30 June 2008

Bath Time

Holy shit. Just... fucking holy shit.

I have had a fantastic time away. I didn't get to see hardly any of the bands I wanted. The place was completely overwhelming in terms of scale and it took ages just to get around.

Got home some time this morning when it was dark. Stumbled to bed. Had to get up to clean the van with those who have taken it to return it. Have sat on my sofa like a zombie and am just now contemplating the bathing ritual that needs to take place.

I've been putting it off because I also got a bit sunburned so can't spend too much unnecessary time in the water without a plan in place, and I think I have formulated just such a plan. Shower first, clean tub, soak in oils, and finish with a baby oil moisturizer.

Then sleep.

More later. And work tomorrow sadly.

26 June 2008


Once upon a time, I had purchased a number of small items for a group of people who were going to have a play in the woods one night. Of course, like so many other things, this planned evening was yet another disappointment and built up expectation that never came to be. But I shouldn't dwell.

Regardless, the small bag of items purchased has been sitting gathering dust in a corner of my room, as I wasn't sure what else to do with them. I'm always reluctant to throw away useful things, but how often does one go traipsing in the woods?

Enter Glastonbury. I am using almost every item in the bag- or bringing the extras for other people to use (as was the original intent anyway- different people, different intents). And it's like a small purging. And I'm glad to find a use for these things, and to have them removed.

'Things' are like portable scars. I'm feeling a bit with the Buddhists on this one. How freeing it would (but also how horrifying) to be relieved of all of my worldly possessions. There was some study done recently about the actual physical (and therefor measurable) attachment to 'stuff' that people have, and the pain that it can cause them. Interesting.

At any rate, I have very little time this morning to amass what seems to be a great deal of 'stuff' that all needs to get to T & D's house so it can be loaded in the camper van. I'm probably taking too much stuff, but I'm not really a roughing it sort of girl. Though I am a fairly low maintenance sort of girl, so thank god for small graces. No makeup or things of that nature required. Still, the pile on my bed to be packed seems large. And I need to go to the grocery store. And shower.

So I need to get off line is what I'm really saying.

In other exciting news, my tomato plant, as grown from a seedling, has itsy bitsy teeny weeny baby tomato blips where some flowers used to be. I'm so excited it's ridiculous- more excited even, than I am about going to Glastonbury. See, ridiculous!

23 June 2008

Story: The Red Coat (Part 2)

This story continues where Part 1 left off.


Twenty minutes on a platform seems like twenty hours, but also twenty seconds. I stay huddled against my sheltered portion of wall. Feeling the cold air on the exposed skin of my neck and throat, swirling under my coat, around my thighs and swishing coldly against slightly moistened flesh- from the sweat of anticipation and fear, and from... other things.

Twenty minutes pass and the train approaches. It's not packed full, but it's not empty either. I move towards the door, ever so conscious of my predicament. My boots and stockings giving off an impression of respectability, or perhaps just normality when in reality there is only just a corset, and this coat. This coat which is my only protection. And the single ticket which I can't seem to let go in my slightly sweaty fingers.

At first I push into a partition wall. Sitting presents a problem- how will my coat respond? Of course, knowing that this was the future plan, I have tested the coat in various circumstances, and it is because of that testing that I am particularly reluctant to sit. I know, that even with every so careful positioning, the coat edges will pull apart slightly. That more of my legs will be revealed, and the lack of a skirt. Not enough to negate the possibility of a mini-skirt, but enough perhaps to be noticed. The last thing I want is to be noticed. Still, it's not a problem initially, there are too many people. But this presents another predicament- the anonymous pressing up of a strangers body. My heart skips a beat when I feel the pressure of a stranger against my hip. Can they tell? Do they know? I shift slightly and the contact ceases. But it happens again, as people move to get on and off the next few stops. Each time, my heart stops, then pounds, each time the heat rises to my cheeks, each time I clutch my ticket that much more firmly.

Halfway through the ride, the train is more empty and I determine that it is perhaps more obvious to be the only person standing. Sitting is required. Luckily, there is an empty seat by the corner- away from the doors. I go over and sit, every so carefully, towards the window, away from the aisle. The coat parts, as I knew it would and I tug it as best I can back into place.

