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I love this advertisement. I think it's fucking brilliant. 250,000 bouncy balls tumbling down a San Francisco street. Genius! I love the imagery, and I love the music that goes with it. I love it on my television, and I loved it when I saw it on the big screen before my movie this past weekend. I love it, I love it, I love it. And so it deserved to be mentioned here.
Well, as it turned out, I was stood up for the evening by Mr.Aloof. Not that it came as a very big surprise. Having not heard a peep from him post-lunch, it didn't bode well. And by the time I went home at six with no word, it was looking even worse. This isn't the first time something similar had happened, so I wasn't completely unprepared, but I was very unhappy. If I'd known he wasn't going to show, I could have watched Alias with T. Tonight was the only free night I had left.
Sort of.
And so my complications begin. Tomorrow night is the concert. And there is no way that there will be any time to meet up in combination with the concert. So then there is Thursday. And I am going with T and S to the design show. But the design show ends at nine. So it's completely possible to meet up with Mr.Aloof after nine. Except that T and S may get mad at my split commitment.
It's a hassle though- trying to fit everyone in and make everyone happy. T and S would probably say that I should not meet Mr.Aloof because he had his chance at an evening and this is their evening. Except they are forgetting that if I do that, I am also punishing myself, because I want to see him. And I want to see them too, and I wouldn't not go to the design show, or leave early, but I want to be able to do both without people getting mad at me. Except I don't see that happening.
On the plus side, after being irritated and stood up this evening I actually got a phone call from Mr.Aloof at ten. Saying he'd been out of the city, just returned to the office. We never talk on the phone. And he said he was sorry, which is also not a common occurrence. And he asked about my Wednesday and Thursday plans and if there was any way he could come north to see me, because he really wanted to see me before I left. And he's never said that either. And I really want to see him too.
I have enough stress right now, don't I? Why do these complications have to add to it?
What better way to blow off steam than to go see Mr.Aloof who happens to be in a somewhat mean mood today? I made a slip at lunch talking to T and S- T who knows and S who doesn't. I said Mr.Aloof said he was feeling mean today as an excuse for an email miscommunication that occurred. S was appalled that he would say he was in a mean mood. T wisely kept her mouth shut. She didn't even give it away through funny glances, I was impressed.
Anway, Mr.Aloof tonight, Franz Ferdinand tomorrow, East London Design show Thursday, and plane hell on Friday.
Studying? What's that?
I haven't felt the urge to post much these days. There is something I wanted to post, but I promptly forgot it, so that's put me off. The other thing that's kept me away is simply the amount of stress I have bubbling inside of me.
Each person deals with stress in their own different way, though I assume there are some general rules of thumb that everyone falls into one way or another. My tactic for stress is avoidance. The more stressed I become, the more lethargic and detached I become. The more uninterested. The harder to engage.
This is how I feel now. My life to me feels like a movie projector clacking in the background as images of people and locations, conversations, meals, traffic- they all pass in a sickening contorted fashion. A maelstrom around me as I sit in the dark theater, buffered and still.
I have not prepared enough for these exams I'm going to take. This is a fact. It is not debatable. I may not pass both exams. I may not even pass one exam. Yet I am locked in this course, I will take them both, and suffer the outcome.
And the phobia. I don't spend my time thinking about the flights. In fact I try very hard not to. But giving time to think about them or not, they are still coming. I will get on the plane, it will lift into the air. There will probably be some turbulence. I will be frightened. I will face my mortality. Again. And the plane will land and I will feel stupid and tired and stressed about the exams and annoyed with my mother and allergic to the cats.
This is why I have not been posting. I do not feel that I have anything productive to say.
My skin is starting to break out. It is in part due to the cold weather, but more due to my two exams and upcoming flights, I'm sure. I can start to feel it now, an underlying tension that is punctuating everything. It's like my insides are clenching slightly, all the time.
There is far too much to do before my flight on Friday. Too much studying that I won't be able to fit in. Too much irritation of my skin and I am wondering just how bad it's going to get.
People are leaving and I am not sure I will be able to see them all as I would like before they go. And that makes me sad.
Of course all I want to do is not think about everything I need to do, all my obligations and responsibilities, and just vegetate in front of the television, of course making it all much worse.
Although I feel stressed and overwhelmed, things to look forward to this week:
Wednesday- Franz Ferdinand concert with D and T, weyhey!!
Thursday - The East London Design Show, yippee!!
(this is so on my list to buy- I love him)
There are some things about this country that I don't quite find endearing. Centigrade is one example. And the reporting of the weather a closely linked second. This morning the radio said:
"And now for the quick weather. Today it's going to be cold."
And then the other presenter added, "And snowy."
That was the weather.
W... T... F.
(And it didn't even snow.)
I wouldn't suggest it is normally a very good idea to taunt your dominant partner unless you are prepared for the consequences. After the ongoing discussion of security of restraints and the ability to get free, I emailed something right before I left for the consultation along the lines of, "so what exactly would happen if i were to slip my bonds while detained and come find you?"
Like that was going to happen.
I arrived at the warehouse early, my consultation getting out slightly early, followed by excellent bus luck. My journey only took 30 minutes. I saw Mr.Aloof outside, getting something out of his truck I think, or perhaps putting something in. Convenient. We went inside and headed towards the kitchen. I saw through, into one of the workspaces an arrangement draped in fabric. A flat area with a low box towards one edge. I mentally noted it without stopping and went straight to the kitchen. We had some tea and talked. Then he took me by the hand but instead of bringing me to the third floor as is normal to the start of play, instead brought me to the fourth where we sat on the couch and gabbed some more.
I was secretly trying to see if I could deter him from his course. Not that I didn't want to play, but our time does tend to be limited, and I just want to be with him for a bit. But he was either onto me, or determined enough that my distractions didn't matter, or, more likely, felt the same and indulged the sitting and chatting and passing of time because he wanted it to. And it was nice. But eventually he got up, took my hand firmly, and led me down to the third floor. Seating me on the chairs outside the toilets he disappeared into the main room and came back with a black t-shirt. "Just this.", he whispered in my ear, holding me in such a way that we were close but I could not kiss him, and then he left.
