little girl blues

i think i have a little bit of the little girl blues today.

i’m frustrated with myself because i can’t seem to meet all of my goals every day.  i try and focus on all that i do get accomplished and really if Sir Raven is happy, then i have a right to be too.

The meds are creating a situation that i basically need a daily nap now, like a small child.  i’ve learned to do that if i need to because i will become so exhausted that i literally have no choice and it ends up being a bigger deal than it should be.  The nap always makes me feel tremendous gratitude that Sir Raven is my Master because she actively insists that i rest, nap, or take breaks as i need to.  It is kind of ha, ha funny that one of the hardest things to obey is around respecting my bodily limitations and to practice self-care.  It seems odd, perhaps, that a nap reinforces that i am hers.  But it does.  

And really, the only thing i didn’t get done on my list today was laundry.  Sir Raven went out first thing this morning, on her day off and before i could fix her breakfast even, to replace a fuse.  It blew the night before and is some weird fuse i’ve never seen before.  But she went out and fixed it by herself, earning a heart-felt song from me while i made the bed, “My Master’s better than your Master, my Master’s better than yooouuuurrrrs.  My Master fixes fuses so we have the internet!”  

i was totally impressed.  i offered to quit singing and show her how impressed i was but she sent me off to make her eggs, sausage, and toasted bagel instead.  🙂

Everything is good here.  We made it a year into our O/p and no one died, not even once.  i bought her cufflinks with real books pages from “Pride and Prejudice” inside of them, with the Mr. Darcy quote about his love.  They are really nice.  i wrote a long note in a card, which unfortunately was a re purposed Valentine’s Day card because i was not allowed to leave the house for my own safety in the bad weather for a couple of days.  Fortunately, i already had her cufflinks and a box of her favorite chocolates.  i bought a little cheesecake and managed to not eat it myself.  Heh.  When she asked me what i wanted, i reminded her that she is my gift, every day.

We went out and met a friend of hers for dinner and drinks and to a God-awful class teaching lesbians how to talk dirty.  i always feel like i’ve fallen into a kinky version of “Mona Lisa Smile” in that group.  The Marine was there, and i wasn’t expecting that.  i felt a little like i was punched when i heard her voice and realized she was sitting one seat away from me.  i was physically in pain by that point from all of the sitting and the room felt too hot.  i went to the bathroom and stood outside while it wrapped up.  i needed to get my medicine in me and get some water on my neck and get the hell out of that room.  

The next day, the Marine came over for about ten minutes to pick up things she had left here, like her pillow and big crock pot.  And it was odd, having her in the apartment.  It felt final.  i stared at Sir Raven for some signal, to tell me if i was supposed to hug her or what.  She gestured for me to stand up and do it, but instead of our normal long embrace, i just placed on hand on her back in a strange half hug.  We had not seen her since the day she left abruptly, without a goodbye, so it was strained a bit for me.  i don’t have words for this.

i am just glad that Sir Raven and i are back to being us, lighthearted and silly and loving us.  

The weekend has left me with a bit of the little girl blues, because i was in a celebratory mood, happy to be where i was in life and not expecting the reminder of the Marine.  i didn’t have my guard up for that, exactly.  i wasn’t expecting it.  It’s fine and i’m fine.  

The other thing is, my brothers birthday is tomorrow.  This one hurts.  It hurts because my baby brother is turning 30 and it’s amazing that both of us survived to being 30.  i’m 35 and still wondering how in the hell i lived to be 30.  We never expected that to occur, for either of us, so i wish there was some way to reach out safely to him.  But there truly isn’t.  And that makes me feel very sad.  That my biological family is so fucked up that i can’t even reach out for this milestone.  The worst crime you could commit in that family was to forget.  It was a familiar refrain from my mother, about how people hurt us and then moved on, never thinking of us again.  

i hate that this will hurt him.  But i am a ghost as far as they are concerned.

For my nephews birthday, my sweet angel Gabe, i bought a Disney balloon put all of my good wishes for him and released it into the sky.  It felt good.  