Another stop passes and the train empties even more. I grow more brave. There isn't anyone who can see me where I am sitting. I can see the tops of heads in front of me, I check the reflections and see that I am protected. Brazen maybe, or just charged from the whole experience, I let my coat part. I am not revealed, but I am revealing far more than I would be comfortable with if anyone were to see. I pat myself outside my coat, feeling my own nakedness, feeling the tightness of the corset. I pull on my lapel and look down my own chest, seeing my breasts free, my nipples hard from the cold. I reach in and touch one- see how easy it is to pass through the veil of normalcy into the unexpected.

The train shuttles on in the darkness. Lights pass outside and now I am anxious with anticipation. And though I know the night will be long, I am impatient with this train, that there is no one here to enjoy my predicament but me. I wonder how far I can go. Since my coat closes right over left, it is my left hand that I slip between the layers. Feeling the slick stocking on my leg, reaching the lacy top, fingering the edge. I am hyper alert to ensure I am not discovered, I cannot conceive of how embarrassing I would find that. It must not happen.

I shift my position and spread my legs enough that eager fingers can reach hot and yearning flesh. Still, this is not ideal. I'm not left handed. I never do this left handed. I think I am making my situation worse. Were someone to suddenly stand up and pass by me now, I would not be able to hide what I was doing. The thought is disturbing but also exciting. I try to find the right angle, the right pressure, the right movement- I am so wet, my hand is so wet, and I am yearning with every fiber of my being.

But it's not to be. The train jerks and I shift, losing contact for a moment. I realize that I am not going to find satisfaction this way, and my frustration is already great enough. I withdraw my wet hand, raise my hips slightly to adjust my coat back to a more demure alignment. I wipe my hand on my coat. For the second time this coat has been marked this evening. I think to myself I will need to take it to be cleaned.

Watching the lights whizz by, wishing I had a watch, had anything so that I could be distracted. But the point of this evening is not to be distracted- it's to be very much aware at all times of my predicament. Of the pleasure that I know he is gaining from placing me in this situation, and my compliance with his plans. Of knowing I stood on that platform, and boarded a train, with only a ticket in my hand. Of knowing whatever it is that he has planned for me still, and knowing that I don't know anything, but that I will come (both figuratively, and literally) and that I will do as I am told, and that I too will be pleasured and astounded and satisfied by the evening's adventures. These are the thoughts that occur to me as the train rattles and continues along it's iron rails.

There are only two stops to go.

Now there is only one.

I stand up, facing away from the other seats to avoid any surprises, and tighten the belt on my coat, pulling it tightly around me. The train pulls into the station, and I leave with the other passengers, who remain clueless as to what was sat right by them. I walk towards the exits, with my next set of previously discussed instructions firmly in my mind. I remove my single ticket and slide it into the machine- the ticket disappears and the gates open. Now I have nothing. Walking carefully, keeping my coat pulled tightly around me, I head out of the station into the night, onto the next leg of my journey.

(I see that my next installment is going to have to be split in two- stay tuned for Part 3)

Food Craving Note to Self

Chocolate covered pretzels are just as amazingly wonderful as remembered. Even without the glimmer of THC, all I have to say is that those pretzels were the best thing I've had in ages. However, now mine are all gone. Why can't they make them here? Why? Why?


Monday Night

Three nights to go and then I'm off. I feel woefully unprepared. Too much rushing about. Too much coordination of other people. It's always the other people that's the problem, no? In our case, it's six people in total and I'd say that really it's only two people that are creating a minor disruption. To take that further, it's really only one person who is creating a disruption, though it entangles another which makes it all a bit stressful.

I'm sure that in the end it will all be okay. Hopefully there won't be any hard feelings taken along, but I fear that there might be. This is not how you want to go about what will likely be a stressful period anyway. Again though, many of the issues come back to just one person. But so much depends on this person, that it's not really something that can be ignored by everyone else.