I used the toilet and stripped down. The t-shirt didn't quite cover anything. It was cold, since Mr.Aloof had been away five days, the heating in the warehouse had been off. I made my way back upstairs where I knew the radiators were on, went by one and crouched down leaning against it. If I was going to be detained in the cold, I wanted to be as warm as possible to start. He eventually appeared, took note of me, and wandered past. Did something down at the other end of the loft for a bit, then came back and dragged me out of the eave and away from the warmth of the radiator. I was quickly blindfolded and taken back to the third floor, this time via the elevator.
Our games have progressed now so that when led blind, Mr.Aloof is no longer gentle. He rushes me, and pushes- heightening the sensation of danger and imbalance. It's nerve rattling, and fantastic. Pulling my arms behind my back, he began a rope tie. This one was much tighter than previously. But he wasn't done there. The rope crossed over my arms, around my body, the looped under my arms, holding it down and in place. Additional rope crossed my shoulders, all returning to the back, where my wrists were connected to the chest ropes, the tied ends well above the reach of my hands, closer to my neck. There was no worming out of this one. Using the twined rope down the center of my back like a handle, he directed me away again, dragging me backwards this time. I knew we would be heading to the fabric sculpture I'd seen upon entering, and so we did. My bare toes hit the edge of it along the cold concrete. "Kneel.", he said, holding the harness and pulling/guiding me down. The lower bit I'd seen before was some sort of foam board. Comfortable enough to kneel on. He pushed me forward until my thighs hit the box I'd seen and then pushed me down bent over it. It was also covered on top by some sort of solid foam or padding, not uncomfortable, but he pulled me back to keeling. I heard and felt some shifting about and he pushed me down again. He must have removed half of whatever was stacked there. Bound as I was, bent as low forward as I was, it would be a struggle to raise myself back to kneeling on my own.
He pulled me up again. Here follows a length of time punctuated by being moved about, from sitting on the box, to sitting on the palette portion, to pushed over the box. Early in the events, with the ball gag in place, pushed over the box, he took me that way. Took being the correct terminology, I could scarcely move. He used the harness to pull me towards him. It was completely controlling. It was fantastic.
But that was not the point of the evening, Mr.Aloof never actually left the room. Instead, I was moved to the various positions, bent this way and that, and measured with a tape measure. I could hear lumber being shifted, being cut, being drilled. He was making something, but what?
After some time, he stood me up and asked me if I wanted to see. He removed the blindfold and another period of time commenced. He was building a container. It didn't look very big. Taking a break, his attention turned back to me. He undid a portion of the rope, leaving my hands locked behind me. Bringing me to the raised box, he had me lie on it fully, with my chin off the end, looking down at the floor. Then he deftly pulled my feet up and put me into a hogtie, and went back to work.
Unfortunately, when messing with the ropes, it constricted the already tight wrist restraints, and I started to lose circulation. I wiggled and flexed my fingers as he worked, which helped a little, but the bond had become too tight. I waited until what looked like a good stopping point in his box building and made noise to get his attention from behind the gag. He quickly undid the rope and gag and left me on the lower palette, returning to the box as I wiggled blood back to my fingers.
With two sides off the box, he arranged one of the fabric pieces at the bottom and pulled me to the box. Pushing me into it, he slid the back panel in, and then pushed the lid on top of me. The box was not quite big enough to sit upright, and not quite wide enough to turn without difficulty. Certainly not long enough to lie down. But shift around I did, and managed to kick out the back board, which dropped the top down on me. He was there in an instant, make sure I wasn't hurt. Put me back to sitting and proceeded to secure the fourth wall to the box and drill a series of air holes along one side. I watched raptly.
When finished he went to the kitchen and brought back some wet rags. "The box needs to be clean before I paint it." he said, handing me the rags. So I started to wipe it down, removing sawdust and particles. There were bits from the airholes being drilled at the bottom and I tried pushing them to one end to get them up, but really the best way was to get in the box. So I did. Finishing, he approached me and took the wet rags, then with a hand on my shoulder pushed me down as he dropped the cloth back in behind me. Down I went and the lid went back on.
At least he didn't turn the lights out.
At some point he opened the lid and tossed in my leather and closed it again. Putting those on inside the box was a challenge, and I didn't even get to the collar before he was removing the lid to come get me. He put the collar on himself, and led me out of the box back to the elevator, up to the loft. Connecting the cuffs with rope, he strung me up to a rafter while he went about locking up the building and getting ready for bed. When he was finished he returned to me, and released me. I took care of some getting ready for bed details myself and joined him in bed.
Of course we didn't go right to sleep... there was some good messing about going on, though no more sex. And then entwined sleep. At some point closer to morning I was once again awoke by hands moving in not-so sleepy directions. And I've decided I rather like being woken up for sex. Oh screw it, I just like sex. But this being woken up for it thing is new to me, and I'm enjoying the novelty. Then more cuddles, more sleep, and an irritating alarm that went off at 6:30 and we were out the door by 7:30.
Of course I have no idea when I'm going to see him again. I'm hoping soon. I'm secretly hoping Friday, but I'm not holding my breath. Before I leave next Friday though. Better be.
Not wishing to offend new readers recently acquired, I feel I must preface this post with a warning. Because there has not been a recent graphic pornalong, you may have been mislead about the entire nature of this blog, or what I write about. I view myself as a person complete. Not wholly one way nor another. And while the majority of my life is spent collecting and commenting on odd or quirky things, a portion of my current life is exploring my sexuality, which I write about frankly here. And not just sexuality, but a bdsm-based sexuality. If this offends you, skip this post. If it really offends you, you can of course, choose to never return.
So, onto the post.
Tonight I am seeing Mr.Aloof. Originally there had been talk of meeting up this weekend. Or at the end of last week. This was all thwarted by some family emergency for which Mr.Aloof had to rush off to Wales to deal with, and did not return until today. Over the weekend, I sent my schedule for the week, seeing as how four out of five days I am traveling south of the river. It just seemed convenient even though it honestly takes me nearly as long to get from where I do the consultation to his as it does from my house to get to his. The London travel '45-minute' rule. Anyway I digress. Yesterday, after little word (read, two texts) in an entire week I got this response to my schedule:
> tuesday night, i've got a consultation from 6:30-8ish
And then you have a detention.
A detention. The last time we met, which I only referenced briefly here, there was a detention. Bdsm play is always a balance of preference. There is no one way to play. The time two weeks before the detention was much more in keeping with my fantasies. If pressed I would suggest that Mr.Aloof is not so much the sadist as I am the masochist. His desires are firmly rooted in objective control. But always, always, there is the power exchange which I find intoxicating.