For my brother, i don’t feel anything like that.  i don’t have any bad wishes for him, but any thought of him is painful and my first is always the hope that he isn’t hurting anyone else.  He is the only person who can understand what we lived through and have shared a strange intimacy as adults.  Nothing will fix him.  And really there isn’t anything i care to say, other than “i would never forget you.”  If he knows me, he knows that.  i can’t make him understand why i have to live as a ghost, in hiding, if he doesn’t understand already.

My life and my safety are here, with Sir Raven.  No good could ever come from dealing with my bio family, it never has.  i’ve been dreaming about my mother a lot lately, feverish dreams that wake me up all night.  It reminds me that my only safety is here, with my Daddy.  i reach over to her, snuggle closer when she lets me, and then the nightmares calm down.  

My adult self is very focused right now on a lot of important things.  The little girl inside hurts a bit but Sir Raven is wonderful and will give me peace at some point, when she is ready and wants to.  

i’m going to do better about writing here and will quit using my yoga CD as a coffee coaster at some point.  Heh.  Love you, Daddy! 😛



i did get that “B” in my last class.  i told Sir Raven that unless i got nearly perfect scores on the last four ungraded assignments, that this would be the outcome.  And then i held my breath a bit, hoping.  Hope sucks.  

Anyhow, for her part, Sir Raven told me that she would let me out of the beating for the grade because she felt that had she been able to monitor me more carefully, it wouldn’t have happened.  We specifically discussed my lack of focus, which was a real culprit behind that grade.  The instructor happened to be a particularly hard grader as well.  The topic was still statistics, yadda yadda.  Had i been focused, i could have powered through it, and i wasn’t.

That coveted medal i worked two years for?  Gone.  

Worse, is i know that any failure on my part feels like a failure to Sir Raven.  And we are both competitive people.  We are mostly competitive with ourselves but that can be some stiff competition (grins).  So, anyhow, i have to move forward and accept what Sir Raven said, which is that in the future, i can expect the strap for not being focused and getting things done on time.

The blemish on my grades is permanent.  There is nothing i can do about it, but accept it and move on.  

i’m in my last class, which culminates in a very long paper, so i have to be focused.  In addition, i have had to work on getting everything together for my Master’s program.  i’ve also had to pull it together and let go of some things that have been holding me back.  Namely, the civil war in my head, trying to figure out how to make everyone happy-or at least content-with each other.

My dreams pointed the way.  They screamed in Gaelic and Latin: “Yours and No Others.”  Ancient languages for an ancient truth.  i can’t be spliced in half like the Biblical infant.  i thought of that, how the true mother was willing to give her child to another, rather than watch the baby be torn apart.  The Marine seems to have been content to have watched me in agony, neither fully in nor fully out of the relationship with us, for months.  If she wasn’t fully in, it left no future.  She told me she had intended to give Sir Raven a “wake up call” with her arrogant departure, but i mused that she didn’t know my Master well, if that was the case.  When she did not show up for MAsT on Sunday, i felt relieved, though my back was steeled for it.  It rather denoted a lack of courage on her part, i thought.  In her boots, i would have shown up and faced the music.   

Sir Raven showed her compassion as well, though i’m sure she isn’t quite aware of that.  Stupid Marine.  

Sir Raven showered me with compassion through this process, something i will never forget.  It could have gone badly.  i learned as a child how badly things can go and never want to see a repeat of that kind of retribution.  i am home, where i belong, and nothing else matters.  

For Christmas, Sir Raven bought me a lot of gifts.  My favorite was a necklace of a mobic, a mathematical symbol for eternity.  She had gone in for one which read, “There’s no place like home,” but they were sold out.  Boo! 😦  Instead, she purchased what they had left: Thoreau’s “Be not simply good, be good for something.”

Every time she puts it on me, i think of both sentiments.  That i am already good but need to show it with my behavior and aligning myself even more fully to her will.  She isn’t questioning my inherent goodness and i shouldn’t be, either.  

And…truly…there is no place like home.   


If you had asked me two years ago how I felt about surprises, i would have told you that i hate them.

All except for one kind: it is a marvelous thing when you find you can still surprise yourself.

i’ve learned some things about my sexuality and how i’ve experienced sex during my lifetime in the last several months.  i never really looked at that angle before or considered that i was actually very in control most of the time when it came to sex.  