I'm going to try my best to stay calm and mostly out of it- since very little of the deciding has anything to do with me. Still, it's going to all be upon me before I know it. I'm trying not to panic.

I'll see if I can get my next story installment up before I go- I keep thinking about it (and such entertainment it's providing, let me say), but I think I would like to commit it to words. Moving on, moving on. It's so hard to know that the people you cared about have already moved on- moved on long ago. I keep finding myself hoping for some shred of information that something bad has happened to them. Surely this isn't healthy, but I'm not sure how not to think about it.

Five days away from the computer should help.

22 June 2008

Adventures in Baking

Today was a busy day. First, I had to get up at seven because my mom wanted to be on a bus by eight to make sure she got to the airport on time. She had to go another route from how she originally planned because there were some sort of works at London Bridge. I'm hoping everything went smoothly. Once she left my house, she didn't have a phone anymore, so one can only hope. I don't know what time she'll actually get home, but I'll try calling in a bit.

So because my mom was here, I had put off picking up some pre ordered herbs for Glastonbury. But since it's coming up soon, there was no time like today. So I saw my mom off to the station, then I headed to Stoke Newington to meet a friend who had the goods. We had some breakfast and I picked up what I needed, then I headed back my way and to Tescos to get the missing ingredients.

Apparently it's all about cooking the butter. This is what I heard from everyone and what my recipe said. So I went about cooking it all in the butter, not sure what I was looking for, not sure what the real procedure was. And I mixed up the brownie mix, then it all went together and into the pan. S came over about halfway through this process.

So of course, before I took these things anywhere, we had to do some quality control. The recipe I had said that you could cut the pan into 32 pieces for a guaranteed intense sensation, but you could cut them in half again- for 64 pieces, for a milder run of things. We decided to go for the 64ths, and then figured if we wanted more, we could have another 64th and see how it went.

Suffice to say, another 64th was not at all necessary. S and I had a very enjoyable afternoon munching away on strawberries and chocolate pretzels and cheese and chips. I've cut and wrapped the rest of my tiny parcels. Frozen 36 in a bag to take with and have the rest to store in my freezer at home.

Baking success!

21 June 2008

Story: The Red Coat (Part 1)

It was winter in London, dark by 4pm. Everything goes a bit gloomy. It's not that it's overly cold, though it can often be damp. It's just dark and cold enough to make you forget what sunlight and brightness are like.

Me, I decided to liven up the gloom with a very red coat. I needed a new coat, and wasn't a fan of the black double breasted that seems to be the standard London uniform. So I went coat shopping and found a lovely red wool coat. Down to about my knee, three tier double breasted with a tie around the waist. Of course, when shopping for the coat, it wasn't just on my mind that I needed something that fit and would keep me warm, I had other thoughts in mind, thoughts that had been discussed before.

The arrangements were made, and at last the day arrived. I was to meet him at the station after work- by seven. Missing perhaps the largest of the rush hour crowds, but the station would still be buzzing with all the city workers heading home from working late. Before leaving work I went to the bathroom to prepare. Removing all of my clothes, I pulled out of my bag an underbust waist-cincher corset with attached garters, some seamed black stockings, and my tall black boots. Cinching the corset and attaching the stockings, I tied on a sarong skirt and threw a button down sweater over. Other than these items, I wore no other clothing. Aside from my waist being very tiny, there wasn't anything amiss with my outfit necessarily. Except the make-up. I put some on. Bright lipstick, and darkened my eyes. This wasn't typical for me and I hoped I wouldn't see anyone as I made my way from the toilet to the door. I stashed my regular clothes in my bag, pulled on a scarf and headed out into the dark.

The journey to the station by bus was amusing. I always think it's funny to wear a corset in public. But I was more distracted by the way my breasts were moving under my sweater and the way the cool breeze sneaked it's way under my skirt to touch naked flesh. All of my skin felt alive and tingly. I looked at all the dark figures sitting on the bus and wondered if they could sense the energy flooding off me. I wondered if they could see me blushing, or if someone who glanced at me would simply think it was a reflection of my red coat, and the chillness in the air.