And so since yesterday's short email, I find I am on edge with anticipation. What devious challenge is in store for me tonight? And will it be stricter than last time? Well, I would argue it must be. I know I did not go into detail, but as I anticipate the night's possibilities, I will use this time to reflect on the past, and on what is yet unsaid.
Last time I saw Mr.Aloof, the last time we played, I ended up naked, alone, and chained to and in a cold dark room on the ground floor of the warehouse. My arms bound behind my back, I had been led forcefully, frighteningly, blindfolded and running, to the room. Still blindfolded I heard the cold chains before I felt them- tightening around my body. When I was secured, he removed the blindfold and I could see the room. Perhaps 4x5 meters. Empty. Dark but lit by a candle on a high shelf I could not see. An electric heater was set low along the nearest wall. A row of high pegs along another held my recently removed robe and a jacket on top of it. There was a small palette on the floor covered in some sort of fabric.
He left me. And it was cold. The concrete floor sapping all the heat from my feet. The chains taking ages to warm against my skin, drawing out additional heat. I could move in an arc dictated by the high point the chain was fastened to, not to the door. Not even to the halfway point in the room. I went to go make friends with the heater. I stood by the heater for what seemed like a long while. Turning to warm each side of my body. Standing on one foot to warm the other. I noticed that the light grew visibly dimmer. I looked up to the shelf and it dimmed again by half. My only light source was about to go out. Evil genius bastard. It went out.
I had used my short time of light to warm up by the heater, not to explore the room as fully as I should have. Now I had no options. I moved over to the palette and inspected it best I could in the dim light of the heater and what came from the crack under the door. If I had examined it beforehand, I might have tried moving it closer to the heater, but I didn't want to mess up the one respite I had from the concrete if something went wrong. I also examined the jacket and robe on the pegs. Again, in light I could have seen how they were attached, tried to get them off the wall. In the dark, the task became impossible. And so I sat and waited on the palette.
Only to discover that through my general moving about I had loosed the wrist restraint. And could in fact take it off. What is one to do? Clearly the spirit of the exercise was not to 'get out' of the restraint. I had also realized somewhat earlier I could have gotten out of the chain had I so desired. So technically, I could have removed all restraints, grabbed the robe and the jacket, and sat comfortably and warmly while I waited. In fact, I could have also checked the door to see if it was actually locked or could I get out. But I did none of these things, though it was my constant thought while waiting. Why? Because it wasn't in the spirit of the game. Although I had not gone out of my way to loosen my bonds, I knew it wasn't the intent. And I have had no clear indication from Mr.Aloof (even under direct questioning) about if such an act would simply be dealt with in play or if it would diminish his experience of the evening. Punishment in play, I have no problems with, but diminishing his enjoyment or experience of the evening, I do.
It was only when he left me the second to last time (he would appear, periodically to check on me, touch me, torment me... and leave) when he took down the robe and threw it on top of me, that I removed the rope from my wrists and the chains from my body. I was at that point, cold. Enduring, but faltering. Curled up on the small palette with the light cotton robe wrapped completely around me, I waited. I had laid out the rope in front of the palette, where he had been kneeling by me, to make it clear it had been removed. But I still did not take down the jacket. I did not leave. The power exchange was in place. When he appeared that second to last time, he noted the rope straight away, and the absence of the chain as well as he ran his hands along my tightly curled form. But made no mention of it. I was relieved- but it prompted me to email him about it afterwards.
An email to which he has not responded. But he has been away. So I called him on it, on an email I sent before plans were made for this evening. Where I mused that I looked forward to a stricter, more rigorous restraint, where such questions about what it means when they fail are no longer an issue.
And so tonight I am to be detained again. And if I had to guess, I would say in a stricter and less forgiving fashion. My mind races to imagine what's in store. What I will endure.
The night can't come fast enough..
Usually I avoid things that cause me distress. Or anger. Or murderous rage. The things we feel the most passionately about are often the things that cause us to get into horrible fights with one another and point guns and pull triggers. Still, it's as hard to live your life unaffected by the plethora of things out there as it is to be at the mercy of all of it.
This week I am spending not one, not two, not even three but four, count them four days in Lambeth doing consultation. First being tonight, I leave in forty-five minutes and it will take me about an hour to get there. Then an hour and a half later, I can get myself all the way back to Hackney. It's hard to have meetings with people who are very disgruntled to hear about how you want to tear their houses down. Even if they don't feel safe in their homes and will complain endlessly about all the problems, they feel better with a known thing over trusting the council to provide them with anything that might be better. Of course this is hard because me and my company are hired by the council to make sure that something good is designed and delivered. This is, in all honesty, the best job I have ever had- in particular in regards to an office that actually cares about the quality of the design. So when the residents yell at me (like they did last Tuesday) about how they're going to get a big pile of shit, it's hard not to take it personally since I don't believe that my day to day job is to provide anyone with a big pile of shit. I believe in what I do, and want to be able to convey that belief to the residents. Of course, I also have doubts about the ability of the council (or in this case the PFI contractor, don't get me started) to deliver the project. But in terms of the design and all the intention going into the project, it's good. Still, next time someone comes and tells me about how they're going to knock my house down, I'll tell you if I'm particularly considerate about it.
Recently my friend B turned me onto this political site. Usually I avoid all things political as it's one of the quickest and surest ways to get me to gnashing my teeth. Luckily, this site is along the lines of my own political affiliation, and also at a discourse level that I also approve of and encourage. Still, politics are a horrible part of modern life that I try to stay as ignorant of as possible (aside from voting, which I do).
So in keeping with that, it pains me somewhat when I come across political things that I do not agree with. As I recently did when coming across someone discussing a pro-Arab opinion on Israel. As I just stated, I try to avoid most discussions of this sort because people's opinions are deeply rooted and you aren't going to change anyone's opinion, you are just going to get angry and upset that someone could believe something that you so completely and totally do not. You will wonder at their sheer and utter stupidity and ignorance while they wonder the same thing about you.
I think I'll go read some email now to kill time before hopping a bus to a train to a bus (no, I'll probably just walk the last leg) and try to ignore the infuriating world that we live in for a bit.
I have been thinking the past couple days about parents. About my parents in particular. About family ties and obligations.
