Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.
I wasn’t kidding when I said the only thing Master and I fight about these days is how much He works. I know that, for the most part, it’s beyond His control. I know that He doesn’t want to be working this much. And I know it could be far, far worse. He could be doing all those hours in the office. Or He could be without a job. But to be honest, it’s come to a point where knowing those things ceases being consolation.
I honestly would rather live on the street than have Him continue to live this way. And I’ve lived on the street before, so I know exactly what I’m saying.
After Master suggested I write about how His job affects our relationship, I mentioned it to Cin and she said, “That should be lengthy.” I guess I bitch just as much as I think I do about His job and how much it sucks. But I responded, “And here I was thinking I had nothing to say.”
I can sum it up in four words. His job touches everything.
I’m on my computer all day, every day when I’m not doing chores because He works all day, every day. And as much as I’d love to say that when He’s working from home, I can sit at His feet all day and give Him massages and blow jobs and hand jobs and… The fact of the matter is, if I were to do that, He’d get nothing done. Not to mention He’s on the phone more than anyone I’ve ever known. Moaning and such in the middle of a conference call would certainly get Him fired.
Hmm… Now that’s an idea.
Master’s nonstop work schedule seriously fucks with Him. He’s tired all the time. He has no energy. He almost never leaves the house. He doesn’t have time to do the things He used to do to help make His mind stop or, at the very least, slow down, which means He’s constantly stressed out. Spending so much time indoors lowers His immune system, so He’s been sick, lately, more than He has since I met Him. Working so many overnights has His sleep schedule completely screwed up which exacerbates His already low energy level and iffy mental state.
Master’s got a few mental issues as well. Who doesn’t, these days, you know? His are mostly anxiety related, though occasionally He dips into depression. Usually when we’re having money problems or His sleep schedule is out of whack.
Lately, the vast majority of His anxiety and depression has surrounded His job. They’re annoyed with the fact that we still don’t have a car, as if His raise (which made it so we can pay our bills but, because of the debt we managed to amass when they were paying Him a fraction of what He’s worth, doesn’t leave much room for anything else without falling behind on something), in this economy, in one of the most expensive places to live, should magically turn into a car in a matter of a couple months. They complain that He often can’t get out of the house and into the office because His phone is ringing off the hook with emergencies before the alarm goes off. They don’t include Him in new projects, and then expect Him to clean up the mess when they crash and burn. And He’s working twelve to eighteen hours every other day or so. Sometimes every day.
Yeah… I know. Wah wah wah. Such is the life of Corporate America. I’m not saying everyone doesn’t deal with it. I’m merely trying to illustrate what we are dealing with.
As you can imagine, working that much doesn’t leave much time for the training He wants to be doing. When He does have free time, He wants to spend it relaxing, because He so rarely has free time. Which leads to the inconsistencies in our relationship that He’s constantly trying to combat.
So He lets things slide. And instead of being grateful for the time we spend trying to reconnect after a long day, I take advantage of an already bad situation and push the limits of what He’s willing to take from a slave to feel the length of my leash. And He overlooks it again. And I push again. And round and round and round we go. Where we stop, nobody knows.
I want Him to be out taking pictures, and having lunch at our favorite cafe, and hiking to the bottom of our favorite waterfall. Well, when the ice melts, at least. I want to have long, drawn out play sessions. Walking around with the cane in His hand? Yeah, that doesn’t count. I want Him to not be too tired to take a walk to the movies and stay out till 3am. I want us both to be secure enough, comfortable enough, with my training and our dynamic for us to at least test the waters in the local communities.
With Him working like He does, none of that is possible.
Around 5pm, He kicks me off the computer because He’s tired of looking at the screen. We go sit on the couch, and eat dinner between 5:30 and 6:30 depending on what we’re having. We watch MythBusters and Weeds and porn and talk and kiss and touch and fuck, all in a balls-to-the-wall attempt to make His mind stop. And He’s often immediately having to pull out the laptop and go back to work the second He puts down His fork.
Next thing we know, He’s finally closing His laptop and it’s 11pm (or later). I’ve been asleep for a while, curled up next to Him on the couch, or on the floor beside His tray-table, and He’s too tired to even attempt much more than a few half-hearted gropes and fifteen minutes or so of snuggling before both of us crash.
And while I miss the rough sex, and harsh beatings, and nights spent on my knees being taught positions, and rituals, and rules, what I miss the most is seeing Him smile. Watching Him slide into that zone where every barren tree branch is potentially a work of art. The worry lines melt into His skin and He looks ten years younger. Peaceful. Happy.
The hardest part, for me, about Him working this much is watching Him struggle and knowing the only things I can do are be on my best behavior and try to be understanding. Be part of what’s good in His life, rather than part of what stresses Him out. It’s not easy because I want to be selfish. I want to scream at the top of my lungs, “What about me?” And sometimes I do. And then when He gets around to taking me to task, I’m pissed because He’s been letting it slide for so long. And…
Oh, bother. It’s a vicious cycle and it fucks shit up.
His job touches everything in our life. Everything. I can’t help feeling like it shouldn’t be that way.