tasks and assignments none of which I liked. None of which I had any desire to do whatsoever.

But I did. I was possessed. He had managed to put a stranglehold on me in a way that held me confined within his grasp and I liked it. From there, I would never be able to successfully go back to vanilla again.

From there, my life with kink began.

Lost Girl..

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 04 Aug 2011 01:32:00 +0000

I can see her now..
In my memory..
Dark hair blowing in the wind..

I remember her now..
Young and vibrant..
She was smiling and laughing..

She wasn't that much older than me really..
Her dimple.. her smile..
Impish in a way..

How could I have known..
Was there a way to know?
To understand that she had already taken a different path..

What could I have done?
Anything?
Could I have said anything to change the future?

Lost girl..
She was already lost..
lost to us and we didn't know it..

Lost moments..
Lost chances..
Filled with regret and sadness..

The desperation she must have felt..
The sadness and loneliness..
She was lost..

And now we are too.

The Cult of True

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 02:31:00 +0000

Truth.. Truism.. True..

I've been thinking about these things a lot as of late. I don't want to give you the impression that I'm perpetually sitting around meditating in deep thought - mind you. But I keep coming back to the concept of True.

Concept? Yes. I think it is. In fact, I'll take it a step further. Truth and purveyors of truisms are all part of a cult. The Cult of True.

In the Cult of True, the members become dogmatic and vested in their truth. Propagating their truth becomes a ritual. They simply must, I repeat absolutely must, make you understand their truth and why you are either in or outside it's bounds.

We see the cult members all over society in every shape, color, creed, and socio-economic group. Liberals have their truth. Conservatives have one too. Goreans have a truth just as Doms / subs.

Just because you have a personal truth, it doesn't mean its universal. The cultist prance around with their one right way and try to indoctrinate others. Their confidence in their own life choices and their own truth hangs on knowing their truth is superior to your truth.

Personally.. I think they need some kool-aid.

I'm sick to death of the cult. Moreover, I'm sick of the anti-cultists who really practice their own cult worship. The anti-cultists are just as invested in being the opposite of the cultists. It's really fucking pathetic.

How many times have you seen someone (a.k.a. a cult of truth member) get on a thread and preach about the one right way to do whatever it is that the thread was about?!? And then.. within a few posts, a group of anti-cultists start in and preach their own anti-cult of true philosophy (of which they are just as dogmatic).

Can you be confident in your own truth without feeling the need to force it down the throats of everyone else? When someone's forcing you to ingest their truth, is the ONLY possible response an anti-cultist chant? Can you not simply not swallow?????

This is the one and only time I think not swallowing is totally appropriate.

I know my truth. I know how my truth impacts my life, my decisions and my values. I do not, in any way, expect or require you to share my truths.

Don't expect that of me either. You won't get an anti-cultists response from me.

Although, I should warn you, if you try to force your junk in my mouth, I might bite.

Feeling Froggy Today..

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 17 Jul 2011 14:04:00 +0000

My fucking foot hurts. Motherfucking fuckety fuck fuck tendons. Bastard tendons. Cocksucking tendons.

I have a race in one month and I've been trying to build up my endurance with the impact. Yeah, I can do six miles on the AMT and other low impact shit. But I've been working on the treadmill lately because obviously the race will not be on the AMT. So three miles yesterday and now this morning my fucking foot is throbbing. The race is three miles. I wasn't exhausted when I finished yesterday. I thought I'd stop early to avoid my fucking mother fucking fucking fucking tendons from hurting. Le sigh.

(I fell 6 years ago.. tore the tendons in my feet. It was one of my more infamous clutzy moves needless to say..)

I keep stretching it.. It doesnt feel very resilient right now.. (it's 40 years old afterall - bitch..)

Anywho.. I was down last week with another 4day plus migraine. The second one in three weeks.

Fuckety fuck fuck work.

Sooooo..

I'm feeling froggy now. Fed up and feisty.

I think I'm gonna cut my hair.. I'm not nearly as brave as Kylie to cut it that short. I have had it that short and well, I was utterly miserable.