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
I think sometimes that I feel lonely or isolated because of my upbringing. Because my parents behaved like children and not parents. Because I have no siblings. Because I learned how to be content on my own, and not to rely on anyone else because inevitably, they let you down.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
I do wonder from time to time what the outcome of my life will be. If I will ever have a family. Do I even want a family? Objectively I want a family. But... maybe I don't. Could I be saddled with the responsibility for another human being when I don't feel that I've finished exploring my own life? I have more than one friend with a recently hatched baby or a baby on the way. And they're happy, and I'm happy for them. Because it's what they want. I just don't know what it is that I want. Sometimes I feel like I will run out of time before I ever figure it out.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.
What are 'real parents'? Or 'right parents'? Or even 'good parents'? Who decides that? And who has it? My utopia could be your version of hell and vice versa. Everyone does shitty things in their lives. And everyone is someone else's kid. It all seems rather inevitable. And somewhat tragic.
Words that will never leave my mouth under normal circumstances. And of course, the fact, is this snazzy trick did not have to be done on a powerbook, it just happened to be done on a powerbook. Being a PC girl myself, this admission of coolness seriously pains me. But I will give credit where credit is due. Most of the time. (from boingboing)
It's really too late and I should just be going to bed but I can't quite find the energy to get tired, I'd much rather stare at my screen instead.
I have just returned from seeing the new Harry Potter movie with T. It was pretty good, the best of the lot so far I'd even say. Of course, a ridiculous amount was cut from the book, though that wasn't a surprise considering that the fourth book was particularly large and tome-like. Even pared down, it made an excellent, albeit dark film. If you like that sort of thing, you won't be disappointed.
I am starting to get excited about upcoming films. There is Aeon Flux to look forward to as well as the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, not forgetting Memoirs of a Geisha, or The Libertine and I am sure there are other films out or coming out that I want to see as well. I know it's all a big push up to the Oscars, but who cares about the reason. All I know is, there are a lot of good films coming out and I will be spending my time and money in the theater.
It seems to me that even though November is not yet done, it might as well be. My entire year is becoming a list of things that rush me towards the end. My time is scheduled in days and weeks and going here and there. Before I know it, it will all be done and it will be 2006 and I will be wondering where the past couple months went.
And I'm already starting to schedule into next year as well. February trip in the works and April travel planned and expected. I hate when my life becomes predictable, but then, I hate when my life is not predictable. I think I just need to feel that there is at least the possibility that something outside expectation will happen. And not in a bad way. Bad things are always unexpected and not predictable. I want some good things that are unexpected and not predictable. I want to be surprised pleasantly or at least have some belief that I could be surprised pleasantly. Otherwise life is just dull and routine. Even when you schedule fun things.
This morning it was cold enough for me to switch my regular coat for my winter jacket. I even turned up the heat last night by one degree Celsius, though I think I'll turn it back down as I woke up at some point in the night thinking it was really a bit too warm.
This afternoon T and I had a bit of a giggle-filled lunch. We kept bumping into each other as we walked, trying to push each other into things or off curbs. We laughed so hard on the way back, T thought she wet herself a little. Such a happy lunch, even my mushrooms were laughing.
I have lots of things going on in my head that are taking up most of the space. Tooth pain. Studying for exams and falling woefully behind. Upcoming flights to New York and back. Planning a trip with S for February. Entertaining guests between xmas and New Years.
Of course none of that is of current interest to me. Sure, some if it is interesting, but it's also just a list things I have to do or deal with. So by becoming a chore, it's no longer as fun. I prefer to spend time mulling over non pressing things. It's far more indulgent, and therefore illicit, and therefore fun.
This morning I read a post by CJC on his Nerve photoblog (it's quite possible that link won't work, or just send you to Nerve, in which case you'll need to make a free account to see 'The Daily Siege') inspired by his and his partners participation in this article, which spoke to me, so I thought I would quote it here. Recently my friend B emailed me about blogs and called them the modern day free-therapy. That somehow talking to the masses is good for the soul. Except I have never felt that I've been one to keep many secrets. My blog is the antithesis to the list of things above. It's a procrastination tool. It's something I shouldn't be doing and therefore becomes highly attractive to me to do it. I keep people's names out of it because I respect their right not to have their laundry aired, though to be fair, if you know me and you read this blog, you probably know who the initials represent (or I would tell you) and if you don't know me, you wouldn't know who anyone was by first name anyway, so what possible difference would it make. Maybe I'll stop using initials. Something to think about.
But one thing I have never been, is particularly secretive about myself. Oh, I don't throw it in people's faces and there is a long history with me of 'If you don't ask the right question you won't find out the answer.', but keeping the detail aside, when asked a question, it is highly likely that I will answer it. No matter how personal. Though I may preface with a 'Why do you want to know?', or an 'Are you really sure you want to know?', before answering. I've always felt it was easier and more sensible to just be truthful about things. Shame or embarrassment lets people have power over you. If you are not ashamed, then the power is gone. And here is what CJC had to say on the very same subject this morning:
"It's the fear of public scorn that has delayed every advance and evolution in human efforts throughout history. It's the freethinkers and liberally-minded being shamed and intimidated into silence by the backwards and conventional that have retarded progress. I say fuck that. That's why I'm so open about my life. When you live your life proudly in the open you have no fear of being outed, and without that fear, without that shame, others have no control. It's freedom."
I wholeheartedly agree.
It should be Thursday or at the very least Wednesday. How sad that it is only Tuesday. This looks like it could be a very slow week.
Last night I had a consultation in Brixton. And I have one tomorrow as well. The one I attended last night was to consult all of two people. There were three of us there to consult with two people, and one of them really didn't much belong. How ridiculous is that? The fact that it took an hour and a half just adds insult to injury. There better be more people tomorrow.
On the plus side, since I was south of the river, I stayed over at Mr.Aloof's. We had a somewhat strange evening of play which mostly involved my being detained. And cold. And in the dark. And there wasn't even any sex involved (well, depends what kind you're talking about, but really, no sex and no climax means no sex as far as I'm concerned though there was a bit of messing about, not even that much). There was however lots of snuggling all through the night which was nice. And then a somewhat frisky morning on both parts that was sadly denied due to it being late already. It would be awfully novel to spend a day together where we weren't worried about going to work or marching to some other sort of time constraint. God forbid a weekend or something similar, that's clearly asking too much. Whatever.