Here, i have to ask.  Carefully.  

Yesterday, when Sir Raven mentioned her raging hard on over our morning coffee, my grin was instant.  i tried to smother it, to not appear too eager or interested.  Damn.  Damn it.  Too late.  i tried to turn my attention back to the hot mug of french press and the morning sounds in our building.  Anything to not be thinking of her delicious cock.  

She noted that i was licking my lips and glancing at her crotch as i walked by.  i don’t know why i do this.  Often, i can’t see it when it is clearly standing out of her jeans or pjs.  It’s like my habit of looking toward where i know a clock is located when i need to know what time it is.  No matter that i can’t read the clock, i will still look.  

“Would you like some attention, Daddy?” i asked, sweetly.  i figured she might appreciate a morning bj and this is my way of asking if i might pleasure her.  When she sent me out to run errands instead, i didn’t pout.  i returned and made an omelet and sausage for her breakfast.  Now, against the white down blanket, i have no doubt she has a hard on while she eats her breakfast in bed.  

i never know if i will be refused outright, no matter how much she enjoys the attention.  i figure this is the case and go shower, taking my time, enjoying the hot water and clean smell of the soap.  i slip a dress on with nothing underneath.  When i return to take her plate and clean the kitchen, her beautiful cock has escaped her pants and is starting back at me.  

i bring her a glass of juice at her desk and she finally turns to me, waiting, i suppose, for me to ask again.  The pj pants are gone now, and i sit on her lap straddling her leg, letting her feel that i have nothing on.  Grinning, i ask again if i can give her some attention.

Her answer is her hand on my head, in my hair, but she controls when i start and when i stop.  It’s hard for me to obey because i can feel an orgasm building in her and want to ignore it when she starts to pull away.  Instead, i whimper for a second.  i feel empty.

Hours later, after we both get some work done and snuggle in bed watching a scary movie, i am surprised when she turns to her wall of canes, whips, and paddles. She lashes me with something i can’t see but i am eagerly lifting my dress to reveal my nudity. She builds slowly, which is a surprise as well, and i find myself in that silky land of desire. when she uses her bullwhip, i am ready for it and rising to meet the stinging blows. She teases me with the paddle, hard blows followed by her moving the soft side over my welted flesh. When she orders me on my back, my legs splayed open like an eager whore, i absorb each lash. i watch my thighs go from red to purple bruises and think of how beautiful it is. My head is an exploding poppy field and though the pain is intense and courses all through me, i accept the blows to my cunt and clit. i whimper, snarl, growl but don’t close my legs.

My reward is her huge cock that she has to force in. Force, in any form, makes me wet. i’m only too delighted that she chose this cock because it fills me so much that i am entirely focused on her, on taking it. When i come, i vaguely wonder if i am bleeding and half hope i am. i love the way my legs wrap around her, my things holding her tight, my hands slipping under her shirt needing to touch her skin. i love the way i can’t control myself with this cock. i can’t stop the words coming from me, can’t stop the orgasms, can’t do anything but match her speed through the delicious pain. It hurts in the most glorious way. Her cock is perfect.

When i tell her that she should be flattered that i think so, i do actually mean it. The singular occasion that i look at sir Raven and see her as fully male is when she wears this cock and fucks me. So, what i am really trying to say, is that i am a lesbian who worships her in a fully masculine form. i want the pain of it, need the pain of her entering me, because she enjoys that part. That is the dick that while we jokingly call it “the black mamba” is is simply Hers. A part of her. It is a total surprise to me that i care deeply about her knowing that i worship the wholly male part of her as much as her blended self. She can be fully male with me in those moments and i still lust her, with all of me. i mean that it should be flattering that her raging hard on is a delight to me and i acknowledge that what we are doing is having heterosexual sex with queer bodies. i am just a slave, deeply in love with her Master and his cock.

And i am a girl who has called her Daddy while being penetrated so fully, so deeply, that i can’t tell where we begin and end. i have always been guarded before, careful, to say neither Daddy nor Master to any woman while we fucked. It was never true before and so i could carefully guard myself and chose to say nothing.

i have never experienced emotions for the person i was being fucked by before in life. Not during it. i was directing what i wanted, viciously grabbing them by the hair when i was done, cooly determining what positions i wanted.

