One More…

One more day packed to the brim with activities and obligations ~ chores and treats ~ good times and adventures ~ and then ~

~ then ~

i’ll relax ~

~ and breathe ~

                      respond to comments ~

sleep late.

I am remembering  to enjoy as i go along ~ don’t misunderstand.  No complaints. And actually, i am remembering to breathe most of the time.

But you know, i’m an introvert.

No, really, i am.

And maybe an empath, or at least i’m kind of sensitive to other people’s feelings.

So when i spend a whole lot of time around people, and very little time alone, i start feeling like i’m wound too tight, trying to contain too much.  It starts to feel a wee bit overwhelming, and like Za Za Gabor, i just “vant to be alone…”  Only without the accent.

Tomorrow, i will carve out some time and space to just be.

*************************

As Mouse points out in her comment, it’s Greta Garbo that says that.  Here or here:

Feelings ~ Innate or Not

Ok, i’m going to be a bit pedantic over here – i saw a comment on someone else’s blog that talked about innate feelings as opposed to learned, based on what they found when they googled.

So let me apologize for all the times i’ve googled and thought i found the answers.  Mentally slapping my own hand.

You can’t really just pick a random google article on something like “feelings” and think it’s the truth.  If you google “how to boil eggs,” you would probably get some reliable information, and some conflicting information.  This is even more true in the realm of psychology.

 I always talk about the “four feeling groups”:

Mad

Sad

Glad and 

Scared.

Linehan adds four –

Surprise

guilt or shame

curiosity or interest and

~ truth be told, i don’t remember the eighth one, and i can’t frigging find the information.  i think it’s compassion.  But i wouldn’t swear to it.  It could be love.

In any case, i just needed to point out that there are lots of ways to classify emotions and  determine which ones are innate.  With lots of disagreement.  Linehan, for example, who i usually revere, doesn’t distinguish between guilt and shame clearly, and youall know how strongly i think they’re separate.  

There.  i’ve said what i needed to about that.

i’ve spent the week telling people good-bye.  i am emotionally exhausted.   i would prefer to not even think about feelings for a while.  Much less feel them.

And one more day of good-byes to go….

Is It a Post?

Is it a post if i just say that i’m not posting today?

Mwhahahahahahaha….

Yeah.  That’s how my week is.

Not answering comments yet.  Barely have time to breathe.

But come Monday, it’ll be all right, come Monday ~ o, wait, that’s a song isn’t it?

NOW it’s a post…

Seriously, no later than Monday, i’ll be on a whole different schedule…  til then, i gotta keep moving.

Ok, this is funny.  i think.

i had this long dream the other night – i won’t go into too much detail, but the whole dream was about moving and packing.  it ends with me following this woman i know, who is a real free spirit, to a workshop on moving.  On the way, there’s a set of stairs that get steeper and more narrow.

Finally the stairs turn into a ladder that’s really hard to climb, and at the top is  a tiny window that you have to climb through.  The only way through is to dive, head first.

i thought ~ i thought it was clearly a birth of some sort.  Right?  Connected with grand-baby’s birth, but also my own birth – into a new relationship with Sir X and me living together, into a new career path.

But i was afraid that was too obvious.

So i see JM, the amazing analyst, yesterday.  Tell him about the dream.  

He asks me some questions.

Almost strokes his chin.  He doesn’t really do that, but it feels like he does.

“Well,” He says, “Don’t take this wrong, but my first thought is that it’s clearly a death dream.  You know, we are at that point in life when we are beginning to pack things up. Simplify.  Get ready for the final journey.”

He pauses, and adds, “Of course, that could be a  kind of birth.  I suppose.  Depends on what you believe.”

Thanks, JM.  

Laughing…of course that also makes sense.  My granddaughter’s birth moves me up a generation.  There is a death of my single self, the woman who lives alone and does what she wants.  There is the death of my corporate work persona as i leave my job.

JM wants to know if there is a feeling attached to the dream, either during or after.  Thinking a minute first,  i reply,

“Annoyance.  i was really annoyed with the woman who was leading us up this perilous ladder.  My last thought before i woke up was, ‘Damn, this better be worth it!”

Not a bad “last thought” to have, i suppose.

🙂

 

Harmony

“And watch two men washing clothes,
one makes dry clothes wet. The other makes wet clothes dry. they seem to be thwarting each other, but their work is a perfect harmony.

Every holy person seems to have a different doctrine and practice, but there’s really only one work.” 
― Rumi

“A soul mate is someone to whom we feel profoundly connected, as though the communication and communing that take place between us were not the product of intentional efforts, but rather a divine grace. This kind of relationship is so important to the soul that many have said there is nothing more precious in life.” 
― Thomas Moore

“Genuine love is rarely an emotional space where needs are instantly gratified. To know love we have to invest time and commitment…’dreaming that love will save us, solve all our problems or provide a steady state of bliss or security only keeps us stuck in wishful fantasy, undermining the real power of the love — which is to transform us.’ Many people want love to function like a drug, giving them an immediate and sustained high. They want to do nothing, just passively receive the good feeling.” 
― bell hooks

Not Just Another Monday

It’s my last Monday at my current job.  My first Monday living with Sir.