Arriving at the station, I go to where we are to meet and I see him there, waiting for me. I'm sure I'm blushing terribly now.

"Let me see.", he says and I unbutton my coat to reveal my demure attire. He looks me up and down and I feel as though a line of fire follows where his vision passes. "Come." he says, gently but firmly taking my arm and walking me through the crowded station. We eventually arrive at the restroom and he lets go of my arm. "I'll wait here.", he says pointing to a bit of brick wall across the bustling corridor. And with that he leaves me abruptly and I turn and make my way into the stalls.

Closing the door to the stall I know that I am trembling. My hands shake in anticipation- a funny automatic reaction I can never control. I remove my coat and hang it on a hook on the back of the door. I hang my bag on the hook as well. Then I untie my skirt, fold it, and put it in the bag. I unbutton my sweater, and also fold it and put in the bag. Even though it's cold, I'm sweating. And I am already wet. I take some toilet paper and wipe away the telltale juices. There won't be another chance for some time.

I put the coat on now, conscious of how the front splits and exposes my stocking clad legs when I move. Feeling the cool satin lining slide across my breasts, my back, my ass. I take a deep breath, grab my bag, and leave the stall. I glance at myself in the mirror to see if I can see what others will see. A bit of flesh at the neck- perhaps I should wear the scarf. But that wasn't the instruction. Still, it's not so unusual. Tall black boots, a bit of stocking, and the coat edge. So I could be wearing a short skirt. Who would know? Again my waist is emphasized by the corset, but it's nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing obvious to the casual observer. Grabbing my bag and slinging it over one shoulder, I walk with small steps so as not to flap the front of my coat, I walk out of the toilets into the crowded corridor and over to where he stands along the wall, still trembling. I can feel the heat pouring from my face and can't imagine how red I must look.

He reaches out and plucks my bag from my shoulder and shifts it onto his own. "Come here.", he says and I slip closer to him. He leans towards me so our faces are so close and he pulls on the front of my coat and glances down at how the flesh continues. Before I have time to think about it too much, he leans in and kisses me, pulling me against him and I can feel every inch of my mostly nakedness against the cool coat, against his hard body. His hands, touching me for the first time, outside the coat, trace the laces of the corset and feel it's tightness squeezing me. He grins his wicked grin, takes my hand and head off on a brisk walk towards the platform.

I struggle to keep up, and struggle to concentrate on not making my coat flap open and expose my legs higher and higher. At one point he notices my predicament and laughs, but he doesn't slow down. Arriving on the platform, passing by the people, we find a space which is mostly empty, just off the main flow of people and he pushes me towards the wall and stands closely next to me. My back is to most of the people and he faces them. "I need to check the rest.", he says and his arm closest to me slides towards the front of my coat and I lean towards him, sheltering our actions from any possible view. How easily his hand parts the flap of the coat and leaning against the wall a bit so he is lower, his hands find my trembling thighs, and then between them where it is ever so hot and very wet. I bury my head in his shoulder as he touches me. I'm far too filled with adrenaline to come, but the stimulation is overwhelming. I think I make quiet squeaking noises and I'm sure that I can't stop shaking. My hand grabs his jacket, fingers clawing at the leather, but he ignores me. He feels the edge of the corset, the garters, my skin and withdraws his hand, wiping it on the lapel of my coat. And he grabs me to him and kisses me again, hard, and insistent. My entire body screams for the comfort of his embrace and the protection that it offers and we stay that way for a bit. Perhaps a minute. And then there is the clanking of metal, signaling the train is arriving.

Quickly slipping his hands in my pockets, to ensure there is nothing in them, as we discussed, he reaches into his own pocket and removes a single ticket and hands it to me. Shouldering my bag and his own, he pushes me back against the wall reaching up to my face, forcing me to look him in the eye, lending me his strength momentarily. "You take the next train.", he says calmly but with an edge of order to his voice. He leans in and kisses me again and then just as quickly withdraws, joins the crowding people at the edge of the platform, and gets on the train, not once looking behind him to see if I comply.