This is profoundly different. i have felt such a well of emotion for Sir Raven that it is impossible to put into words. i am her slave, her girl, and her goddess wrapped into one. It is so clear to me that she thinks i’m beautiful that there is nothing else. i am not plain when she enters me. i am beautiful because my Master sees it. She likes my face moving from pain to pleasure and back again, normally this is hidden by my hair or i am face down during most of our play.

i have asked her to wake me up for sex, something i’ve never asked before of anyone.

The enjoyment of being taken, being used, knowing i’ll feel her for hours later, has led to the best orgasms of my life.
i am so aware of her owning my body during it that my body can’t help but respond with pleasure and desire.

Being able to feel love, to feel joy, to feel beautiful because she uses me for her pleasure is one of the most amazing surprises of my life. Before, in life, what i felt was powerful and primal. Those are grand things, certainly. Nothing compares to this, it is truly like my eyes are opened for the first time. i blush even writing this because it feels virginal to suddenly have a brand new understanding of this body and how it feels to have someone else own it.

i’ve not done more than elude to the sensational sex before. i am one of those people who won’t tell their best girlfriend anything more than it was great. i might not write about this again but i felt like it might be good for me to try and express it for once.

Master, every time you have had me, i look at you at think you amaze me. i thank you for the gift of trusting me with your beautiful body and soul and for giving me the gift of being yours, body and soul. i am your vessel, your slave, your altar, and your girl. i long to have you alter my body in some permanent way. It’s no accident that i have never had any other piercings or tattoos or brands. i kept that part of myself, defiant because i wasn’t owned and i wanted something special to offer one day. It’s yours, whenever you choose. i adore you. Always.


For some reason I woke up at 2am with a raging hard-on. For the record I am a female bodied person. But in keeping with full disclosure and transparency and all I will admit something that I’m not sure I ever did here. Up until the age of 9 years old I thought I was a boy. I don’t want to get into the reality that came crashing down on me the summer before I turned 10, needless to say that waking up with a raging hard-on is not unusually for me. Al least up through my 30s.

So all of a sudden I’m a wake from a dream that I can only remember was an erotic  yearning of some kind. I opened my eyes and looked over at the girl. She was sound asleep, she is known to talk in her sleep and what I thought I heard her say “was do you want some porn sauce?” I don’t usually respond to her but asked “what kind of sauce?” It sounded to me like porn sauce, so I lay awake thinking, what word ends with -orn-. We don’t look at porn, she is not fond of porn, so I thought this must be the cause of my erotic yearning. As I feel back to sleep, my last thought was “why yes I would like some porn sauce.” And this I’ve come full circle to thinking I was a boy. The only thing I could think of was maybe the girl wanted a facial. Because that’s the only way I could think of her getting porn sauce? If you get my meaning. I was still awake and got up to smoke a cig, and reply to a post listening to her sleep, until 3:30am thanking the Goddess that I had the day free from work today.

We woke up late, 9:30am and over coffee I asked her about it. She had no clue what porn sauce would be, and when I gave her my theory, she gave me one of her very reasoned replies, “well that’s one way of looking at it.

I may have to break out the Ouija board, where is Freud when you need him?


Bad Daddy

Bad Daddy.

Just the phrase conjures up trepidation.  It’s honest and in it’s honesty, there is simplicity and beauty.

When people hear the word “Daddy”, they tend to associate it with loving, nurturing behaviors.  But what if love, what if nurturing, can come from a dark place?

For us, it does.  I think Sir Raven is most true to her core self when she is operating as Bad Daddy.  In turn, it has an authentic feeling to it.  I can legitimately get her to feel things and she can be free to enjoy my suffering.  There is a lot of freedom in truth.

We were listening to a podcast on the topic, whereupon one person noted that the construct of Bad Daddy is built on a paradigm of “the bad seed” but contains the message of “You can’t fail because I won’t ever abandon you.”  For me, the paradigm is more closely aligned with this idea:

that i retained a childlike purity in some ways but that if i operate outside of being a good girl, bad things happen to me and i won’t be safe.  Because i made bad things happen by being willful, i traded in some of my purity, something that should have been left intact and wasn’t.  That is where i am bad, that i attract dark people and am sometimes painfully attracted to them as well.