New flatmate D is away tomorrow for a week. And away again a week in December before being away yet again at xmas. I love flatmates like this. The kind that pay rent and leave for weeks at a time. Of course I'm leaving for a week in December as well, so he gets the flat to himself. So far D has been a good flatmate. He cleans up after himself and has replaced all my missing lightbulbs and swapped the smoke detectors around and cleaned the bathroom light. Hopefully the living together balance will continue to work out. Really, I'm the one who needs to clean up. Getting awfully messy again. My room is terrible. Maybe I'll work on that tonight.
Ugh. Is it really only Tuesday?
Over the weekend I noticed that the gum around my back left wisdom teeth was a bit sore. So being the overzealous type that I am, I decided the best way to deal with it was to scrub the hell out of it to get rid of any possible infection or problem. Of course this intense attention only served to inflame the gum further and so now it's really hurting and swollen and sore.
Over a year ago I had a similar problem in the same spot. Part of the problem is the fact that I have wisdom teeth at all. They fit, but just barely. And are pushed well back to the ends of my mouth. So if they don't stay very, very clean, there can be trouble. The last time this happened I had to go on a course of antibiotics. I'm reluctant to do this now however, having just finished a course of penicillin. I am treating my mouth more cautiously, but still diligently and hoping it will clear up on it's own.
Still, there is nothing quite so disrupting as mouth pain. Perhaps because the source of pain is so close to one's source of thoughts? Or perhaps because the tongue has a way of continuing to prod and poke the problem, "Does that still hurt? Why yes, yes it does. Damnit." Stupid wisdom teeth.
Stress has led to restlessness. Or maybe the stress is on top of a certain degree of restlessness. Lately it has struck me more and more that I have been here for a while, that I have been doing the same things for some time, and that I do not want this state of being to be indefinite perhaps.
There are some considerations I have though, baggage if you like, which keeps me slightly more grounded and stuck than a completely free spirit:
- I need to work for four years in this country before I can apply for permanent residency. Permanent residency will allow me to not worry about having a work permit or visa, and I will be able to come and go as I like (to an extent) and work wherever I like. I have a year and a half to go.
- My stupid financial advisor apparently set up my mortgage with a five year early repayment penalty (even though he told me there wasn't any). I have only owned my flat for one year. Unless I wanted to make no money on it whatsoever, I really need to wait until the penalty period is finished to even consider selling. With the Olympics upcoming however, and the stable rental market in London, this is not insurmountable.
- I do however, have a lot of 'things'. If I were to try to rent my whole house, I would need to address my abundance of material possessions. Scary.
- I have student loans that need monthly repaying. Ergo, I need a set monthly income of a certain amount. Luckily, even though I owe something ridiculous like $50k, that amount is only $270/month. And with advanced preparation, this could also be managed, still, a consideration.
- I want to finish my exams. At the moment, that will take me two more years of this bullshit. But it's not at all dependent on me being here, in fact, it's something of a hindrance.
That's actually not such a difficult list. Of course there are friends, but I have friends all over. And I would be just as sad to leave the ones here behind as I have been to leave all the others, but I am at least secure knowing you can keep friends far away.
I guess what I've been thinking lately was that when I get my residency here, depending on where I'm working (but for argument sake, lets say the same office, because I'm lazy and that's likely) I could ask for a six month sabbatical. If I hadn't finished with my exams, I could spend the first couple months in the states, just getting those done and out of the way. Then, if I planned right, I could just travel and backpack and do fuck all before settling back down to work for a bit.
I guess it never occurred to me until recently that this sort of thing was an option. And I'm not entirely sure why it's occurred to me now. Perhaps because I feel sometimes I have nothing to look forward to in life except more of the same. But it doesn't all have to be the same. I'm lucky enough to be able to do exactly such a thing with enough advance preparation and planning. Still, it's not a very K-like series of thoughts in all honesty. Normally my random lifestyle has happened to me because of chance or circumstance, but not systematic advanced planning.
Have you ever watched a series of events unfold, the ending clear as day, the ugly mass unfolding, bit by bit, step by step to the inevitable cliff edge, unable to turn away?
Have you ever been a part of that single or multi-act play, heading slowly and inexplicably to the only possible ending no matter how much you clawed and scraped and fought?
No wonder there are such things as philosophers and the concept of fate. That so many of our actions seem futile, that once set on a path we must stay for the course.
Or maybe people are still so unevolved that even through endless and repeated bludgeoning, we still cannot learn our lessons.
My mood is erratic these days. Makes no sense being the end of my period and all. It seems like it could be stress, which is quite possible with these exams and trip coming up. Okay. It's probably stress. I'm almost sure of it.
I thought I would express my erratic mood by listing my erratic musical line-up these days:
Green Day - American Idiot
Ani DiFranco - Knuckle Down
Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here
Joanna Newsom - The Milk-Eyed Mender
GoldFrapp - Supernature
I'm obviously going insane. (And no, not because of the selection of music but the combination of music- if anyone makes snarky comments about my music I just may just have to delete your comments :P )
Currently I am juggling thoughts of three friends with relationship problems. All of which have been highlighted within the past few days. I am sure I have more friends with relationship problems. In fact, I'd be hard pressed to suggest a friend who doesn't have a relationship problem. But I'll just focus on these three for now, and because this post really isn't directly about any of them anyway.
Sometime over a year ago, I came to the conclusion that being in love is a feeling not to be trusted. What dictates who we fall in love with? Certainly not who treats us well. Not who are nice to us. Not who do good things in the world. The first people that you love are your parents. They care for you and you love them. Is this the earliest lesson of love? I love those whom I think I need things from? Those who I feel can supply me with something that is vital to my survival?
Unfortunately, we can provide ourselves with food and shelter. So what is it that we so desperately need from a fellow human being? Validation? Approval? Comfort? And what price are we willing to pay to achieve these things? What aspects of ourselves are we so willing to throw away and trod upon in order to get some sort of acceptance from someone else whom we have deemed the vessel of our love?
Too many friends of mine, as well as myself, have put up with untold slights and slanders for those whom we love. As if the fact that we love them should excuse their behavior. As if the fact that we love them can make a bad situation okay. The most telling symptom of this unfortunate state of affairs is when your friends start expressing disbelief at your willingness to accept such behavior and you continue to make excuses to yourself for your own acceptance and for the one's you love behavior. But then, your friends have a clarity you do not. They can see the forest for the trees, when you, so besotted by love, are willing to accept almost anything on the chance that it could become the ideal you have worked out in your mind, if only, if only.