But of course he knows I will. Standing on a platform, feeling that every fibre of my being is standing on end as though charged with electricity. My red coat covering my corseted waist, my stocking legs and my boots and nothing else. My hand in my pocket holding a solitary ticket. No money, no phone, no ID. I am only this thing in this moment. This living breathing pulsating sexual thing. I am his.

The train pulls away and I watch it go. It will be twenty minutes until the next one. I stay in my sheltered corner and wait.....

Stuff on a Saturday

Or maybe I should have called this post 'multitasker'. At the moment I am watching the Hollyoaks omnibus on tv, my mother is snoring on the sofa next to me, I am writing my next article, and I am now also writing this blog. Sometimes I wonder if I have a problem- how I find it so difficult to concentrate on just one thing. I suppose however, as long as I get my things done, it's actually okay.

So back from Hartlepool. I have a couple of cool photos of the low tide and shore which actually came out halfway decent. But really, I wasn't there to enjoy myself, I was there to work, and work was not as much fun as fucking off all day would have been. Work in general really has me down a bit. It's the start of the end I think- that momentum you get when you know that change is coming. It's annoying me more and more, and I feel like not being there more and more. I suppose this will make the inevitable separation easier to deal with when I finally arrive at my ultimate conclusion. Still, the end of the year is a ways off, and it's frustrating being stuck in something that is annoying me so much.

Hopefully this will be somewhat alleviated by next week's excursion to Glastonbury. Oh, I think I am fucking crazy to be going to Glastonbury, but sometimes that's just what you need to be. There are a bunch of artists I'm hoping to catch a bit of, and as long as the weather is even somewhat reasonable, the idea of just doing nothing for a while is greatly appealing. Thank god we have a camper van though. If we didn't have that, there's no way I would be going.

In the social life department, I must say, "What social life?". I think I am in the next stage of my grieving process over Mr.Aloof. Our last exchange was deeply troubling but also relieving in the sense that I was able to say the things that I wondered what would have happened had I had a chance to say them. The answer of course, was not satisfying, but now I don't feel that I have lingering doubts about what my role in any of this debacle has been. Still, I'm not really 'over' it and my latest upset is to sit around mulling over the fact that he's been shtupping the maid for six fucking months. I mean, they've now had a relationship for six fucking months!! That goddamn piece of shit. He had the gall by the way, to tell me in his last exchange that she was pretty much 'nothing' who just 'stumbled into his life' and would 'soon stumble out'. Fucking bullshit. Six months! I don't know why it didn't hit me like this before. I guess the news was too fresh. It's just hard to get my head around. I'm better off without, to be sure, but I just don't like thinking that he's happy and has everything he thinks he wants. That makes me really mad. Oh well. His happiness is pretty hollow actually, being the hollow person he is. So it's not that I really envy him, since actually, I think his situation is pretty poor, but it's that he thinks he's happy. That's what galls me. Or maybe he doesn't actually, given that he still couldn't be honest with me. Someone that fucked up inside can't really be all that content, can they?

I guess I should be thankful for small things- I'm not even close to being that fucked up to know what it's like.

In partially related but really separate news, I recently had a bit of a naughty email exchange with an old friend of mine. This was an interesting turn of events, though one I don't feel like elaborating too much on. Bu it provides the foundation for explaining why I've been contemplating naughty stories of late. Our exchange was perhaps short lived, but I ended up starting a story that I have since continued in my head. I thought about putting it on IC, but decided that would be provocative, since the motivation for my story was a scenario that 'never came to be' between myself and Mr.Aloof. Which wouldn't be so terrible, but it's a scenario that he is fucking using on his IC profile to advertise for 'someone else' to fulfil. I mean, it was my goddamn idea, my goddamn fantasy, and on top of this, his profile advertisement was put up before I split with him. And it makes me angry that he would take my fantasy, my idea, my desire and cheapen it and abuse it by offering it to any other asshole. So I thought about writing this story as a way of reclaiming what I see as rightfully mine.

