It’s not chocolate

As I sit here quite content in front of my new computer, I feel…spoiled rotten. And for the moment the phrase ‘spoiled rotten’ strikes me oddly. How do I mean to say I was lavished with things I like and it makes me uncomfortable even though I enjoy both the items and thoughts behind them?

My husband has been planning this series of purchases ever sense my laptop bit the dust. And I’ve stayed away from the process of selecting the components until today. We had to go out and pick a monitor and keyboard. Looking at the price tag was a mistake. I spazzed. He spoils me and I really feel spoiled.

I’m happy and giddy and uncomfortable and scared-all at the same time-all pretty high in intensity. It’s the second part I am unsure how to deal with. Never been comfortable with gifts and never been comfortable having what I want and like.

I have gotten better over the years with portraying a sense of grace in accepting gifts. But inside I haven’t gotten better with dealing with my emotions surrounding this. I know in a few months this feeling of discomfort with pass. Yet I want to tackle it now, deal with it and well stop feeling so icky about it.

Sometimes love doesn’t have tangible proof behind it. And this, today, was one of my husbands. He doesn’t tend to give me flowers and candy to show he cares. He just builds me a computer to the specs that I need and then makes it look awesome. And yes! I thanked him for it too.

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Sam and Lucy go to the beach.

My daughter melted down in front of me, facing a case of stage fright on paper. Second grade English homework-write a story about two kids going to the beach. Sounds pretty easy, eh.

Tears and hyperventilating later, both of which I strictly did not react too while focusing on her and the issues, keeping a calm voice offering to help collect ideas. Let me give all parents warning-don’t do a child and beach image search without SafeSearch on. You will find the Syrian child on the beach and well, that was a conversation that I didn’t want to have. So after even more tears, my little one is very soft-hearted, and after an explanation as to why; she is very demanding as to why things happen; she really does remind me of me when she is like this, we got on with the business of searching images for ideas. Think Pinterest for kids.

Checking off quite a few ideas, she was still freezing about writing it out. So, basic brainstorming. I ask questions, often very leading questions to get the ball rolling and wow, it just started flowing out of her. She filled out the page and she was writing small and neat this time and we were not even halfway through the story. It had to be cut short.

I’m watching her tell me this story and I wanted to capture the twinkle in her eyes as she spoke. They glowed with a light from within. She’s got the soul of a storyteller. She’s been telling stories ever since she could talk. But this time, this was the first time she told a story after being asked to and with being provided with a prompt to do so. This time, she asked for help. This time, she saw what she could do. And she glowed.

Momma proud. Real proud of her little bulldozer.


Posted in Motherhood




Years, that quote above has driven me nuts. For the longest time I’ve continually argued that the thought is missing a key element. Even digging into Hamlet and seeing what it is actually referring too, does lend a bit of support to my view.

I guess you could call me a believer in an absolute morality, that good and bad are concrete forms and in a sense unchanging. In a strange way I am actually describing that I am capable of believing in something so strongly that my views and thus actions are unwavering.

Yet, perception is something I’ve been deeply acquainted with sense I was a child. I was in the third grade when I wrote a paper dissecting the advertisement and marketing principals used in grocery stores. Okay, I’m still marveling about it all these years for it was so accurate even after all these years.  I was the bullied child from my classmates because I was marked by adults as “strange.” As I got older and learned how to manage perceptions better, I walked between sub-cultures in high school without concern of bulling or any problem arising from it.

I’ve often been puzzled by my perceptions. For who I am and where I have been, I should have been faced with heavy discrimination, bulling, sexism, sexual harassment, and other varied form of shit piles. I do believe there is truth in the phrase, we often create our own troubles. And far too often we have our nose right on the tree truck and still unable to see the forest all around us.

Perceptions are like viewing a specific rotation of a kaleidoscope. Rotate it a single degree and the view changes, morphing into something markedly different than before. Life isn’t static. It moves and changes and having a single view of anything feels disingenuous.

