wishes

i wish love was edible.

and trade-worthy.

i wish i could serve the sunset for dinner

i wish i could get everywhere by walking.

on soccer parents

When your philosophy is, “the kids want to have a good time, but we want to win,”  you need your own damned team.  When this is your reasoning for being a jackass, you have invested far too much in your 10 yo girl for her to manage to do anything well.

One of the parents of the soccer team Das, emmie and i coach had decided to take over the practice yesterday.  We nearly walked.  The parents of the team have no idea how to coach but they don’t like Das’ idea of watching before determining anything.  I hate them all except for one, and hope against hope we are through with this thing in november.

The parent i do like has advised us that there is far too much interest in sports in Tinytown, TX.  That’s all there is to do.  Then, i wonder, why not set up adult leagues?

i just want to go kick a ball around with Das and emmie instead of this ridiculous show for parents to hate us.  it sucks out loud.

The Hostile Take Over Parent?  His kids are the worst on the team.  They sit down on the field.  They don’t run the whole lap.  bleh

bleh bleh

wbmc.

in other news, i get new eyes on friday yay!

on pain

i wonder to what degree masochism is either reasonable or sexual. i can say, with a bit of experience, that i like pain when i want it, but there are times where i just like pain. not many moons ago, i recall looking forward to a hangover, for instance. but it wasn’t the “get off on it” kind of pain, like when playing. it was, in a way, a kind of sink-into-it and feeeeeel. Feel the depth of it, and to feel the absence of it when, when it abates. Pain is odd.

Das has a bad tooth right now, it’s trying to get loose enough to come out of his jaw. He is utterly miserable. I’ve had headaches that make me utterly miserable, and for most of my life i had cramps and shit that was just fully awful. Relieved of those, i still enjoy sore muscles, but not tense ones; i am ok with wandering around with a dull roar of a headache, but not the migraines that make you barfy; i have this burn on my back that is delightful to an extent, but kind of shitty after that. Why? Why some and not others? maybe it’s the variant- lesser not so bad, but too much is. That seems rather simplistic. It has to be something else, right? Does it? I don’t know. Do i get off on the pain or the relief of it? Do i look forward to the hangover so i can more enjoy the not-hangover?

Cautery pen branding is not easy to process, mostly because you have to hold still. The relief and giddiness which ensues following the scene is pretty amazing, though. For one, i slept like a rock. (I do that with needles, too- sleep really well after.)

i don’t know what to do for Das with his tooth. Part of me wishes i had enough cajolery and sadism to get him to let me pull it for him, but i am not so silly as to think i do. Another part of me wishes dentists and medication were free. Alas, there’s one bit left, that hopes it just falls out with no fanfare, but i can sense Das coming to Redding Out of this dental scene and i will be happy when that relief floods him.

as promised

the bash was wonderful.   it was really really fantastic wonderful, and i’m bone tired, even after a nap.

here, as promised, the pic of the new brand

i will post more as it heals.  This pic was right after it was finished.   my only sadness is that i don’t get to look at it all the time : )

it doesn’t hurt much today, though it did a lot yesterday.  Totally 1000000% worth it.

everyone here was very dressed up and leathery last night for the party, and i got ooohed and aaahed and emmie got ohhhhhs and mmmmmms.

more soon, going to sleep again.

more excuses…

Gentle readers,

i must tell you that power exchange relationships can be very difficult, i am met with what can only be described as a fierce bout of reactance of late.   This is a trying situation, and i am doing what i can to find the best work through of it.  However, the cord to my laptop bit the dust last week and then the same thing happened to E, so between the four of us, there are only two power cords.  Finding extended time to blog, or chat, or plan or read emails can be a bit difficult.  Soon, i am sure, our family will be welcoming new power cords into the fold, and we will do what we can to get them to outlast and outshine the currently defunct, powerlesscords.

Alas, i have no metaphor for my own TPE relationship, only that if i was attached to a battery i might take a break now and then and let the battery do all the work, but then i wouldn’t be actively submitting, which is something i really enjoy doing– so maybe not, upon second thoughts.

it’s a late night for me, having visited someone who lives a bit south from here.  She has generously cleaned out her closet to the tune of some 40lbs or so of clothes in sizes for emmie and me!  (Yay dress up day!)

So many people around us have been nothing but generous, and for all of the help they’ve given, and kindnesses extended, i can only offer high praise and my endless gratitude.  My deepest and most profound thanks, in love.

The big GWNN event is this weekend, and i am looking forward to it with great anticipation.  While last year’s event was our first experience, really with this crowd, in the last year we have met so many people and been part of so many things that going to the bash this year will be a nice sort of anniversary homecoming.  i am so happy to be a member of the community here, and so truly honoured with the friends i have made.  i want to give back so much, i really do.

i am going to help with one of the workshops this weekend.  Some variation of this will be branded with a cautery pen

A did a lot in this design, and the Top is working with it more herself.  Yes yes, when it is finished, i’ll have a pic of it for you.  All three of you who read this and talk to me anyway.