Unfortunately, if I post the story on IC, it would be too obvious perhaps, and therefor inflammatory, and as much as I would love to have a little cat fight to take out my aggressions, it's not really the point is it? It's not my job to warn the maid that she's going to be hurt badly in her future by these people that she thinks are her friends. It's not my job to let her know that he's done it to me, and many other women as well. And it's not my job to post things that will inevitably lead to him wanting to contact me, even if in anger, because I don't need to be in contact with him, I need to let him go.

But as I said to my friend recently, if your most intense and fantastic and amazing sexual experiences have been with your most recent lover with whom you just split, then how do you structure your fantasies? I hate that my sexual life seems hijacked by memories or desires that I don't really know what to do with. On the plus side, having a distracting conversation with an old friend about all things sexual can shake up your musings and give you some other things to think about. So not all bad. Still, what to do with this story? I've got part one written, part two is in my head, but part three can only be about what I imagined might have been the case between myself and Mr.Aloof. Can I finish the fantasy without dwelling on him? Watch this space. I think I'll post them here. They deserve a wider audience (even if it's only of 10). But part three may be some time in coming. We'll see.

And that's the news from here. I need to finish up my article. My mom leaves tomorrow. Glastonbury on Thursday. Life.... continues.

18 June 2008

And Back Again

So blogging is a bit down with my mother around. Since the only time we really have to spend together is in the evenings, and that's usually when I'm online, and everything is either blocked or monitored at work, well, not so many options for getting anything useful done online. Really, if I'm doing anything, I should be writing an article.

But I only have about fifteen minutes right now, and V is in my room. But wait, lets back up. Because I'm about to say something that won't make sense in context.

On Monday at work, having gotten back from York on Sunday (and York was lovely, but perhaps more on that later, or perhaps not), I hear that I'm supposed to go to Hartlepool for work on Wednesday night and get back late Thursday. Well, this is unreasonable- mainly because my mom is here. But also because this was a possibility perhaps three weeks ago and I wasn't supposed to go, so this last minute thing is a bit shitty. So on Tuesday I managed to work out that I would go on Wednesday, but I'll leave earlier than everyone else on Thursday so as to make dinner with my mom (which is also planned with S & F). So this morning, I was off to Hartlepool. Which meant taking the freaking train to York and then switching for another train and then another one after that.

Apparently I'm not that far from Newcastle or Durham but really what this means is I have no fucking clue where I am except it's north and it's east and there are seagulls and a port (well, our project is to look at the potential future development of the port, so that makes sense).

Luckily the train to York has wifi and also so does this very nice hotel. So I brought my computer along, even though that stranded my mother at home with no computer at all. But I already went an entire weekend without my computer, it's hard to ask me to do more. And this also gives me some time to actually do things online, which is nice.

At any rate, that's my exciting news at the moment. I'm in Hartlepool. It's amazing where your job can take you!

13 June 2008

It's Time For

A weekend away in York with the mama. Hopefully all will go well.

But the lack of Internet has me sorely worried.

They keep talking about how they'd like for 'Internet addiction' be added to the journal of psychiatry or some such.

I say, where do I sign up?

Back in 72 hours or so.... we hope.

10 June 2008

Time Will Fly

It's 7:30 in the morning right now. I should be at the gym, but I wasn't sure if I should go to the gym because I am also waiting for my mother to arrive. I just checked her flight- it was supposed to get in at 6:10 but actually arrived at 7:05 which means I probably could have gone to the gym no problem, but if she'd arrived on time, I might have had an overlap issue. Oh well, I get to blog instead!

After my good news of last week, I was given a setback on Friday because Mr.Aloof sent me an email again. I suppose this is because I didn't reply to his email on Tuesday. Suffice to say that when I hear from him at this point, I pretty much break down. So my Friday was completely ruined. And also I replied, so that just extended the disruption. I haven't heard anything since, which is good. And I also told him that if he has to contact me (though I didn't see what much was left to say), he could not contact me during work hours.

