Not a great time for back spasms

This weekend was supposed to be energetic. But my back huuuuuuuuuurts.

It is fascinating negotiating with folks. Some folks are fine with group bdsm play but not sex. Some like group sex and group bdsm. Some like just group sex. Some are fine playing one to one near a group but not having anyone else involved…..

My life over the next few years will be entertaining. I tell you that.

Today is Noah’s birthday. He’s 40. I made him French toast for breakfast. That and a date night are what he gets.

Birthdays are a thing yo.

Wow. Completely out of the blue I just got this out of body feeling like I was at the grief ritual and I was screaming I don’t want to die. Stop telling me to come with you. It doesn’t matter if you want me. I don’t want you.

Yeah. I will be going back to grieve more.

I have a lot more to say to my piece of shit ancestors.

White guilt. Ha. How about Everything-that-touches-everything-I-come-from-guilt.

How can anything that springs from such a dung heap have any value?

Isn’t that the entire point of compost?

Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country. You have no value if you are not a tool.

I am a tool. Do I have value? Do I have value because I’m a tool?

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

Do I have value because I have this hole? Because I am good at cleaning house?

Because I can go through this elaborate pretense of being nice and civilized and happy even though I’d like to go behind closed doors and beat my head on concrete until I can.never.think.again.

I don’t care that you want me to hate myself. I don’t want to do what you told me to do. I want you to leave me alone. Stop fucking haunting me you son of a fucking bitch.

I was created to be a weapon. A weapon with which to hurt my mother. She didn’t want another baby, another burden.

But here I fucking am. I do not burden her any longer. You know what? I’d put a lot of fucking money on the notion that my mother is very burdened by my absence.

I do not do this to punish you, nor to punish me. I do this to save my children. Everything that springs from that well is poison. I need to feed them something different. I need a new way.

Even if it involves decades of faking it.

What is real? What is faking it?

Faking what?

Don’t ask.

I’m sorry. I’m not sorry. I’m sorry. I’m not sorry.

I’m dysregulated as fuck. I’m on day 32 of my cycle. My “average” cycle length is 34 days. (But I vary dramatically.) I know that my emotions are raw before I bleed.

I sorta hope bleeding waits till Monday. Cause whoa this weekend.

This weekend will be fantastic. Maybe I’ll tell you about it. Maybe. A lot of firsts.

The punching last night managed to work out some deep muscle pain I had. Thanks!