: )

i expect Das to wake up any moment, as he’s been asleep for quite a while.  So i’m hanging out ready to make coffee for him, and my sleepers have done nothing for me.

i really love making coffee for him.

lazy cozy

it was overcast and not quite so standing-on-the-sun hot yesterday, and we lazed through the day, getting everything done before Das got home.  It wasn’t much, it never really is, but we had planned on getting a bit prettier than our cleaning-lazy-yoga grungies when Das came in the door.

i am taking new delight in welcoming him home.  it has only been two days of his going to and coming from work, today will be 3, but the long layover in jobs got me used to him being around.  there’s always a change when a contract ends or begins.  i feel like i am dealing with this better than i have before.  Maybe it is because he wants to be at this job, maybe because i am easier all around.

i made welsh rarebit last night, having expected rain by 6pm, but it was still kind of hot and a bit muggy.  no one minded, though, and chomped away with compliments.

The three of us enjoyed amorous relations (teehee) and emmie and Das cozied up for a snooze.  i had energy to burn so i went to visit the A, which was a nice time out.

it didn’t rain til after midnight.

This morning started early, and then restarted rather later, but there was already coffee.  E is home for the next 3 days recovering from a 50-some-hour ride to finish his finals in time.

We’re gearing up for the next change: kidlet going back to school.  So much happens between now and then, including the BASH, an event to which i’m heartily looking forward.

i’ve been trying to get my head around my 2nd draft, but i fear i’ve written into a corner.  there’s always a window, but this one is proving a bit difficult to locate or reach, and i’m concerned i’m nearly to believing the window is another start at the beginning of this beast.  i want to avoid, also, convincing myself i need to read more in order to write more, which isn’t necessarily the case.  it’s fiction.  there’s only so much you need research, since you’re making the whole thing up anyway.

in a similar vein: there’s a poem that needs to be written that i started last night on my drive home.  it’s kind of stuck, too, but that may be only that i haven’t picked up a pen.
Of late i’ve thought a lot about Das’ style of mastery, and the way i work out my enslavement to him.  There is something to be said about the work i do around the house, but really it is more in how i see things, and the intention behind what i do.   We had a close talk recently, one in which i felt like i took leaps and bounds in my perception.  I am grateful Das does not expect me to cower.  I could say that a million times and it would barely express my gratitude in this.  i am unrestrainedly glad that my Love does not want me to change so drastically that i would resent myself.  That i am content to serve him is fulfilling to him as my Master, and that he says as much.  This is a joyful thing to me, and brings me to a place in which i want to do more and more and better and better.  i am not afraid.

notes on life in the country

We don’t live far from a city. Austin isn’t a big city, but it still mostly counts. We do, however, live off a combo of “Farm Road _____ ” and “County Line Rd”, both of which smack of life in rural texas.

emmie and i were driving down farm road and had to stop. Usually i speed there, and only there, and get home from the highway in 5 minutes. But this was a full stop. Why?

Because a huge combine was driving toward us. It took up the entire width of the road.

My brain didn’t know what to do with the vision before me. I asked emmie, even, as if she would know better, but she was gaping at the thing too. How do we pass each other? What’s the protocol here.

Luckily this enormo piece of farm equip turned before i had to really decide what the fuck do i do.

Not going to find that on the 405 at 5pm. or the 401 at 7am. Or on the El. Neither on an muni line.

Not even on N IH 35, i don’t think.

wanderpost

emmie and Das and i play soccer in the mornings, which really isn’t soccer so much as kicking a soccer ball on a really shitty soccer pitch. We’ve been at it at least 4 mornings a week for 8 weeks. Sometimes E joins us, but he’s an unfan of morning work outs, having done more than his fair share of them in the Army. Yesterday i really fucked up my leg on a bad kick, in which i dug up turf instead of shooting the ball. I am sprained and bruised.

When i went to the Lighter for acu and massage, she had clearer idea of what was going on with me than the western mdoc, who kept saying “seems like a bad fall.” I didn’t fall at all, so i left thinking they believed i’d gotten shoved down a staircase by my abusive husband, which was disconcerting. Luckily, xray came to the same conclusion the Lighter had, and braced my ankle and knee and wrote me a script for a strong nsaid. Urgent Care will rarely deliver on reasonable meds, i find, or even reasonable bedside manner.

Das’ job hunt has ended, with great relief, in a gig he really actually wants, as well as must-take. It’s far away which bums me out, but not as far as San Antonio, just about as far as the last gig he had. The famine finish line is in sight.