It's awful of course, because I know that he's upset in his own fucked up way and sad and misses me. But not enough to not be an asshole to me. So when he gets in touch it pulls on that part of me that so wanted for so long for him to be that kind and considerate person. Except he isn't with me. He's never been kind or considerate to me. It's funny, I try to think back on it and there are just so many occasions and instances of his being downright cruel, never kind. And it's not that he doesn't know how to be kind- because I watched him be kind to others around him. It was just me. I don't know what it was about me that scared him so much or made him respond that way, but he was repeatedly hurtful to me over a long period of time.

It's not that it's the latest revelation of the new maid and the cheating and deceit that is really the crux of things. Because I actually ended it with him before I even knew about the maid and the depth of his lies. It was the continual cruelty and disregard that made me end things. It's just that I thought maybe we could still be friends when I did, and when I found out about the maid and everything that surrounded it, I lost all hope for any continued contact of any kind. And I think that's why it was so completely devastating. It was the obliteration of all hope.

So whatever. I wrote him this really long email over the weekend but didn't send it. I find the writing of such things is a good way to purge the feelings- even if it's never sent. And while I'm still deeply hurt and injured by what happened, I think I'm finally seeing some small light at the end of the tunnel. I'll get over this.

And then I can start lamenting about how I'll never find anyone else ever again who is so exciting, but that's a completely other story.

So posting is probably going to be sparse here for the next two weeks. Then when my mom leaves I've got less than a week and I'm off to Glastonbury!! So exciting. Even if it's all one big messy disaster I'm looking forward to it. I think that's the way to approach such a thing. You need to have a really good attitude and expect it to be generally difficult- so that you can laugh the whole way through.

I also need to make some special brownies for the occasion. I've never made such special brownies before, but I have a recipe on good recommendations about how to go about it. This should be fun.

05 June 2008

And Finally, Some Good News

So the doctor's appointment was today. Headed over to the hospital around lunch. Had my appointment lined up. After some initial confusion- couldn't find the clinic, then they couldn't find my records, we were finally ready to get down to business.

As it turns out, when I had a scan in August, while I was in a lot of pain and doped up on a lot of morphine, they saw something on my right ovary then. I don't really remember this. What I do remember is that after the surgery, when they showed me some photos of my insides, including my right ovary, what they said was, "It all looks healthy and normal.".

So when I went for my scan a couple weeks back, the radiologist asked me if they had seen anything on my right ovary. And what I remembered was that they said that it looked healthy and normal. So that's why she rushed everything through. But as it turns out, it's the same thing that they saw nine months ago. And the good part is, it hasn't grown at all.

What this means, is that they think it's okay at the moment. I have another scan and appointment scheduled for six months from now. If it continues to show no growth or change, this is good. So it was a few weeks of worry, but all is well at the moment. This is certainly good news.

04 June 2008

Grief, Anger, and Progress

So a few days ago, I had an obsessive backslide into wanting to check and re-read and re-check everything that I could dig up about all people involved on the computer. I could tell at the time it wasn't healthy or productive. And it certainly wasn't making me feel any better, but I couldn't stop myself from looking and looking.

Luckily that only lasted about 24 hours or so and then it subsided.


In that time period I was feeling really itchy and irritable that I didn't have an outlet. Okay. That's not entirely true. This is my outlet. I was feeling irritated that he was getting on with his life and being happy while I was still unhappy and hurt. And I wanted him to hurt.

So I made this post on IC which was a completely valid, and also true post. But I suppose if I was going to be honest, it had an ulterior motive, which is to say, I knew he would read it. And he did.

But then he sent me a fucking email. It was only three sentences. But it completely broke my shoddy composure and I broke down crying about three fucking sentences. I believe they went something along the lines of:
"What can I say? What do you want to know? Do you want to talk?"

My first response was:
"I think you have done and said enough for this lifetime."

My second response was:
"What can you say? You can acknowledge that you intentionally lied to me and deceived me. You can take responsibility for purposefully hurting me (repeatedly and in multiple ways) and for being both a bad and irresponsible friend, and lover.

What do I want to know? What every injured person always wants to know. I want to know why of course. Why did you do these horrible things to me?

And no. I don't want to talk."

