Like a rubber ball

Years ago I went to this tolerance building experience when I was a teacher. It was meant to show the kids that they don’t know who among them has it rough. It turned out I spent the weekend outing myself as having had the shittiest life any of them had ever heard of. It sucked. But one of my students told me that I am like a rubber ball. It doesn’t matter how hard life knocks me down I will get up again.

I still have the card where the kids wrote their impressions of me.

I’m thinking about that rubber ball thing cause I have big feelings this second. Good feelings. Impatient feelings. Frustrated feelings. Sad feelings.

It just depends on who I think about. I could list hundreds of feelings but my arms hurt.

Do I have the right to try and climb into peoples heads without an express invitation? Do I have the right to be pissed off about the metrics of my life? Does it matter if I have the right?

Is it really more about what one can get away with? But hey–here in California without enthusiastic consent it is rape.

What if it isn’t sex and you are just mind fucking them? Then we get into ethics which is harder to really define.

What if what you want to do is change how people see themselves? Maybe if I can get better at understanding the mechanism of helping other people like themselves I can figure out how to actually like myself?

I hope.

I’m really angry about something I can’t write about.

I want. I feel like I’m drowning. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of caring more about other peoples needs than mine.

You think this is 0-60?! The weekend I left my Owner I fucked six new people. That month? I can’t begin to remember how much sex and SM I did. I literally can’t. I have had two SM scenes and I fucked one stranger in a period of two months.

That is not 0-60.

Have you met me?!

Ok, April is looking more fun with 3 SM scenes planned and a hookup.

I still don’t think this is 0-60. No, it’s not conservative compared to normal people and yeah I am being an asshole.

I’m feeling really fucking selfish after seven years of being on duty nearly 24/7.

I actually think I get more breaks than many of the mothers I know. I’m more selfish than you. I know.

I used to get weekends off once a month. Now we have babysitting. I’m not really with them 24/7. It’s more like 20/7 and I let Noah answer their demands a lot when he’s home.

I know Noah is tired too. I know.


Right this second I feel petty, mean, scared and like a complete asshole.

I’ve been watching TED talks about sex, cheating, monogamy, relationships… it’s funny how this discourse has changed in my lifetime.

Three separate drives: sex, attachment, love. Yeah.

Jenny, I’m not actually that pissy about the cruise thing. I’m pissy about something else that I can’t talk about and I kinda sorta can talk about the cruise thing.

I do like me some transference.

I feel so angry with myself for being angry instead of still soaking in how nice it was to be with my submissive yesterday.


Why am I so angry? I can’t talk about it.

My hands hurt so much and I have so much tiling to do today that I shouldn’t be typing at all. But here I am, tracking the fucking bounces.

Kellianne tells me I should write 750 words today so I don’t lose practice as a writer. I hear that being good at things takes practice.

Fuck everything. If I just write fuck until I hit 750 does that count?

I don’t want to follow rules and I don’t want to be good and I don’t want to have to think about anyone else’s feelings.

But if I act like that this whole god damn house of cards could come tumbling down.

Is there a happy medium? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

I’m so angry.

I’m not “blow up a relationship” angry. I’m just angry. It happens. My phone says it is angry day. And something happened. Not a big thing. A small thing. A thing that doesn’t deserve any kind of blow up.

But I’m so. Fucking. Angry.

I feel ashamed. I feel small. I feel like I am going to hurt people because I do not respect their boundaries and needs.

Someone smart told me that all parents are kinda fuck ups.

I don’t know if my mom gave me her best or what she had to spare. I don’t know what I give other people. I feel like I’m short changing absolutely everyone.

I’d like to spend today in my closet crying. Instead: tile. 817 words.