Enter Bad Daddy, who can be an arrogant and calculating son of a Bitch, but also a person with a vested interest in keeping parts of me wholly for himself.  Therefore, Bad Daddy doesn’t have to “make up a reason” for dishing out pain, for exacting vengeance, for punishing.  He is the reason.

i am more than willing to go along with it, to be complicit in my own genuine suffering, because the only way to please Bad Daddy is to be willing to be made pure again.  To be cleaned.  To have no endorphin response, no subspace, no restraints, nothing but my own compunction to stay because i need my Daddy.   That i am willing to stay and take it demonstrates that i understand the only thing i can trust in is that Daddy will keep me safe, will take care of me, will not let me hurt myself with bad decisions, and will not abandon me.

That is a powerful construct.  Throughout my life, is has been an undertone.  Any time i tried to escape my family, bad things happened.  Very bad things.  Because i can’t trust myself, because predators are attracted to me, because i don’t see danger until i’m in over my head.  In a true child-like sense, a part of me blamed myself, always.  And then there was the little speech, that had i stayed home, it wouldn’t have happened.  No matter that clearly bad things happened there too.  The idea was that there was always worse waiting around the corner for me.  That idea has born fruit in every single relationship i’ve ever had, that walking out or trying something different, or being willful resulted in Bad Things Happening.  

If there is a predator within a fifty mile radius, it seems they were, and are, drawn to me.  i do think it’s the child-like part of me that they are attracted to and my life has often contained various Alphas wanting that purity, that child-state, that innocence for themselves.  

If Sir Raven and i did not have a foundation of Master and slave, i would have recently done it again.  If we were mainly Daddy and girl, i would have fought harder for something because of that attraction to danger, to darkness, and to pleasing people…especially dark people.  And you know, as a Master, she may have let me try it out even though it is the slave in me that recognized that i was unwittingly playing with fire.  You know who wasn’t on board for letting me try shit out, letting me be willful and do my own thing?  Bad Daddy, who is quite comfortable being selfish.  Thank God because my mind is starting to heal, to calm down from the months of endlessly trying to figure out a way to make three people happy at the same time when there was never a way to please everyone.  Someone had to win.  Someone had to loose.  When i finally saw that there was no way for my inner child to please everyone, i could let go of the outcome.  

About three weeks ago, i quite literally got caught with my hand in the cookie jar.  Or, you know, i would have if i had left any more cookies.  i had been very angry at something Sir Raven had said, something that hit me to the core, something that hit the “you were a child whore at five” button.  And i responded to that rage by getting up in the middle of the night and stuffing myself with her cookies.  When she discovered this, a day or two later, she beat me unlike any other beating before.  i tacitly acknowledged that i was willful, which was the real problem, by screaming into the bed but not trying to get away.  Once the strap happened, the next day we were miraculously finally able to just talk to each other.  We had tried before, with sudden starts and stops, with muted anger and frustration.  The difference this time was the scales were balanced properly, in her favor, of course.  i had already acknowledged that i was willful, that i had acted in anger, that i couldn’t be trusted to be good on my own.  So, there was no frustration under the surface about those things.  It was open and bare and for the first time in months we talked for many hours on a hard topic and made great progress.  

The next day, lost in my head, i let my chores back up.  i’m not a lazy person by any stretch of the imagination and Sir Raven knows that only too well.  i will often over do it and have had to work hard to not be that way.  She is very generous and understanding on the rare day that i have to confess to what i couldn’t get done because i had to take muscle relaxers and they make me sleep.  So, the issue isn’t the work being done.  The issue was me being willful and that i wasn’t able to be a good girl on my own.  We talked about it, about the lack of progress in my day, but i never considered not being honest.  So, when she asked why i didn’t have any real answer, other than i got lost in my head and felt panic and couldn’t concentrate.  i was confused, at first, when she told me to follow her into the bedroom.  Confused until i saw the strap in her hand, and i was fighting my baser self, that wanted to beg off.  Again, she balanced the scales in her favor removing the burden from me to be good without help.  Now that it is off my shoulders, i can see what a heavy burden i felt like that was, carrying around the shame of every failed task, every lapse in judgment and impulsive moment.  