We get to choose how we perceive the world. We choose to put on one of a hundreds of different coloured glasses instead of trying on various pairs.

I look back and I end up chuckling. I expected no issues of being a woman in the working world and I had no problems, for the most part. Until I encounter people who believed women in the working world were some kind of problem to deal with. That’s been pretty much the lesson; it’s not a problem until someone takes their problem and tries to make it yours.

This is something I’m looking at in my life. I first acknowledge that I can choose what my perceptions are for any given thing, issue, problem. What are my perceptions? How can I change my perceptions? What needs work? In what way will this change benefit me?

It’s not easy pealing my nose off the tree so I can see the beauty of the forest around me. I’m working on it. I hope you are too.


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No. I don’t love standing without.

I’m still feeling out of sorts for over a month now. I haven’t really written anything at all. My classes have tanked. My inspiration got up and left. I’ve been lethargic.

I firmly put my head back into my favorite game – Minecraft. It used to be Second Life but I am still avoiding it. I’m a bit afraid to go back into it. I’m afraid that I’ll become what I was before. I know I was using it as escapism and it worked quite well. Until I was dragged out of it just about kicking and screaming.

I don’t know what exactly it is I’m feeling. It’s kinda like remorse, a bit like grief, a plateful of regrets, it’s a beautifully sad mixture dancing on the sunbeams of fire-glow sunset. I think I miss Dreamwalker. I don’t miss the arguments. And I don’t miss the feeling of being utterly disappointing. I miss the kick in the pants. I miss his voice. I miss that feeling of hope; that odd bit of hope in a relationship that things will work out alright this time around.

I miss my friend. And he was my friend. I could and did tell him everything. Now, I can’t even speak to him because I wore out my welcome in so many many ways. In a lot of ways I miss the illusion I had of him. I built him up to be something that he wasn’t.  Now I’m feeling the pressure build all over again and I know we’ll all start singing again, singing to get out of this cage that never ends, singing his praise again. I’ll end up idolizing him again, worshiping him, loving him, expecting to be hurt again, knowing I’d run again,  wondering once again-what the fuck is wrong with me,? again.

I miss feeling that devotion. I miss those feelings but they are so deeply tied into pain.  The only thing I can think to do, is to stay so busy, that I have no time to think of him. Yet, every morning and every night I can’t escape from. I can’t run from myself and he’s become lodged inside of me in ways I still find amazing.

I can’t make him be my engine. My own engine is learning how to operate once again. I’m struggling. And when I compare myself to him, with what little I do know, with what bits I pull and see from the Universe, I stand in awe of him, amazed by what he has done and can do. And maybe that is just the idolizing starting again, now that I’m so far away, so far removed that old pains have stopped hurting. I know, one day, I’ll have to move on. Most folks never get to keep their soulmate and I guess I’m one of those. I’m still ever grateful for his presence in my life.  I do regret how dreadful my presence was on his.

I’m going to go play Minecraft now. I’ve got about an hour before I start for bed.

Posted in Life

Stray rock thoughts

Feels like I had a rock drop on me. There I was reading when a stray thought took my total focus, solving a puzzle that I had been working on for a few months now.

I’m at least a sexual submissive. I can no longer deny that. I enjoy pleasing and knowing that I am pleasing. It is to the point that without that sex becomes something like eating dry toast, I do it when I’m starving and not one second before. I also see that I’ve been picky on who and when I choose to be pleasing with.

Right now it feels distantly different than having a people pleasing disease. I’m not attempting to please everyone. I simply do not give enough of a shit to do so. I do see mild traces of attempts to please in my relationships. It isn’t very strong nor consistent. For the most part I’m thoroughly frustrated with the amount of things unexpressed by others in my life that I’ve had to figure out after much trial and error. It would be so much simpler to just tell me what they wanted instead of hiding it.

Is it really that controlling to bluntly say, you’d like to have fresh coffee made when you come home? Or that you’d prefer to have the computer open so you can decompress? Or that you need about a half hour of quiet time alone when you come home? Or that you’d prefer that dinner is cooked and served the exact same time every day?