My third response was:

And the third response is the one that I actually went with. I wrote the other two down, I just didn't send them. I recognize that his debasing himself to me now, his 'tail between the legs' behavior is really just him trying to make himself feel better. And I have no interest in his feeling better. Of course, I would love an answer to the questions I posed. But then, what difference would it make? Does it change that he lied to me or deceived me or abused me? It doesn't. And it wouldn't absolve him. It's too late.

I feel fortified in this decision when earlier this evening the 'new maid' (as it were) went on a blogging spree on IC and made some snide comment about 'her stalker'. I'm quite sure he told her that he has some 'crazy ex stalker'. I'm also quite sure he neglected to mention that I wasn't his ex when he started seeing her, and that I only found out about her a couple of weeks ago. It disgusts me. The unstoppable font of lies. I guess it's one of those things, once you start, you can never really stop.

I still wish it wasn't the case. I wish that he was or could be the person that I see that he could be. But the person he is, is evil. And pathetic. And the best thing for me is not to speak to him again. Let him wonder what happened to me. What happened with my life. I am not going to give any more clues or details that he can read into. And I hope somewhere it eats at him, his guilt.

In other news. I have a proper doctor's appointment tomorrow. Will deal with the information as it comes. Really just not thinking about it.

01 June 2008

Linktastic Weekend

I hate when you get to Sunday afternoon and what you really wish is that you had another two days of your weekend to go. Even one day would be better. I'm just not looking forward to going to work tomorrow. Or next week in general. It's going to be very busy and I also have a doctor's appointment where I should find out more about the state of my last remaining ovary and what needs to be done about it.

This weekend has been alright. I met up with M yesterday and we went to this pretty cool exhibit called 'Psycho Buildings' at the Hayward Gallery. I'd say most of the exhibits were really interesting and some maybe not so much, but that was to be expected. Then we walked along the southbank and found some food at Gabriel's Wharf which I always think is such an oddity in such a prominent location, but a nice and unexpected oddity really. Then we continued to wander around, by the Tate Modern and across the Millennium Bridge where we picked up a bus to head back towards my house. By then we were pretty sick of the crowds and it was nice to head back to the bustling but local area that I call home. I had thought there was an open house street fair type thing on but it happens to be next weekend, so we ended up at this funny little vegan cafe which is very close to where I live drinking soy milkshakes and shooting the shit for a few hours. I had two parties I could have gone to last night but I didn't go to either one, I just wasn't feeling the most social.

Today I went to see S at his house which I haven't been to since the infamous trailer trash party. He's done a lot of work on it in the hopes that he can sell it soon and it was interesting to see the changes he made. Then we went to Spitalfields and had a fantastic and amazing lunch at St. John's which surpassed all expectations and I would happily return to. Then I took a bus most of the way home and walked the rest of the way, popping in and out of shops and generally soaking up the atmosphere of my 'hood which was pleasant. Soon I'll pop around the neighbor's as her youngest son was confirmed today and she's throwing a party. I passed off some soda and booze to her earlier this morning as I left the house- I mean, I'm not drinking any of it, so it'll be good to get some of my space back!

But then the weekend is done and it will be back to work tomorrow. Just a miserable thought. I had a dream last night about being inadequate at work and criticized for doing a bad job. I'm sure this is all about my 'no chance for advancement' news but it's funny because I didn't think it was bothering me that much but that's twice now I've dreamed about it, so obviously it is.

I'm still spending a huge amount of time thinking about relationships, thinking about bdsm, thinking about what things are possible, and worrying that some things simply aren't. I'm glad that I'm doing the therapy, but I'm not convinced that my therapist thinks bdsm is a particularly healthy activity. We haven't really discussed it because I think that relationship issues and self-issues actually have little to do with my bdsm beliefs, but if I think about it in more depth, I actually worry that they are linked, and worse, that they might be linked in an unhealthy way. Right now, I just want to focus on the person to person relationship issues that I think have nothing to do with bdsm, but I realize that when I think about how I relate to a potential partner, and in particular how I want to relate to a potential partner, that these things are most definitely linked. So I think more on this topic later, it probably deserves its own post.

Actually there are a number of things milling about in my head that probably deserve their own post. They'll probably come out eventually.