The next day, when she came home to everything beautifully done, and she called me to her to sit at her feet, i thanked her for the strap.  It was a tremendous thing to be able to just focus on my day, without mentally beating myself up endlessly for failing the day before.  It’s not that i did not think of it because i did have to sit down, but what i thought was that i had paid for my bad day, and could cleanly move on and focus on this day and doing my best for her.

The Master in her is very nurturing and very reasoned.  She wants to give me the benefit of the doubt, which i have earned for the most part, and she wants to make absolutely sure that i am able to perform service for her.

The Bad Daddy couldn’t give a shit less.  When my back got screwed up while she was dragging me by my hair, it was an unintended consequence.  When she hit a fibro spot with the strap, it was an unintended consequence.  Does she care?  Not really.  If i had been hurt to the point that i couldn’t go down the stairs the next day and she came home to a sandwich for dinner, she wouldn’t have cared less.  When i was screaming into the bed, did she care?  Nope.  Bad Daddy is calculating about herself and getting satisfaction and getting me back to my good girl place.  The personal cost to me is just what it is, the price paid for moving past the boundary lines.  

When i went to check my grades and saw my total score, with several papers still not graded was, “666” i practically snorted.  There is a real likelihood that i will earn a “B” and it will be my first “B” since being with Sir Raven.  Had i done my very best and still got a “B”, she would have accepted it.  However, that isn’t the care.  i was reckless and willful and didn’t put forth my best efforts.  i’m not beating myself up about it for a change.  And while i’m not at all looking forward to the strap again, i know for sure it’s coming for this.  It lets me breathe and not be cruel to myself.  There will be forgiveness from her after the beating.  i don’t have to torture myself with ideas of being a failure anymore and i’m thankful.

We are knowingly playing with the scars of my background.  There is a certain twisted joy, a delightful perversion, that my real childhood pain is such a small thing to her in some ways that it’s her play toy.  It’s not some dark and horrid thing that we have to treat with delicate kid gloves or pretend isn’t there.  She is so sure that i can handle it that we ride that storm together because the payoff is that i am exactly where she wants me to be.

There is nothing unusual about me thanking her for our lives together, for the way she cares for me and takes care of me.  It is something i very often do.  Last night, though, when we came home and i said how glad i was to be home, she paused.  We both did.  i said it with the gratitude of a person who had been ready to fling themselves over a cliff and was pulled back to safety at the last second.  Later, when i kissed her back and wrapped my arms around her, she knew why i was thanking her for keeping me safe.  

Today, she sends me a text: “Baby girl, it is nice outside today.”  And being called “baby girl” makes me melt every time.  She does it rarely but i always feel my heart melt with joy when it is said.  Like “good girl.”  This is where i need to be, safe because she provides that for me.  Being hers comes with much consideration for my safety, even things like scheduling work to be done on the apartment when she is home because she doesn’t trust anyone when it comes to me.  She has seen what i attract to me, because it is known and familiar things tend to suggest safety where there is none.  

Bad Daddy is my safety even as she can be the Daddy of my nightmares.  

i’d walk through hell and back to be where she wants me, to be her good girl, her baby girl, her sweet princess again. 

We both know it.  

Today, the world seems manageable and brighter, more beautiful because i am home and safe and my Daddy loves me.

(“Bad Daddy” podcast, above).

The C word

These past months have taught me a few things about myself that I already knew. One thing particular is how I communicate, I don’t do well when people talk over each other nor do I do well when I’m continuous interrupted. I’m not saying that I can’t understand whats being said I just have a hard time focusing.I’m told that this is the way women communicate. Some might say and by some I mean me it’s alright because I can at least pick up on the important parts of the conversation. But for me the whole conversation is important. Which begs the question, which parts are important to whom? I may not think it’s important not to let my mind wander while listening to someone to go on about how they felt about a situation, but will be very interested in when they get to the part of how they are going to handle the situation. I’m told I communicate the way men do, this being the case because I was socialized around boys and men.