It took me almost ten years to figure these things out about my husband. The fact that it took that long still fills me with shame.

In those same years, he taught me to stop asking permission to do things. Oddly, I know it wasn’t his intention but I stopped doing things. I know he wanted me to feel free and do what I wanted. He just didn’t know that I already had been, until he stopped me.

For the last few months I’ve been debating hard with myself on if I was even still a submissive. Having all of ourselves collected, I wonder if it was still possible. Even I find it mentally exhausting to be in Domme mode in my relationship. I wonder if that mode is just a shield, a tool to use to create distance and not something I do because of enjoyment.

I’ve never taken the chance to just be me, to find that way to be pleasing and to be found pleasing in return. I have always held back, afraid. In doing so, I denied my own pleasure and happiness.

I don’t think I’ll ever consider myself a slave again. Someone with submissive tendency’s, yes that I could. I’m finding it hard to let this dream go, even after all these years. It’s been a part of me, yearning for fulfillment. And I am facing the facts that without action, without a partner they never will be. How does one make a happy life having to let go, damn near reject such a core part of themselves? Even though it’s a good marriage, it’s just dry toast. No one is waiting in the wings. No one is out there for me.

I’ve traded ignorance for clarity; befuddlement for deep sorrow. These few core things are foundational to my happiness. And they have been historically those things I have been rejected on time and again.  Is it truly so startling to have someone want to be pleasing?

I would have been better off learning to be selfish. Instead I tuned out and turned off-purposeless. It feels so odd to say I need to learn to be selfish, that I need to learn to engage once again, to be a bit hedonist about my own pleasures and enjoyments.

Maybe I just needed to write out these morose thoughts or bullshits as I’ve learned to call them. Perhaps the morning will seam brighter.

Posted in Life

My grief is selfish.

We woke up this morning to the news of a dear friend had passed away. It’s not easy for us to deal with grief. We feel it keenly especially when it is someone most of us has interacted with. And in this online world, touching another’s soul is felt more poignantly as it is the only caress we can feel. Why is it only after do we realize just how much they were a part of our lives?

I don’t even know if they knew that I have DID. Or that they were among the privileged few who interacted with all the parts of me. I feel four times the grief but I received four times the love. He has our trust and respect and he will be deeply missed.

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We need to talk.

It’s not often I feel the pull of the stars in my life. This cycle around it is pulling hard and not pulling any punches with me in my life. If anything, it makes a decent non-corporal scapegoat.

March 6th had things blowing up in my life from the moment I woke up to the moment I closed my eyes to sleep that night. Everything I thought I knew I learned I did not. Everything, since I was 14, was rewritten in a matter of hours. The world, my world was knocked right off its axis. I’m still processing all of this.

I am now looking, considering ending one of the longest relationships I’ve ever had. From 14 to 40 and I have the strongest feeling it is now time to end it. I don’t know if I am sitting here typing this in shock or in horror.

My metamores no longer live close to me. They are several states away and have been for a few years now. When we all had been closer, it was a good seven-year run together. But now, knowing what I now know, I can feel the need for a clean break, a clean ending of things.

I am married. I’m not a single woman raising children alone. I am poly and my husband is a happy satisfied man. I have no intentions of ever leaving my family, not even for a metamore.

sigh, I am not unfamiliar with long distance relationships. Until recently, I was involved with a quite a few. When I do this, I will be down to one long distance relationship, no play partners, no metamores; just my husband and me. I’m looking forward to that. Is that so strange?

I’ve been closing a lot of the doors to the past lately. It feels good taking a moment to pause and chew on this. I will still have a heart that falls often and a body that demands sensation. I will still be the same person I’ve always been. (I hear the laughter in the back row, hush now sweetheart.) Maybe I am closing a door on a larger chapter of my life, or am I turning the page to an even more exciting future? I know I am doing this for me. It’s time for me to focus on me.

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