I was recently at a party and noted a submissive with her eyes downcast and her shoulders hunched over, her chin touching her chest. The posture was a put-on, for the sake of being around Dominant types. I am not a dominant type, but i am not going to pretend i lack confidence or sureness. My being submissive is simply done with those things about me going nowhere. Putting on a posture would not make me any more submissive. it would make me sub-something, but not any *more* submissive. My submission to Das, or to E, or to a Top or another Dom, is that which i give from my self, my core, and to fake my posture or demeanor as anything but the strong person i am, and that, really, Das took me because i was, would be indignifying (that’s not really a word, is it?) of that dynamic. Choosing to submit is part of the glory of what we do together. It isn’t rape, it isn’t abduction, it isn’t a drug-induced “yes, ok, i will,” it is always from me, to him.

There are sometimes i use an honorific with Das. It isn’t usually, and only sometimes do i use his close name (Papa), and then not very often when we’re around people. It took me more than a year to even say it in front of E & e. I think it is, to some extent, that honorifics don’t matter much at all to Das, and to some extent that they wouldn’t mean much to him if they were put on, like the posture. I think about this a lot. I have rarely referred to Das by his given name, usually only around my family, or his. But even then, i flip back to calling him “Das” more than “Given Name”, and it’s roundly accepted that i have benevolently granted him a nickname because of his closeness to me. Sometimes i think his only-recent exposure to the bdsm community is the reason he isn’t bothered to demand “Sir Mitdasein” or “Master” or “Lord” or “His Eminence, the High Grand Regent of my Universe”, or anything like that, but he does kind of balk at the Sirs/Ladys, since, from where he hails, it means the Queen has knighted you.

The dog continues to bring me great joy, and since healing a bit from her heartworm bout, she has a lot more energy and sangre de vivo.

as i am doped beyond recognition, i will sign off for now, thinking thoughts of fluffy pillows and good pork roasts.

savasana, boundless body, and the words “i am”

i often return to practicing yoga with the idea that i will leap through it, diving into poses with wild joy and no looking back.  there are a few things which wrench me back into actuality.

when i began yoga, i had a much different body.  in the ensuing year or year and a half or two years, or whatever it was, i got sick, then sicker, then really sick, and the toll taken includes quite a bit of weight.  gaining weight is terribly simple, especially compares to losing it.  not just depression, either, the cold that took forever to go away, the dysmenorrhea, then the menorrhagia, resultant hysterectomy and instant menopause all added up.  To a lot, in a relatively short span.  i am reluctant to discuss my size, i am reluctant to look in mirrors.  i am clumsy and unused to my shape.  i have advice to accept it, but no real idea how to do that.  it just doesn’t feel like it’s really mine, this body.

So today, restless but tired, i did yoga.  a recorded show, which i step through only sometimes, but each time i get better at doing more and more.  Lately Das and emmie and i have spent at least 5 of 7 days kicking a soccer ball around for nearly an hour, and recently i’ve added in short but effect (oy) jogs around the field.  All this to say the activity is good for us, even if it seems my extra body is hanging on with white knuckles.

it’s an hour long, which goes by quickly, and i get into just about every pose.  i skipped king of the dance, because my legs were shaking and falling over didn’t seem altogether wise.  At the end of the practice there is a short meditation in savasana (corpse pose).

it looks easy, right?

i lay there, a bit shaky, trying to find the path of my breath.  my breath filling to the top of my lungs (follow it there, try it, it’s a good feeling,) i half listened to the meditation and realized i had fallen into the floor, the awkwardness of the edges of my frame, wherever it was when i started, had drifted, and my shape didn’t matter.  the guru quietly saying that the only meaning is existence, the rest is belief.  That we can carry the universe in a body, and there is no bound of that.

and i smiled, thinking of holding the universe right above my belly.  that all the things i know and have experienced are inside of me, and for that there should be no limit, no fettering.

This untrammeled body need not be embarrassed, that the moments will be there when i can put my hands on my breasts and belly and hips and find even that beautiful: those parts of me seen house the unseen of my i am.

so i was sitting on a hay bale next to some people when all of a sudden a sadist broke into song

i love parties.  well, mostly.  i love most parties.  and generally, i enjoy most people at most of the parties to which i go.

Saturday, no exception: i enjoyed most of the people there, (and i was there the whole time).  not too long into the shindig someone came, someone i come dangerously close to loathing.

He’s just so smarmy.  and arrogant.  and about the whoriest asw i’ve met.  i didn’t want him to ruin my good time so i moved around a lot, trying to avoid the klaxon on his voice clanging off the walls, because all i heard him saying was “Look at me!”  or “I fuck a lot of women!”  To which i really almost said “Could you just SHUT THE FUCK UP.”  But what i really did was announce none too subtly that i needed to smoke.

i smoked a lot on Saturday night.

I don’t understand the need for pretension in the lifestyle.  Why fucking bother?  The maintenance of pretense is a ridiculous undertaking in our scene.  And, as in most cases, the truth will out.   There is an easiness to the people i genuinely like, love, admire and want to be near, and those people are unbothered by a stereotype, or any such generalities.  We do what we do because that’s who we are, not because we are beholden to some manifesto of kink.  Which is why i could sit outside on a hay bale and giggle with impunity when T rendered “Deep in the heart of Texas” as we stared at the sky.