Everyone I have talked to in a successful long-term relationship talks about when the passion of 'being in love' fades to simple love. It is no longer a forceful element shaping lives but a calm and constant link that simply exists. This I think, is the ideal. The calm and constant. The safe and secure. The ever present. Not the tumultuous, the sporadic, the unpredictable, the unaccountable. This extreme state of unstable emotion isn't really love. It's infatuation. It's desperation. It's a high like from a drug, but like that high, doesn't last. Isn't constant or reliable or trustworthy.
If being in love with someone was about their worthiness, then there would only be a select few people in this world who received love, and the rest of us would strive to better ourselves in the hopes of achieving that goal. But that's not how it is. Bad people are loved. Mean people are loved. Cruel people are loved. And not by the insipid or stupid, but it does make you wonder, what exactly makes anyone deserving of such adoration?
And so inversely, I have decided that to love someone else is really a selfish act. It's about what you need in your life that you think you can get from that person. Sometimes you can, and sometimes you can't. Each of my three friends within the past few days has professed love for their partner while coupling that proclamation with a deep seated sense of personal need. Desperation almost. That when everything seems insurmountable they want to feel safe and secure from this person whom they have deemed worthy of their love. As if loving them alone should entitle them to a lifetime of security. Except objectively, they all know that's not the case, but knowing it and feeling it are completely different things.
I don't say these things only from observation. I have been a fool for love. But I suppose in some way I consider myself lucky that when my relationships with those I loved ended, they did truly end. Usually in a rather spectacular exploding fashion. Which, while painful at the time, was at least freeing.
And being so released, I find I have no wish to go back to that state. I hate the insecurities that feeling attached to someone brings out in me. I hate recognizing that I will accept behavior from someone I love that I wouldn't tolerate from a friend. I despise the desperation and the clinginess. How my mood is so completely dependent on a word or a gesture. How is that a good thing? I don't think it is.
Never accuse me of not trying out new things, or being open minded to new experiences. Sometimes I may stall or resist, but generally I'm a pretty 'up for it' type of person with a few exceptions- mostly things of an illegal nature.
When I started to cough again this year, I became deeply distraught. There is no way to convey exactly how sick I am of coughing every year. How it just lingers and won't go away. How everyone comments on it. How it interferes with my talking, laughing, eating, etc. So having ruled out in the past things like asthma or a treatable infection or allergy, I just didn't know what else to do.
This is when I started researching 'post nasal drip' on the internet. On the one hand, just to find out really, what it was so I had a better understanding of it- and also to see what sort of information I could get off the web about potential treatments. The one that instantly was obvious and also unheard of to me was 'sinus irrigation'. A simple holistic procedure which basically involves flushing out your upper sinuses with a body-temperature saline solution.
I toyed with the thought of it for a week while I continued to cough frustratingly. I saw my GP who gave me codeine which did nothing. I decided I would just try it. Probably it sounded just disgusting enough for me to be fully intrigued. A few days after placing my order, my kit arrived. The very next day I prepared to flush my sinuses out.
It's really quite simple. Empty pre-prepared packet into pot. Add warm water. Stir. Look down into sink. Insert end of pot in nostril. Tip head to side and let the magic begin.
The first time was the most impressive. First there was this terrible sinus pressure, like how it feels when you have a terrible cold and your sinuses are so completely blocked you can feel it behind your eyes. In fact my eyes started to water a little. I waited, slowly breathing through my mouth, when some small drops came out of my lower nostril and quickly built into a small stream of water. I was doing it! I was rinsing my sinuses! I did half the pot, tilted my head back, blew out solution gently, and then repeated on the other side. Where my sinuses had been partially blocked for well over a week, for the first time in a long time, they were completely clear. It lasted a good halfway through the day, and even though it started to get a bit stuffed again, it wasn't as bad as it had been in the morning.
Every morning I have now been rinsing my nose in this fashion. It's a bit of a hassle as I'm still not entirely used to it, but I don't care. My cough is immensely diminished, and I hope if I keep it up, it will disappear all together. Though even if it doesn't, this level of improvement alone makes it completely worthwhile.
So yes, if you ever suffer from chronic sinus trouble, I would recommend trying this out. It only costs a tenner for a starter kit with packets, so if it doesn't work, it's really no big deal. You're not making a major investment in something. And no, I won't be running off to join a cult just yet... if I really wanted to gross you all out, I would have posted one of the more graphic images I found, but I'll keep you happy by only leaving you with this.
I had a fun day today with T. First we met up at Broadway Market. Then we went back to her place and dropped off things and sat around for a bit before heading to the Tate Modern to check out the white boxes exhibit and a photography exhibit. Then we went to this place called fish! to have dinner which was very yummy.
All in all a good day and we went from the restaurant to the bus stop to head home. Our bus was not forthcoming and there seemed to be a lot of fireworks going on when T suggested we walk a bit more onto the bridge to actually see the fireworks. Duh! Forgot it was Guy Fawkes whatever night. So we head onto the bridge looking for a spot to see clearly when we bump into a coworker Lil'T and a couple of his friends. We watch the fireworks and then went to a pub to get a drink or two.
All went well there and eventually it was time to go and I thought I'd go use the toilet like you do when your stomach isn't so happy and you're looking at a 20 minute bus ride or so home. No line in the toilets, I jumped right into the first stall and went about my business. Finishing up my business, I went to get some toilet paper, only to find there wasn't any. Not anywhere. I freaked out. What could I do? I wasn't in a position to 'shake off and go'. I couldn't see out of the stall, I had no tissue in my bag or jacket. But then I remembered, I had my phone!
So I sent T a text, as I knew she was just in the pub waiting on me so we could go. And then I waited for a bit and then I sent her another text. And then I called her. And then I called her again. And then, I called her again. It turns out I called her nine times! I was completely panicking at this point, and there was no one in the bathroom. But then I heard someone come in (it wasn't T).
"Hello, could you help me and possibly pass me some toilet paper? There isn't any in here.", I called out feeling like the worlds biggest idiot.
"Are you talking to me?", this voice came back.
"Yes, I think you're the only one in here and I'm stuck."
So the nice woman whom I never saw finished her business and dropped me a wad over the top of the door. I was just coming out of the stall when T came rushing in, "Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god! I'm so sorry!!!" I was more amused at the ridiculous nature of the situation than in anyway upset. I mean, after all, I'd gotten some toilet paper. It only took almost twenty minutes to muster up the courage to call out into the void, but I'd gotten some toilet paper.
