Or better, depending on how you look at it! ~wink~

M and I are so completely different, in various areas of our beliefs, political views, the way we see the world and people in general, that it would almost be laughable if it weren’t so horribly tragic.

His view, I mean, is horribly tragic.  ~snicker~ Read more…

Click to enlarge!

The other day, M and I had an argument… sort of.  It was meant to be a discussion, and we tried to keep it conversational, but emotions got high, as they tend to do, and tempers flared, and we were both licking wounds when things were over.  We worked it out, and we promised each other we’d fix it.

But something He said stuck with me.

He told me there’s a shit ton of stuff that He does throughout the day to help me maintain an even keel, and stay on task.  He reminds me of things often, and points out obstacles I don’t see so I won’t trip over them (literally and figuratively), and when He sees me trying to take something from the bottom of the pile without moving everything, He’ll make me stop and take everything off the pile first so I don’t knock it all over.  All of this, and more, He does so I don’t freak out about how clumsy I am, or get upset about my failing memory, or get frustrated with my disabilities.  Read more…

I don’t remember if I posted this here.  It’s old.  I submitted it to deviantART in 2006.  I’m reposting it because I feel like I’ve come a long way since then.

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“You just don’t understand me!”

I remember yelling it when I was a child.

“You think you know me but you don’t! My heart pounds so hard I can’t hear anything else and all I want is for it to stop. I tell myself stories all day, watching faces form in the black dots on my ceiling. And my imaginary friend? He’s real. He’s the one that leaves the cabinets open in the afternoon. And at night, that’s when the real fun starts. I feel drunk. My bed bucks and sways like the ferry did that day when we went to see Gramma and got stuck in the storm. And all I can do is lay there and wait for them to take me away. The witches in the bushes. They’re waiting for a day when you go to bed before they do so that you don’t see them.”  Read more…

Isn't she beautiful? And look! Em doesn't look like a little boy anymore.

I’m a huge Eminem fan.  HUGE.  Always have been, probably always will be, even after the rest of the world has forgotten his name.  From his “I just don’t give a fuck.” attitude, to his amazing amount of self-awareness, to his most recent feat of cleaning up and coming out with two new albums almost at once, this man has held me completely enthralled since I was a teenager.

A lot of people think he’s disgusting.  A hater of women, homosexuals, his neighbors, his fans, his family, people he doesn’t know, and you and me.  Matter of fact, the only people anyone can say he loves for sure are his daughters and his crew.

I won’t sit here and pretend some of his songs aren’t offensive.  I won’t claim he’s this super awesome person we should all emulate.  He’s made his mistakes.  He’s been in trouble.  And for all the people screaming about “Poor me.  I’m so famous that it’s ruined my rich little life, and I’m such a tortured artist. Let me make music about it and my tragic love life.”, being rich and famous doesn’t change the fact that he’s had it rough.  Read more…

You know, it’s funny.  Our relationship quite often cycles the way an abusive relationship is said to.  If someone who didn’t know us were on the outside looking in, only seeing things from a third person limited perspective, not being able to read M’s mind or know what He’s thinking without asking Him directly, it could come off as an abusive relationship.

M knew how I was feeling.  I’d told Him a couple of times over the course of a few days.

And He likes playing mind games.  Read more…

This morning, M made the sweetest love to me.  It’s very, very rare that our sexcapades can be called love-making.  The vast majority of the time, it’s something much more primal.  Raw, and rough, and rugged.  Like a beast claiming his mate in the forest.

Not this morning.

This morning, He curled up beside me and pulled my back tight up against His chest.  He lovingly traced every bump and curve with His fingertips and pressed tiny kisses to my shoulders and neck and back.  He held me tight in His arms, squeezing ever tighter, pulling closer, as if He were trying to crawl inside my skin.  Read more…

A while back, a couple of my friends asked me what’s keeping M and me from going to public kink stuff.  Munches, play parties, events, what have you.  I usually poo-poo it off with our shyness and lack of fetish wear.  My low self-esteem, and His gimongous workload.  Our empty wallet.  But there’s more to it that I don’t often talk about.

M’s afraid I’ll embarrass Him.  Either with a disrespectful joke at His expense, or my tendency to interrupt and talk over Him, or my occasional temper tantrums, or… He doesn’t mind so much that I’m clumsy.  It brings Him countless hours of entertainment.  It’s mostly the disrespectful behavior that He has a problem with.  Read more…

So not too long ago, I joined a group on Fet called Not Quite Ready For Polite Company M/s-ers .  I haven’t done a whole lot of participating.  Or reading, for that matter.  Matter of fact, the only reason I’ve been on Fet at all in the past few weeks is because Kaya dropped me a line.  So I’m really not sure if I’m suited to this group.  I followed Kaya and tora there, and have only sort of been paying attention to the topics of discussion and how people respond.  (Read: I have no idea if you’ll like this group.  Don’t join just because I did thinking it’s gonna be super cool.)

A while back, though, they had a thread about this.  Sort of.  The questions were, “Are you required to maintain a pleasant demeanor at all times? How’s that working out for you?”  Read more…

Carrie used this image for a post I wrote over on Eden Cafe a while back. It totally fits, so I stole it.

My period must be coming.  Because I’m falling apart.

Yesterday, I ruined pancakes.  And that was just the beginning.  After ruining pancakes, I promptly ruined my eggs.  After ruining my eggs, I began to drop things, trip over stuff, knock joints on random corners…

To top it off, after writing about not having writer’s block, I ended up hopelessly blocked.  I had two off-site articles I wanted to at least start.  Had the topics already outlined in my mind.  And was able to write exactly jack, and shit.  I managed three forced paragraphs that sound forced, and clipped, and are not at all teeming with my usual wit and hilarity (Shut up.  I am so too funny.).  And I all but melted down.  Read more…

GAH!

Sitting here fretting over not having a blog topic while I chat with my buds and glue myself to Hootsuite.  All the while not even realizing that I was giving myself a topic.

I feel like puking.  I made a resolution, within myself, yesterday, to stay on top of things.  The house, my writing, my time management… All of it.

As a beginning, I spent the day (yesterday) cleaning the house top to bottom.  Everything except the bedroom and the closets.  The bedroom and closets are going to require cash, patience and a day with no real direction.  And we’ll probably have a yard sale afterward.  So I’m hoping to get it done this weekend.  Yard sales are no fun when it’s cold and August is fast upon us.  Read more…