The days long and constant headache has become more of a dull ache, which is wayyy better. Thank God, because i am totally behind in school work. i have a past due paper and then this week to figure out. Ugh.
i have the time. i have the ability some days. Sometimes, it feels like i’m sitting around reading, waiting for the stars to align just right to get things done. The fog clears, i’m motivated, and suddenly it is all so easy. Sigh. That doesn’t happen often enough and i end up resorting to begging myself to get something done, get something on paper, even if its not perfect. Begging myself to read one more chapter. There is a ton of reading in this class and since the topic is crisis intervention, it is all important. i think a part of what is throwing me off is the constant reminder of how important non verbal clues are. i keep thinking of how much i would enjoy this type of work and then am reminded of how impossible it would be. i’m not trying to poo poo anything but there is too much that i would miss. i could not be in situations that are unsafe, like after a natural disaster. It’s simply not realistic for me. Still, i must admit, i’m damn good in a crisis situation. Lots and lots of experience there. i’m perfectly calm, perfectly logical, capable. Yet, my sight precludes this being a reasonable line of work for so many reasons. Bah humbug.
Anyhow, i have to get things done today. Really. My brain seems to be made out of mush these last few days. i remember, with great fondness, how sharp i used to be. i doubt Mensa would knock on my door these days. i get annoyed with myself, lost in the fog.
Yesterday, it took a tremendous amount of effort to deal with calling the doctor to see if they could locate my referral and call the school and deal with advising. Two hours between those two calls. Another hour trying to figure out how to pack in the last few classes i can take on this leg of the journey. Much frustration ensued.
i lit candles and meditated before Sir Raven came home, as usual. i poured a glass of wine for her and we chatted about our day. She said she had a surprise for me, and i asked what was in the box. “Your collar,” she said, and asked if she couldn’t get just a little enthusiasm. i knew that was definitely not what she had but was delighted to see she has purchased a splitter that would allow us to both listen to a podcast with our own earbuds. That was soooo sweet! She will often share her earbuds with me and we will listen to a podcast and talk on the long, long, long ride home. She points out that she doesn’t want to have deep conversations on the train, however. i look up at her, thinking that she will generally make points on the train. i was surprised at her doing this, at first, but then realized that people just tune each other out on the train. Anyhow, i said, grinning, that the train ride is the only time i am guaranteed her phone won’t ring and the televsion is off.
Evenly, she says, “You sound like a wife.”
i’m sitting at her feet and glance over at the impressive bruises from her cane on my leg.
A wife? Really?
i point out that i’m not a nag, instantly, and she readily agrees with me. i am suprised at myself, that my first association to being called a wife was the word nag. i’m frowning at myself a bit. After all, Sir Raven has called me “her bride” a few times and i wasn’t thinking of that as a nagging shrew. It made me smile. The idea of being hers in any context makes me smile.
Later, we share a dream where she has her hand around my throat and her fist inside me. It is brutal. My face is wet with tears, her eyes are shining with lust and pride. “You,” she growls, “are mine.” My beloved reaches out for me in her sleep, just then, grabbing me hard, holding me still. i wake for awhile in the dark, writing poetry in my head, the words finding a way to explain how insanely beautiful she is to me. Finally, i drift back off, the poem incomplete and yearning.