Bottled up

Yesterday was… quite a roller coaster emotionally. I spent most of the early part of the day angry. I asked Noah to take the kids out of the house because if they stayed home I would be yelling at everyone basically because they have the audacity to breathe in the same room as me when I’m that angry. It wasn’t logical, reasonable, fair, appropriate… nada. It sucked.

It also sucks that my family spends a lot of time telling me earnestly that I need to rest while also being a group of people who freak out if the mess escalates beyond a certain point. It’s not that they will clean up after themselves when it gets to that point… they will just start freaking out and yelling at everyone until I clean everything up for them. It’s challenging being the bottle neck point in a lot of ways. My house has to maintain a certain level of cleanliness or all four of us start flipping out. The only way the house stays at that level is if I do a whole bunch of work that is invisible to the other three. This is challenging when my life and energy are being sucked into an extra project.

I’m at the point of feeling like the remodel is self-indulgent and harmful to my family. Why don’t I stop dilettanting around and just fucking finish, sheesh.

I’m working as hard and fast as I physically can because I’m trying to stop inflicting this on my family. I can’t do more than I’m doing. I can’t get us through this stage any faster than we are going. I feel so bad that I wanted to do this project. I was told it would take 3-6 months and here we are more than two years later.

And the remodel is ongoing fuss in a way I can’t write about today but I can say that the lawyer who represents opposing party in the dispute? He can eat flaming shit and die. I don’t like him anymore. He’s not just zealously advocating for his client he’s a liar and a first class manipulator. I look forward to investigating the anti-SLAPP process in this state on my own as well as talking to journalists and lawyers about this process.

Man it is handy that I know so many writers and I can instantly be connected with the CEOs of journalism enterprises. My life is god damn awesome. Angel investing in a news organization may have been useful in the long run.

I do continue my streak of winning money whenever I go to court. Bring on more court, motherfucker. Not that I won a lot. But I won enough to say fuck you, motherfuckers.

Oh man. Stop talking, Krissy.

I really wanted a rest day this weekend. And I really want this damn remodel done. I have a bunch more painting to do. I could get a bunch done today too if I don’t rest. Sigh.

My intention for the weekend had been to rest on Saturday until going to first a kid-dance-party then a bdsm party. Instead I worked all day and skipped the kid event. I sent Noah and the kids and they had fun. I made progress on a tree and a bush. That doesn’t sound that exciting but six hours of painting produced some pretty pictures. And I redid the sky part in the hallway where it was messed up. The hallway mural is mostly fixed. Just the flowers, leaves, and rainbow to go. By area that’s most of the wall covered already in fresh paint. I love how the hobbit door is popping now. I have much better browns on hand right now than I had when I originally painted that wall so I’m actually kinda glad. It’s perty.

The bdsm party was lovely. I bragged on photos of my work and folks who have been in my life for going on 17 years admired my work and told me I’m doing well. I’m kind of an idiot and hearing that kind of feedback is nourishment for my soul. I need to have the people I love say that what I’m doing is neat and not just an obnoxious waste of time. Luckily my friends were lovely and validating. Thank you all.

Also my glorious and delicious submissive was there and we were all in a good mood. So I got to do a little middling. Noah spanked me and I bit chunks out of my submissive’s thighs while I was being hit.

Middling is wonderful. Middling is my favorite role to play. When I am just bottoming/submitting I run into a problem: I live with chronic pain. Asking me to absorb more pain for fun and just… absorb more pain and have fun! Err, that’s hard for me. My body is at a really challenging place with managing the pain I feel. If I’m getting spanked on my own I whine and cringe and spend a lot of time having a hard time managing what is happening to me.

Now, put a nice tasty thigh in front of my mouth and allow me to go to town while I am being hit? Or if you electrocute me and allow me to spank the shit out of someone else? Or if… you probably get the picture. I don’t need to keep listing scenes I’ve done.

Anyway, if the energy is allowed to move through me and into someone else I can take a shitload more pain. It makes me giggle. When I get to pass the pain along my tolerance goes sky high and I all of a sudden can handle just about anything. Hurt me more, please oh please oh please because this glorious creature in front of me wants every ounce of energy I can muster.

Please oh please let me hurt someone with this energy.

I didn’t make him bleed but his bruises are going to last weeks. That’s my idea of a lovely night. I adore you. I love you. Thank you my dear submissive.

And the spanking was great. I felt glowing and alive and that energy came from Noah. I was allowed to direct it through and that is glorious for me, but the energy came from Noah. Thank you my dear husband. That felt so very good. I’m not sure I can express how and why it felt good. But I try.

I spend so much time trying to absorb pain and just put my head down and keep that pain invisible to everyone around me because I know that people are sick of hearing about how much pain I’m in. It’s boring. People want to hear about something interesting and not something boring and repetitive like, “I want to cry because I hurt.” Folks get real god damn tired of that shit. My masochism is complicated by the fact that my body is utterly overwhelmed with pain daily. More pain doesn’t feel sexy. It feels draining and demeaning. I am worth so little that even though I struggle to function in my life because I am in so much pain I need to accept more pain because it amuses other people.