I’m old enough to have developed tricks when it comes to communication. And when it comes to women I’ve learned albeit difficult to focus on the whole thing. Did I mention it’s difficult? I’ve also been known to jot down some points, or with their permission to record it always letting them know that I’m doing this for my benefit.

One thing no one ever talks about when it comes to communication is the listening part. And along with listening believing that what the person is saying is true for them. People have a thing for trying to change your mind, to challenge your truth. Don’t let them, even if you are a pleaser of people, even if like me you believe somethings are about compromising. Compromising is good as long as you’re not getting the shitty end of it all the time and as long as you can live with the compromise.

I’ve been looking back at how I communicate, the girl says at times I communicate abstractively  (if that makes sense?) And I do with women, I believe this is because when I communicate as “men” do, I’m accused of being harsh or rude,un-feeling. which is not my intention. With women I had to learn to soften my voice which is feet in its self since my voice is a bit deep in nature, take a moment to think about how something is going to sound. All of this gets exhausting, and I default to not saying anything at all. Which at times is not good, I’m an introvert, I’m in my head a lot so yeah, it gets crowded in there.

Most recently I’ve been doubting if I am communicating my needs, wants and desires. And I have, I just think that maybe people were not listening. Granted the English language is the bastard child of languages so it’s no wonder it can be difficult to communicate , but we keep at it.

I for one started to believe I was in a scene from the Princess Bride.

Held Safe

Sir Raven mentioned some changes that have occurred recently and that not a lot changes in her house.  Maybe that is why all of the changes seem really large.  i’m overwhelmingly thankful for them because they are helping me feel safe and recognize her as my safety, anchor, and rock while changes happen around us.

Sir Raven has an impressive mind and it seems that once she decides something, things fall quickly into place.  She has gotten several projects done in the house lately, for which I am thankful.  The kitchen sink was particularly frustrating for me, since it leaked onto the floor in little puddles several times a week.  The shower isn’t dripping anymore and the potty flushes better.  The new container was really nice and one of the things she did for me last year, while i was packing up my little suitcases to move home for good.  “You have to have a place for your girl things, jade.  This is your home now,” she had said.  

Sir Raven has also gone back to texting me during the day.  It lets me know she is thinking of me, which is special, all by itself.

In the mornings, rather than listen to the news, she watches only what is needed (the weather and train reports) and then turns on soft music.  We sit in the livingroom together, sometimes chatting, sometimes not.  We don’t have to be talking to enjoy each other’s company.  She sometimes lights candles on the white table or I light candles for the home earlier rather than waiting.

In the evening, she tells me to bring my floor pillow over and i sit at her feet.  She asks me what i did, asks a lot more details, pays closer attention.  It makes me feel safe, this little report, and that i can’t gloss over what i’m feeling as easily as i had been used to.  i did it to spare her from having to directly deal with difficult fibro days or my confusing emotional states in regards to stuff outside of us.  i also thought that she was asking about what i did, not how i was, which are two different questions entirely.

Several mornings, she emailed me my horoscope.  It’s been pretty accurate lately.  

i’ve been given less leeway in bad weather where i was used to figuring out for myself if i was okay to walk in it.  So, she has been more proactive in making suggestions about when to carry out tasks like laundry, which is safer to carry when it’s not slippery.

i’m also very aware now that she is not going to just sit around while i fail at things.  i was putting things off, getting way too lost in my head or emotions, way too lost into pain and letting things slide somewhat.  That makes me feel safe, actually and strangely cared for. LIke i matter too much.  She said once, in MAsT, that she is West Indian, and she beats me because she loves me.  i think it is true.  

Right now, it is all working together and i’m feeling safer than i have in awhile.  When she said she was keeping me on a short leash, she clearly meant it.  It makes me feel calmer because i was feeling like my submission was a burden sometimes before and that i had too much weight on me for every outcome.  Now, it feels more shared and balanced.

This week, i thanked her for all of the things she provides and that we have a house that is warm (five degree temps!).  She thanked me for making it a home and my heart was so full that i was speechless.  She forgets, i think, that she is the center of my Universe and there would be no reason to make a home without her.