So.. I'm gonna cut it.. I'd go blonde too if it wouldn't melt my hair. There are blonde spiders in the world, no?

Movie Lessons, Ghosts and Scooby Doo..

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 16 Jul 2011 15:24:00 +0000

I think we all have ghosts. Phantoms from our past that, at different times, reappear.

The thing is.. you have to remember those lessons taught to us via celluloid.

Take for instance the lessons in The Sixth Sense... yes, that one before Bruce Willis lost his hair.. or was that just a bad hair job too? That surrogate of his in The Surrogate sure had a bad hair job..

I digress.

In The Sixth Sense we learn that ghosts only appear because they want you to do something for them. Their manifestations are purely a self serving act that is intended to get you to do shit for them.

So.. when that ghost calls you on the phone under the premise of just saying hello.. remember.. there is really a purpose to that call. If it were about you, you'd have been the one initiating it and not the other way around.

Where is Scooby Doo when you need him?

I can make some freakin awesome scooby snacks if he'll make that ghost go away.

Just sayin.

Scooby dooby doo.. where are you..

Sunday Into Monday..

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 11 Jul 2011 04:22:00 +0000

It's Sunday night and I'm looking at the clock. Almost bedtime and that means its almost Monday. Almost work.

I left the office Friday in an angry state. I caught flack from the HR guy on my way out.. to which, he was promptly flipped off as I kept walking.

I told them last week I was going to be quitting. They all kind of freaked a lil. Apparently not enough. New creepy boss guy was not as clingy this week. He probably would not have been able to take a rectal pulse on me with his shoulders.. I suppose that's a positive, yes?

Yes..

I lost a friend over this whole ordeal. That's probably the most bothersome part of the whole thing. Mind you - he was a total bullying ass over this thing and said something terribly hurtful. Ok. It was more than just bothersome. His behavior and words caused pain. Tears and pain. He used the same kinds of methods the creepy boss dude uses to get what he wants.. le sigh..

Part of me says walk away. If its bad enough to tell the guys upstairs to fuck off.. it's time to walk away. Doesn't "fuck off" imply the step back?

Yes..

I'm not ready for Monday. I don't want Monday to come.

P.S. I deleted the last journal on this because of some of the commentary and things that were implied. I'll do it again if necessary.

Struggling..

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 24 Jun 2011 00:06:00 +0000

I'm a quirky duck. That's a given. But I've been struggling with one of my quirks lately. I don't know exactly how to describe it really. It's not like being claustrophobic but it's close. I don't do well with being touched by strangers or having strangers in my personal bubble. I like some space between me and them. It makes me feel like I'm suffocating.

Oddly, it's the same reaction I have when my face or neck gets jizz all over it. But that's a whole other topic of quirkiness altogether.

It's a quirk I try to be aware of honestly. I know its my nature to feel that way and I try to not make people around me uncomfortable by showing a lot of reaction (you know, the screaming panic attack where you're sobbing in the corner kinda thing).

Buttttt.....

I got a new boss the last couple of weeks. I'm an analyst that was previously attached to operations. Now, I'm a direct report to the controller.

OMG.. he is so far up my ass, I swear he's breathing for me. He keeps moving shit on my desk.. closing my drawers.. he actually moved furniture and cabinets in my office so he could shimmy a chair up right next to me and watch me work. I mean like shoulder to shoulder shit.

I wasn't that fucking close this fucking much with my ex husband (which, I promise, is not the reason we're divorced).

He keeps coming downstairs to my office to ask the same set of stupid questions.. I mean exactly the same set of questions.. over and over and over again. I feel like I'm talking to a two year old.

A two year old with no awareness of personal space. He keeps shutting my office door and closing me in with him. For hours. I mean.. 4 hours or more.

I don't like him. I know what I like and how I like it. Conversely, I know what I don't like even if its for a nugatory reason.

I do not like him.

He has to be able to tell too. I am really quite horrible about disguising my disgust. I have no ability to hide things. My coworkers who know me keep laughing because its really obvious I'm hating it. Now they're calling me trying to give me a head's up to flee my office before he gets there.