That’s a tricky god damn thing.

Last night I didn’t get to absorb pain. I got to transform it into something precious and wonderful and pass it on.

That’s a big deal. I feel lighter. I feel like being in pain was, for that span of time, a great gift that I got to pass on to someone I love very much.

I know that you would stop someone else from biting you that hard because it can damage you. I know you will accept me biting you harder than that. It makes my proverbial dick so hard I can cut diamonds with that motherfucker.

Yes, I can transform my pain for you. Oh yes.

There is something so special about someone who wants to give me a frame into which I can pour my pain so that it is a positive aspect in this universe instead of a horrible burden I carry.

But just topping isn’t the same as middling. I like topping sometimes and I can get really into it. But middling is better. Middling feels like performing a magical ritual. Let me take something that is so hard and make it wonderful.

Thank you for allowing me to do that, Noah.

Then we came home and had one of the most useful conversations we’ve had in a long time. We talked a lot about the silent resentments we are carrying. We talked a lot about the intersections of my compulsions (If Noah says he wants something that means I have to do it because he so rarely asks me for things and he does so much for me) and Noah’s coping methods (he tries hard to not ask at all because he doesn’t want me to have to do things I don’t want to do… increasing how rare it is that he asks and the amount of pressure I feel when he does ask. Cheers) and how we can try to move past some of the roadblocks we are experiencing.

Right now things do feel very black and white. I “know” that the truth is somewhere in the gray area but I’m struggling like fuck to see any gray right now. I’m exhausted and weary.

I’m struggling with my kids telling me earnestly that they want to help me because they love me but cleaning up their shit from the living room is way too fucking much to ask because clearly they should have a full time maid because that is justice. They are kids. They are actually mostly pretty good about cleaning up their stuff but there are times when they are resistant because that is life.

But maybe I need to think about this shit differently. Eldest Child really wants to go to sleep away camp this summer. Maybe I need to talk about proving maturity to earn the price tag. That damn week of camp is a full month of kid-budgeting. That’s a big expense. If you want me to cough up that kind of money… maybe you need to prove your maturity first by not making me clean up your fucking comic books. YOU KNOW WHERE THE COMIC BOOKS GO. WHY DO THIRTY COMIC BOOKS GET PUT IN THE STACK OF ‘WHOOPS WE’RE SORRY BUT WE DON’T REMEMBER HOW TO RE-SHELVE THESE BOOKS’?!?!?! YOU KNOW WHERE THE GOD DAMN COMIC BOOK SHELF IS. I NOTICE THIS KIND OF SHENANIGAN. WHAT THE HELL.

I was 100% not in the mood to do any house cleaning yesterday. Instead I reshelved a lot of comic books among other tasks. My cranky was large.

So I didn’t rest but I did get cleaning done and six hours of painting.

Hey, it wasn’t a bad thing that I made Noah take the kids to the park to play with sports equipment anyway. That’s all positive and shit.

I’m not stressing the conversation with Noah last night. It was really good.

Noah pointed out that he can see that staying with him is a choice that is sometimes hard for me for a variety of reasons. For some strange reason having him point out that he can see that… kinda helps? Yes. It is a choice. There are a bunch of reasons I could leave you. Lots of things I could decide to make “things”.

But I want to stay. I’m struggling with figuring out the balance of life I want and how I need to intersect with more people than Noah and in different ways… but I like doing this from the bedrock of being with Noah.

Noah’s place in my life is less secure because of money and mostly secure because there isn’t a person alive who wants to put as much effort into understanding me as Noah. I am oriented towards “new” in a way that is very challenging for my marriage, but new will never ever give me the understanding of my partner.

Other people like me. I can tell. Noah has devoted his life to me because he’s kind of obsessed with me. Noah has reordered every part of his life to accommodate me and my weird issues and rigidity and fuss. And with how complicated my sex drive is… I’ve never known another person who can cheerfully perform the range of sex acts Noah can. We are remarkably compatible.

I choose Noah. I choose him over and over and over every single day. I want to be here. Running away from my feeling that people don’t love me as much as I need to be loved is the MO that drove me away from a lot of people earlier in life. I choose to believe in Noah.

Even though I have squidgey feelings about him sometimes there is no one I’m looking forward to spending old age with like Noah. He’s funny and fun.

I feel really bad for these periods of marriage that have stomped him down into exhaustion where isn’t so much fun anymore. I feel like it is my fault.

I have mixed feelings about my impending reduction of freedom and personal return to the role of support person. I got to do a big project. It has been glorious. Now I get to stop doing things for me and organize my week around cleaning up after other people so that they don’t get frustrated by living in a mess and take it out on me. I can’t wait.


Life. It’s a pain.

Ok, time to start today. Maybe I’ll rest and not be all cranky. Maybe I’ll work so I can get this god damn project finished sooner so my family can stop freaking out about it. Sigh.

There is no good choice.