Last night, we celebrated changes in  true kink fashion, with a little play.  It involved ropes, and canes, of course, and yes, nipple clamps.

Yesterday, when i was trying to find a picture of the bamboo style nipple clamps, Sir helped me find the last one.  He knew i was working on the blog, and He commented on the fact that i was looking for clamp pictures.

i think He was hinting that He wanted to know why i wanted the picture, but He didn’t ask.

Last night, though~ we were in the kitchen, drinking coffee, getting ready for a pre-play shower {for me.}  He says, “You know, I helped you find that picture yesterday.  What were you blogging about?”

Me:  {pause}  Nipple clamps.

Him:  Nipple clamps.  Yeah.  I figured that.  What about nipple clamps?

Me:  Um, um you know, using them.

Him:  Using them?  As in how much you love them and want me to use them?  Or hate them, and hope i never use them again?

Me:  {laughing…}  Not exactly.  Well, maybe kind of.  You wanna read it?

So He did, and smiled at Sin’s comment that they were bells not weights.  “I think she’s right,” He says.  “They are bells, but they look like they have some weight too.”

So needless to say, nipple clamps were also featured last night.  Not the evil ones made out of canes, but these:

And after He has them on, really tight, He pulls out a metal circle ~ like a huge key ring ~ with different size metal circles hanging from it.  He takes two off.

“Look,” he says, clinking them together, “just like bells.  Right?”

“Um, yes, Sir,” i say, because when your hands are bound and you’re tied to the door, what else would you say?

And ~ amazingly,  just as He had predicted ~ they were weights too.  Two of them were heavy, and added a new level of pain to the experience.  

Four of them more than doubled the sensation.

He made me bounce a little to jiggle them so they clanged together, sounding like bells.  He liked that a lot.

And leaning forward with them on?  O!  That was an experience worth gasping at.

So did i write the blog post hoping He’d read it?  Or hoping that looking for the pictures with me would inspire Him?  

Nah.  It was just a fantasy. 

Laughing…

Time for Fantasy…

“Don’t move,” He says.

“No, Sir,” i gasp.  “i won’t move.”

i couldn’t move much anyhow.  i’m kneeling, my hands bound with rope, fastened together behind my back.  It is loose enough to be comfortable, tight enough that my hands are useless.

He is sitting on the couch, my right nipple in one hand, the evil cane- nipple clamp thing-y in the other.  He made it himself, this torture device, with two thin carbon fiber canes and  pieces of a straw.

A piece of straw in the middle holds the canes together, leaves them open at each end.  He slides my right nipple between the two canes, slips another piece of straw on the end, like a cap.

My right nipple is effectively caught.  The pain makes me whimper.

He begins to tug on the left nipple, stretching it.  “We haven’t been doing this often enough, have we?” He says, smiling tenderly.  “This nipple should already be hard, anticipating what’s coming.”

He tugs and pinches until it’s extended and hard, then slides it between the two canes at the other end.  Caps it off with the straw.

They are kind of like this:

Only those are short, and you put one on each nipple.  His is long and stretches across my chest from one nipple to the other.

More like this, only without the weights:

As i’m thinking about this, He attaches the other end, smushing my nipple between the rods, and i whimper as He closes the end.

He leans back, smiling.  “There,” He says.  “Very nice.”

My pussy throbs.  

Moving Day

In the Land of Vanilla

In the land of Vanilla, there are new babies, with their soft, sweet scents and coos.  Babies who cuddle into you happily, at peace with the world.

In the land of Vanilla, there are mantle clocks and toasters, two sets of everything, and a man who slides into bed bone tired from packing and cleaning.   There is coffee together in the morning, sweet kisses, soft caresses.

In the land of Vanilla, the clock is ticking relentlessly.  Moving Day is Saturday.  Tomorrow.  Last day in my current job is next Friday.  We won’t talk about moving day for my daughter, her partner, and sweet baby girl, which is heading down on us like a runaway train.

In the land of Vanilla, there are lots of joys and pleasures, planning and dreaming, warmth and tenderness. 

i am not complaining.

In the land of Vanilla ~

there are no whips or floggers.  No canes.  No spankings.  No nipple clamps or pinching hands.  

No sinking deep into the sensations of sub-space.  No slipping away from the mundane realities, pleasant though they may be.

Sigh…

i am a greedy slut.

Wordless

This picture moves me, arouses feelings i can’t name.

Looking for words to describe what i feel only distances me from the feelings.  The words lose meaning as i write them.