I wrote a long post last night. It is sitting in drafts. I think my level of tact in it was extra special magically low so it can stay in drafts.
Hoo boy. Volition. Want. Identity.
How much am I just not ok being pegged (ha ha) as a vanilla heterosexual suburban house wife?
I want to be a possession. I want to possess. I want to do things of my own fucking volition and that changes from day to day and based on other peoples boundaries.
Recently a nice fella was hitting on me. I explained that at this stage of my life I really only have possible space for nice people who are interested in group sex. My solo date slots are full. It’s going to take a long time before this feels settled and like my life, but the folks I’m seeing… I’m hopefully going to get to juggle them for a while.
I want more kisses. And if I have to be careful and get them slowly because that helps Noah feel more secure, I can live with that.
I think my Owner broke something completely that was cracked really badly when I met him. I can’t ever be the One. I can’t be special enough to be someone’s everything. I can’t be small enough to be one person’s thing. I need to touch too many people. I need to love too many people.
Sometimes I feel like my attachment stuff is broken in very odd ways. I can walk away from anyone–no matter how much I love them. But I can’t walk away from everyone even if I don’t love them very much. Those drips and drabs of love are important. They… they flow into the cracks of my self esteem.
I feel like Noah gives me 97% of everything I need. And it’s going to take a few hundred thousand people to fill the last 3%. Because I have to be careful and not expect anything from anyone else. I have to just accept what they feel like offering. It has to be enough. That’s why it takes so many of them.
I don’t want to leave Noah. In order to fill the other 97% without him… I can’t. I just can’t. I literally can’t. It has never happened. I need him.
Yeah, I’ll accept boundaries in order to keep you. I would be a self hating fool if I said no.
Yesterday one of the generous folks who came over to help was talking about love and matching. How much like the people we love do we need to be? Careers? Hobbies? Interests? Passions?
Do I really have to play video games?
No. I don’t.
Noah and I are talking a lot about the terrible, terrifying possibility of him dating some day. We are past “fair” and getting to “want”. That’s nice. Nice nice nice nice nice. What does dating mean to each of us? What do we get out of the rest of our lives? What kinds of energy do we have to give versus what kinds of energy do we need to get? What can we ask for? What is reasonable to demand in an ongoing way?
Oh hard talks.
I said I thought this would take at least 200 hours to negotiate. I may have underestimated. But we persevere so an end will appear someday.
“We could table this conversation till after next kid. That’s what we did last time.”
“Oh look where that got us. We have to work out nonmonogamy.”
Said without attribution because we trade places in that exchange.
I’ve been reading about indigenous tribes where hetero/homo sexual behaviors are more based on age than about specific lifelong preference. That’s fascinating to me given my inability to initiate with women lately. I just… fail.
I can taunt guys until they grab me and toss me against a wall/bed to have their wicked way with me. I taunt girls and we sit there looking at each other kinda panting.
LESBIAN FORKING SHEEP.
What do I want? More love. More support. More hands make light work. Yesterday was so joyful for me. Co-working is one of the most bonding things I do. I love when people exchange work with me. Oh! I get to go help T&t on Wednesday! They have to do a bunch of moving stuff around for prep for an emergency home repair and I get to help. This is awesome because T is the dude who helped me finish my garage. I’m excited I finally get a chance to help him. *happy dance*
I will wear a corset under my clothes for back support.
My week is full of wonderful love and work. That’s how I like my life. I think the only thing that would make my week better in my opinion is if more lovers came over to help work and there was a lovely pile of people afterwards. But that won’t be happening. Sigh.
I really wanted my new damn shower to be ready because I had to hot very dirty women yesterday. I wanted to help them clean off.
FUCK YOU REMODELING COMPANY. YOU ARE NEGATIVELY IMPACTING MY LIFE NOW. WTF.
(They were very dirty because I accidentally dumped a bag of dirt on their heads. Whoops. I’m telling you, my friends are patient with me.)
But we got almost my whole to-do list done and I will finish it today. It was an ambitious list. Even with four workers. That’s kinda how I schedule myself. An ambitious to do list for four people…. for myself. Thank goodness people show up and save me from myself.
Shiny change of topic.
Why no sex in places the kids go other than my house. Why in the fuck is my house ok? Because my house is mine and no one’s memories get to take away my memories here. That’s why it is an exception.
But I don’t go to Daddy’s house very often. A majority of my memories there are with my kids. I don’t want that warring in my head when I’m there with my kids. I want to just be in my kid memories. I have a lot of strong visual plus body memories. It matters to me.
If my house didn’t have so many memories of all kinds good and bad it might be different. My house is my universal setting. Anything good or bad can happen here. What does safe space mean? Fuck if I know.
I really don’t.
Ok time to run off. I’m going to do the bits of shopping I need to do for Jenny’s birthday box then go to Krav then come home, shower, then run off to acupuncture. When we get home we drag a refrigerator and I start sanding walls. After that folks come over to talk mental health.
It’s just another day in paradise.
Luckily this day ends with me soaking in hot water with Noah and my Daddy and whoever else my Daddy has invited over. Thus me thinking about “No sex at Daddy’s.” Because my kids go there. Even though it might be convenient and/or hot.
I don’t want to make that muddy. I want my kids to have safe space from my sluttery.
I’m not going to have them grow up and hear a horrifying list of places where they have played where I’ve fucked a bunch of people.