Mixed and wonderful feelings

I’m still high from last night. Today I realized something kinda funny: I’m good at turning people I have sexed into friends and it is kinda hard walking back to sex from friendship.  Awkward. How do you send signals when you’ve already sent so many “don’t touch me” signals.

Oh man. Complicated.

I have this sneaky suspicion that I want something I am not going to get. That’s ok. Life is like that. Even if I don’t get what I want from this interaction I’m going to cheer like hell for you to get what you want in life. I don’t like this word “deserve” but I think that if you got what you wanted you’d be good at it.

It is weird liking people.

I’m having fun. I hope I am helping other people have fun.

I’m nervous. I’m nervous about how to keep all these balls in the air. Oh I’m having fun. I still feel full of want. It’s deeper and fuller than it was a few days ago. It isn’t as frantic. Thanks, Daddy. I needed that. It really helped.

It also helps that Noah and I have four days straight next week where we are going to do heavy sm because we can. Thank goodness for camp.

Because we want to do it. Because we haven’t seriously played in years because getting the right size and shape of spare time is hard. 

I have such an interesting time visiting the community. Many of the people who were the village elders when I was a snot nosed 18 year old are still there. Still doing what they were doing.

I feel like they look at me differently now. I was talking to Noah about this. I said it feels weird that they treat me with so much respect. He says that usually people don’t have the experience of becoming the kind of grown up their elders respect and that is why it feels so weird to me. I don’t know. I’ve never been someone else.

I feel like the people I grew up respecting now act like they look up to me and that is fucktastically weird for me. I mean… I don’t think they “look up to me”. Shit this stuff is awkward.

I’m a peer. I am no longer a snot nosed kid they mock and deride. They listen to me with respect instead of rolling their eyes. No one has denigrated my opinion in a long time.

When I start kicking the crap out of people for being rude no one even thinks to tell me I shouldn’t because it is just expected that I’m going to do whatever the fuck I’m going to do if you start it.

I don’t start shit. But if you start it I’m going to bring it.

Dominance challenges. Dick contests. Posturing.

Oh motherfucker I can do that.

But I’m told I don’t posture any more. I just lay down my resume and look at you cold because I can back my big talk up and I’m still underselling myself. Ahem.

I’m thrilled to talk loudly about what a wimp I am as everyone watching winces every time I get hit. They know that was a really fucking hard hit.

I’ve spent a lot of years not getting hit and not hitting people. But do you know what I like to do of a Thursday night? (Or really any other night of the week.)

I like to go find one of my dear friends. Because I rarely switch with the same person, as I slink up to someone fluttering my eyelashes… it’s clear what I want. Whether that is to make you cry or for you to try as hard as you can to make me cry.

I really like calling myself a wimp. I’ll say it loud and long. But people who evaluate this sort of thing with credibility tell me that I’m an incredibly heavy masochist. I’m a small woman, so I can’t take what some of the big guys can take.  (Or hell, even some of the big gals.) But I’ve done scenes where audience members had to leave to vomit from fear. Because I’m happy to play until I’m screaming and screaming and screaming and fighting to get away. I’m happy to be hit with canes and single tails until I bleed.

There’s this one guy in the scene. He told me he really wants to cut me open and solder the wounds closed. If I run into him again… I will ask if he is still interested.

Why? Because in twelve years I’ve never been able to get that out of my head.

Fuck yes I’d like to try that.

I would trust that specific man to do this for a long list of very specific reasons I’m not going to list here because hello identifying information.

Some people can’t be as out as me.

I haven’t done tile in two days. I’m so weary of doing it. My hands hurt. Breaks are good. Also: I have to wait for another delivery before I can finish the tree. I should finish the mountain and work on the other corner of the shower.

Those are the most important bits that need to be tiled. The rest is just gravy. I mean, I’m going to do the rest because I have a fuck ton of tile but I’m not going to do all the walls in both half bathrooms in tile. Too expensive. My heart is sad. Paint to the rescue. Good motherfucking thing I know how to use a paintbrush.

I’m afraid I know why I’m sorta procrastinating on tile.

I told myself that if I finished all the tile way before these twerps are done with the remodel… I’d fix some of the yucky paint in the kitchen since I’m going to be dealing with the remodeling chaos still anyway.

I’m perilously close to having to repaint the ceiling. Shit. Years ago the light fixture broke and we replaced it with something not even close to the same size and the ceiling looks like shit and it bugs me.

I want to repaint it to look like a jungle.

Because I’m me. That’s why.

I’m not committing to repainting the whole kitchen right now. That would be nuts. My arms are pissed. (Why do I type? Because I feel weirdly lonely. Even though I had a date today and good sex and I could be snuggling with my family. But my stomach hurts quite a bit so I’m smoking and… that means not with the family. So I talk to myself instead of babbling in IM because after a while I just feel… pathetic.)

I’m going to bed any minute. I hope I’ll sleep late. Tomorrow I get a massage. Yay! My arms!

Tomorrow my tasks are: massage, dispensary run, tile, negotiate with Noah about our upcoming dates, and hang out with the kids. It should be a nice day. (The dispensary run and the negotiating will happen during the window of time when the kids are with the babysitter. Obviously.)

I don’t feel lonely. That’s not fair or accurate. It’s the wrong word. I actually feel very connected, lucky, blessed, and like my life is incredible beyond measure.

But I’m hunting for something and I really don’t know what it is. What I’m doing isn’t scratching the itch yet. I think…

I think I need to stop talking before I get myself in trouble. Goodnight.