Some things are so utterly ridiculous, that the only thing you can possibly do in life is to laugh about them. Especially if they're really fucking funny.
There was a misunderstanding before lunch yesterday and I almost did not go to see Mr.Aloof. The error was in an interpretation of comments about sadism and dominance. He thought I was being put off by what he was suggesting and I was merely thinking and sharing my thoughts on the matter in a more objective way. Luckily we cleared it up and the plan to see him was still on, but I knew I was in for a hard evening.
Power exchange does not have to include the delivery of pain. It's a frequently used option, however. It's used to different degrees and in different ways by different folks. There can be pain as punishment or correction and there can be pain simply because one likes to give and the other likes to receive.
To date, while there has obviously been some pain involved in my meetings with Mr.Aloof, it has stayed on what I would consider the lighter side. Ever so slight bruising and a hint of a mark here or there from the tip of one of the lashes of his whip. Our meetings have had more of a D/s dynamic rather than s&m dynamic, which is cool, as I am obviously having fun.
But upon his return, he sent the text as mentioned recently and I was surprised as it was a different side to his character he had yet to express. There was no doubt about the way the evening would go, and though excited to see this new aspect and have a more physically extreme evening, I was terribly nervous when leaving my house to head to his.
I got there at 9, and he let me in. We went to the kitchen to talk for a bit, have a drink, sit quietly. He left a couple times to do this or that, eventually coming back and taking me by the hand and leading me to the elevator. He hit the button for the third floor and told me he would be up to come get me.
Emerging from the elevator I saw the yukata and green leather laid out on the chair (and two keys on a ring which become important later). I used the toilet and proceeded to change. I could hear the elevator go past and his footsteps on the floor above me. I finished dressing and sat and waited, playing with the keys. Not having to wait too long, he appeared and grabbed the front of the robe slowly and pulled me up to my feet. He took me by the hand and led me upstairs, where the loft was very dark, only lit by three candles. He stood me under the beam and rafters closest to the door and turned me so I faced away from the centre of the room. Taking some rope, he secured the wrist cuffs together and throwing the rope over the beam, secured my hands above my head with not too much slack. He then left me there while he continued to go about whatever he was going about- taking the elevator to another floor, coming back, doing things behind me. He occasionally checked on me but for the most part ignored me. I have no concept of how long this was.
Eventually he finished with whatever he'd been doing and returned his attentions to me. Releasing my wrists from the beam, he undid the rope holding them together and then quickly, and efficiently removed the yukata. Taking one wrist, he reattached the rope and pulled it out to attach to the column on one side holding up the rafter. Producing a second length of rope he repeated the process with my other arm, making them tight. Standing with my feet flat there was pressure on the cuffs and the only way to relieve it was to stand on tiptoe. Not very much flexibility of movement. He gave me some water and then produced the bar gag. The gag was secured, and I do not remember so well what happened exactly, except after a bit he left me again to do something, though first releasing the catch on the gag so that I was holding it in place, but if distressed could simply drop it (though I wasn't and didn't).
More time passed. The tie was restrictive and I could feel the pressure in my arms and wiggled my fingers to keep my circulation. Up on toes until my legs shook then flat footed again. Of course I wanted to endure it as well, a complicated thing, submission. He came back and removed the bar gag producing the larger and more intrusive ball gag. More sips of water in between the change and then he got his whip.
What followed was what seemed like a very long time of whipping, touching, and resting. From all angles the whip could reach me as he struck, the multitude of tails curling around my body, wrapping and snapping at my skin. Or more direct hits where the mass and weight of all the strands thudded into me across broader areas. He would build in intensity, starting more gently and quickly increasing strength until they were forceful hits. I would take it and then, when it got to me, try to shuffle or lean away, perhaps cry out behind the gag, and then, perhaps, he would pause.
Around the halfway point he produced another length of rope and did a tie around my upper body which was tight and made it so I could not take deep breaths. The remainder of that rope trailed down my back and legs to the floor, brushing against my reddening skin. And then the whipping continued. At another break two more lengths were produced and attached to my ankle cuffs which were then attached to the respective columns that my wrists were attached to. My small freedom of movement was lost, it was all closing in. There were now certain areas which had been struck repeatedly, and particularly if they had also been marked by wrapping, that were particularly tender. I was tiring. My arms and legs trembled occasionally, my skin stung.
"Prideful and stubborn." Mr.Aloof said quietly to me during a pause between. "You will have trouble sitting tomorrow I think. You just need to give in K."
I turned my head away. I knew what he said was true. The keys, which I still held in my hand were a signal. That I had reached a limit. All I had to do was drop them. Another round- but this one did not hit the sore spots and so I did not feel my limit even though the whip burned new sore spots into my skin. Another break. And then another round but this one was hiting the sorest spots, hard. Tied as I was I could not move or twist away. The strokes were relentless coming quick and strong. I could barely think or catch my breath. The point is not to suffer pain for the sake of pain, I did not have anything to prove. I was tired and sore and I knew that I could end it. I threw the keys and they clinked as they hit the floor.
Still, it's hard to give in, especially if one is prideful and stubborn. He stopped and went to retrieve the keys as I hung my head and caught my breath. He softly ran his hands along my back and bottom. I could feel the heat on my skin and his softest touch burned. He put the keys back into my hand and circled me again. This I also knew would happen from prior arrangement. I dropped the keys when I wanted it to end, but there would be more. Not much more, but still more. Though I barely registered it, my mind already elsewhere from having conceded.
And then he released me. My arms and hands tingled as the blood came back, my jaw sore from the ball gag and likely my biting down on it. I was afraid to move, to find out the full extent of what I had endured. He gave me more water and after some time, led me to the bed and gently pulled me to lie down. He touched me then, holding me down to the mattress, and when I was sated he lay back on the bed and I curled into his arms and we slept.
Sleeping with Mr.Aloof is always somewhat nice as he desires physical contact throughout the night. So do I, normally, but I also sleep very hot. So normally I get annoyed with being too close with someone while I sleep, but with him it seems to work well. Whenever one of us shifts in sleep, we adjust to always be touching again, and it's rather nice. Of course, when these moments happen, I partially wake, and take note of it before drifting off. At one point I woke wanting to change position, and turned my back to him, pressing into his side and he moved more to spoon. I thought nothing of it until I felt his hand run lightly along my hip and then up my back. This was new. I became more alert as his fingertips brushed lightly over bruises and welts igniting them.