I literally ran out the door at lunch so he wouldn't have time to stop and talk.

He's oppressive in a clingy pet kinda way that won't leave you the fuck alone. I feel claustrophobic around him. I feel like I'm suffocating.

My old boss and the HR guy keep telling me it will be fine. I think they're both on crack and are just telling me this because they don't think there's anything to be done. The HR guy knows me well enough to know my feelings on it won't go away.

I'm so miserable. I'm on the verge of tears every time I hear his voice. I'm struggling so much to just get through the day. I used to enjoy my job despite the rough days. Now, just thinking about going to work tomorrow makes me anxious.

I'm really at a loss.

5 for 25..

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 01:37:00 +0000

I'm melting. I mean like literally, as I sit here writing this.. I can feel my muscles melting into the chair.

I set a goal.
And.. I did it.

It might seem like a silly goal but it's not to me at all.

I have been at an endurance peak of 4 to 4.5 miles. But tonight.. I got my 5.

5.. yes, ladies and gents.. 5 bloody hellacious evil little miles.

5 positively glorious miles which put me at..

25 miles in 6 days.. :)

5 to 25..

and now I shall resume meltage..

6 Weeks and Counting..

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 02 Apr 2011 01:20:00 +0000

So..

I get migraines. I don't mean that I get a bad headache once in a while. I get intense migraines that last 4 to 5 days at a time. They suck royal ass. They were triggered by a surgery I had years ago. At one point, I was getting them 2 or 3 times a month. Over the last year, I was getting a good one every month and then lesser ones triggered by other stimuli once or twice more a month. My friends and family have watched me suffer through them, miss holiday events, and time with my boys.

Again.. it sucked royal ass.

But..

It's been six weeks since my last headache. I don't mean six weeks since I had a bad one. I feel great... I don't feel the aura.. I don't feel like I'm in the zone.. I feel amazzzzzzinggggggggggg..

Absolutely amazing..

I have been able to get back to the gym more regularly than before. I've gotten back up to almost 4 miles a day. I haven't missed class for being sick..

I feeeeeeeellll so fucking good.

good..

glorious and happy.

:)

Just wanted to share..

How Did I Know..

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 11 Mar 2011 02:48:00 +0000

A friend asked me how I knew it was time to move on when I was married. How did I know it was over?

I knew it was when ambivalence crept into our lives. It wasn't being angry or hurt. We weren't arguers or vicious to each other. We were more passively aggressive than that. I knew it was time though when I didn't care anymore what he was doing.

Sigh..

Ambivalence is like a disease eating away the healthy roots of a giant oak. It creeps in and feeds of laziness. It's been a long time since I divorced. More years than I care to count in all actuality.

I know people who are still emotionally invested in their former partner in one way or another. The partner does something and they go beyond anger to rage.. or.. the former partner has a set back and they find pleasure in it. It's sometimes to see that these kinds of reactions are investments in the actions of the partner.

I've also been on the receiving end of ambivalence. I'd recognize it in a heartbeat. I don't know if there is a comparable pain than being made aware as to just how completely inconsequential you are to someone. That you really mean nothing, that you do not carry enough value to warrant a thought, a phone call, a note.

Ambivalence.

Ambivalence is so destructive and yet seemingly incurable when set in. How do you correct ambivalence? I don't think you can really. I think the exhibition of ambivalence is a statement set in stone. I guess you could get another stone but really... I mean, really?

How do you know? You know, when ambivalence is coming to dinner.

Tell Me How..

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 27 Feb 2011 15:13:00 +0000

How.. Tell me how.. Please.

Tell me how to move my feet. How to go anywhere but here. Here, this desolate, barren, empty place.

Show me. Show me where I belong. I'm lost. I'm lost and the silence around me is deafening.

Pull me to the place I belong. Drag me by my hair because I'm too blind to see the path.

Fill my nose with familiar scents. Scents that will lead me home.

Show me where my heart is. I can't feel it anymore and I'm worried it's gone forever.