Not productive enough

I didn’t get enough done today. I still need to sand and do one more scrub down. Shit. Instead my day was very full of other things.

I finished packing Jenny’s birthday box. So I’m not a complete loser.

I also had a long chat with some friends about the implications and difficulties of living with ptsd. It’s a roller coaster, yup.

Later I spent time talking to other friends I don’t see much. That was nice. I spent time in hot water. So much yay. I got acupuncture and scheduled more for two weeks out. My back isn’t happy, but it’s better.

I’ve had good reason to think about how lucky I am that Noah likes me so much. I don’t understand what I did to deserve someone being this nice to me, but I’ll take it. He allows me to fuck up. He allows me to make mistakes without ridiculing me or ranting about my failures (mostly). He only rants about my nonmonogamy fuck ups. He kinda glides right past everything else.

Thank you–mostly.

I was asked how life was going. I said “9’s and 1’s. No. That’s not true. 9’s and 3’s.” It’s only so low because the remodel stuff is sucking. As is realizing how limiting it is that I can’t handle having sex in places my kids go and I really can’t deal with Noah doing it either.

The 3’s really aren’t even that bad. Shut up, wench. You have a life of joy.

It was a good day. I got to watch Noah do his thing. It’s awesome to do. I feel lucky when I get to be part of it. He entertains me and I feel proud of him. He wasn’t actually this cool when I met him. I’ve been good for him and noticing that is good for me. Ha. Cocky much? Yup. Noah does that for me.

I’m thinking hard about finding the right words about dating stuff.

I want to talk about why I want it and why it is important without hurting Noah. And that takes dancing on the tip of the eyelash of a hummingbird. Fuck this “men aren’t emotional” bullshit.

We all want to be special.

What does being special mean anyway? Does being special mean that you cling to one person and that is all you have or need or want?

I uhh don’t think I’ll ever run out of want for other people. Whether that long-term turns into serious partnerships with a few people or if the people come and go is… yet to be seen.

My submissive has been hanging out an awfully long time. We will keep working on what that means.

Really I want to deepen and broaden a lot of my friendships. That’s what I’m doing. I pulled taut on the strings of my web and these are the people who said, “Jesus. Stop the fucking yanking. I’m here.”

I love you so much.

I love the way Cupid’s eyes twinkle.

I love Deity’s smile.

I love the way my submissive melts into me.

I love the way my Daddy calls me Princess and strokes my cheek.

I love that Noah is trying to allow me to have this even though it is so completely not fair.

These are people I’m used to seeing 1-5 times/year over the past few years. It is… kinda weird to figure out how to integrate them more deeply again. I want to. I want to figure out how to get past my fear of asking.

A friend pointed out that I hadn’t invited her and her partner to the cruise we are going on in August. That wasn’t because I don’t want you to go. That was because asking people for something I want very badly hurts. The more people I ask to spend this kind of money and this kind of time… the more people are going to tell me no because they have to. It’s not a cheap experience. I know that.

I didn’t think more people would want to come. I feel shocked we came up with 9 guests.

I didn’t think anyone else would want to go. I already had to deal with most of the people I did ask telling me no. They mostly have good reasons. (Not Noah’s parents. I think I focus on bitching about them because I have feelings about everyone who said no… but his parents are the only ones with shitty reasons so I feel a hair more justified in being whiny and they don’t give a shit what I feel and it doesn’t impact them whereas if I whine about my friends… See. My superego is developed.)

I have cried at all three confirmations that my friends are going. This is a huge deal to me. One of my friends said, “I would never forgive myself for having the chance to be there and choosing not to go.”


That’s going to be a big deal. Forever. Someone thinks of me as family. More than one person thinks they really need to be there with us.

Oh wow.

People give what they have to spare and that has to be enough. Sometimes it even is. 69 days to go for a few more minutes. I don’t especially plan to post pictures or mail them out. I’m looking forward to this feeling private. If you come to our house, sure you can see. But I’m not doing this for the internet. I’m doing it for me.

One day of my life I am going to feel like it is ok for me to dress up pretty and be surrounded by people who love me. I’m not going to spend the day beating my head on concrete or sneaking off to cry or isolating myself. All of these things are tactics I have employed during various attempts to pretend it was ok to be the center of attention.

Maybe it is easier that it is only nine people. That won’t feel like an audience. They barely outnumber our family. And most of them are so short. If we stack them up, surely we only get like six guests.

And given that Jenny has gone radio silence and there are now travel advisory stuff saying maybe she should cancel this trip… I’m getting worried that we are actually down to six. Which will be sad but understandable. It’s going to be the most god damn understandable reason in the world to not be able to go. I will be 100% in support of whatever decision is reached.

And then I’ll cry. And that’s ok too. It isn’t the end of the world if I cry. I’ll stop being a petty baby at some point.

Ok, I’ll be sad and disappointed. Jenny was the first to say yes. The one I kinda counted on in my heart. But I really really understand the Zika stuff. We will have to wait 6+ months after getting back and I’ll probably want to get tested before we try to get pregnant.

It’s a stressful decision.

I am more concerned about the health of the babies than I am about playing dress up with Jenny. It would be fun. Maybe it isn’t meant to be.

That happens.

Life. It plugs along. It is happy. It is sad. It is life.

I am about medicated enough for bed. Goodnight internet. It is 68 days now. Sleep time.

One thought on “Not productive enough

Comments are closed.