He pulled on my shoulder rolling me to facing him (over my back, ouchie!) and then guided my hand down, under the duvet (I usually sleep out while he sleeps under). He was hard. I had thought, while drifting off to sleep that it seemed terribly unfair that I seemingly got all the attention for the evening, and of course worried about it. So here was the clear opportunity to improve upon that situation. And I did. Getting better, well, maybe not better- at least more comfortable with such things. And then that fun and games led to sex, which I always tend to enjoy. And then we really slept.
Today however, I bear the result of my pride. I look as though I've been attacked by a strange beast or have some sort of pox. At least a hundred red marks from the tips of the whip biting my skin. And the bruising has started. Of course it's all hidden under my clothes. Sitting is reasonable but not entirely comfortable. Don't get me wrong- I don't say these things in shame or remorse. I love the marks, the soreness, the physical reminder of my evening blazoned into my skin. Otherwise, I wouldn't be doing this sort of thing.
T thinks that I'm in a spastic mood because I'm going to see Mr.Aloof tonight. Which is perhaps part of the reason I'm hyper, but there are so many things bouncing around in my head that the sheer overwhelming quantity of it is also egging me on. When I have a lot of things on my mind I either shut down and get paralytic or I get intensely hyper- and this is one of those hyper times.
First there are people considerations:
- Yes, I'm going to see Mr.Aloof. Anticipation will always get me a bit worked up.
- I got an email from A who I've not heard from in months. Another friend with another sad story and broken relationship.
- Keeping tabs on S and how things are at home since I was over there Tuesday night.
- Work issues that all come down to people and what they're up to.
- New flatmate.
- Other friend S (I have a lot of S friends) isn't talking to me still about this whole coming to visit thing which I don't like.
Then there are body things:
- Stupid period. Ick. Yuck. Disgusting. (And bad timing)
- The cough that will not go away.
- Having fun with some foot detox pads that I got recently. It's probably all just hocus pocus, but it's entertaining.
- Also having fun with sinus irrigation which is sort of disgusting but it seems to be helping. If it addresses the cough, then I don't care how gross or strange it is.
- I'm starting to think I need a haircut.
And there's always just regular old other things:
- Studying for my exams.
- Not thinking about my phobia and upcoming flights.
- Needing an umbrella.
- Work hassles.
That's just a bit of what's going on in my brain at the moment. For some reason I feel like I've eaten a bag of sugar. I suppose it's better than the alternative.
"Whipped until the tears flow! Lots of red lines to admire in the mirror!"
And so was announced the return of Mr.Aloof from his trip via text. I'm not entirely sure when the message was sent as I had a difficult evening at the home of S and C which I will get to in a moment, as that is actually the point of this post, and not the text exchange. Still, I was stupidly pleased to know he's back, and struck amused once again by the words exchanged that I do like so very much and that others would be shocked to hear.
But on a more serious note, and the few texts aside, my evening was not a fun one.
At work yesterday I checked in with S who had called me at 1am Saturday morning having a crisis. We spoke on the phone for two hours, but the problems would not be solved in an evening. It was really an addition to a long laundry list of problems and slights that all focused around S's relationship with her boyfriend C.
They have been together five years, and recently purchased a lovely flat together and started living together for the first time. Of course, it's normal to think that issues will arise when circumstance changes. And to be fair, while they had been together four years, they had never spent significant portions of time together, mostly limiting their relationship to weekends and the odd evening. So moving in was always going to be a very large adjustment.
And friend's from the sidelines also held their breath and worried that it would be an unsuccessful adjustment, as cracks were clearly visible before the flat purchase and move-in, but what can one say?
So six months on, and the proverbial shit has hit the fan. After Saturday's phone call, I checked in yesterday only to find that what was emotional abuse had escalated to physical abuse. She wants him to go to counseling with her or on his own, he thinks it's all her problem and insists he's not going to any counselor. So yesterday she called a domestic violence helpline and they suggested she try talking to him with someone there. Enter K.
I went over after work and talked to her a bunch. We ordered a takeaway and he came home eventually. Turns out he'd been listening to our conversation in the stairwell before coming in. And he ignored us. And she tried to talk to him, and because I was there he stayed relatively calm. But they did not really talk. And it was mostly due to C and his unwillingness to admit that he was doing anything wrong or allow any opinion other than his own. He couldn't even say if he wanted them to be together or not. Their relationship is basically over. She got a lock put on the bedroom door (they have a guest bedroom) and told him that she didn't feel safe around him and needed a private space. And you could tell that the rage was building as his control was lost. I had to stay long enough for her to get what she needed, lock herself in the bedroom, and I let myself out. It was really sad.
I'll be there to lend her support and help in any way I can obviously. It's always distressing to see your friends hurting. To see people treat each other so poorly. To be so out of control. So base. It was really a stressful evening for me, I can't even imagine.
You may want to file this post under 'too much information' or you just may want to stop reading now. I don't care what you do however, because I am in a grouchy mood.
Once upon a time I got no periods. Maybe three a year, if that. When I was eighteen, I went to the doctor to discuss the issue for the first time and was put on birth control pills to regulate me. In general I thought these were great, my period came like clockwork and I could be like everyone else, though I have to say, that in general I think periods are pretty disgusting, certainly don't make me feel like 'more of a woman' and I'd prefer if it was natural for women to get them only once a year, if at all, but that's besides the point.
Anyway, I was on the pill for years and years. But at various points health concerns were flagged. High blood pressure and high cholesterol. So a few years ago, as my age went up and my numbers didn't go down, I was taken off the pill as it was not considered safe. Of course, the birth control aspect was a huge bonus that I still have some issues with as I liked my double protection (birth control pills + condoms) however, the bigger issue was that I was thrown back to a time when I never knew when I was getting my period.
No longer clockwork, I have no idea when it's going to happen or if my mood is being unduly influenced by hormones. Right now for example, T, N, and C are all just starting their periods. And it's a well known fact that women in close proximity tend to synchronize. So I'm horribly grouchy and moody and everything is pissing me off, but do I have any idea if it's my period or if I'm just depressed about other stuff going on in my life? No.
All I know is that every small thing is irritating me in some way or another. That my mood is dark, my thoughts are dark, stupid things are annoying me and I don't know how to make it better, and I'm not even sure I want to make it better. And you know what? It's fucking pissing me off too.
