Look No Further

i have kept nagging at myself, thinking i needed to come here and exhale.  And i’ve had nothing to say, really.  

i’m fighting being numb, feeling disconnected.

i can only imagine that it is just as not interesting reading about the misery of fibromyalgia than it is to write it.  Or have it, for that matter.  i don’t want to hear myself whine and bitch about it.  i try for no one to know how bad it is and then find myself here, whining on occasion.  😦

Anyhow, i am always trying to come up with something good about having fibro and can never find one damn thing.  

Today, i was finished with a paper and turned on some music while i cited it.  i found a Dido mix on youtube and i used to have several of her albums.  When she started singing, “Look No Further” i could have cried. It was my song to my nephews.  i could nearly feel Gabe’s silky curls against my cheek and the warmth of Jacob on my chest, our bodies intertwined.  

It was the first time in my life, with them, that my life was not dominated by a feeling of wanderlust.  

This is the second time.  

All of the minutes and hours before always had this longing to be somewhere else.

i miss people, sure, but there isn’t that constant presence of wanting to take flight, travel, see something new, yearning for a place that felt like home.

The only good thing i can think of about having fibro is it has kept me from having a child of my own.  i’m fairly sure i would have done it, come what may, if i were healthy.  It would have changed my life entirely, of course, as children do.  Maybe because she knows i’d never do it, not in this lifetime, Sir Raven said she would have supported me in having a child.  It doesn’t matter, not really, except to me.  It matters to me that she would have allowed me that gift, if we could have.  Hugely.

 Anyhow, the universe is unfolding as it should, right?

Oh, speaking of the universe working shit out, the Marine has found a free reader for me.  i don’t know any details but it would be an enormous gift to have that.  Somehow, anything to do with technology for the blind is very expensive.  Sir Raven will allow me to accept it, which i appreciate a great deal.  i don’t know any details, because my Marine wrote to SR about it but i can wait.  i’m super excited and so full of gratitude for something new that could help.  

i spent much of yesterday sleeping so i have all of Monday chores to do and killed the morning sleeping in with Sir Raven.  i wish the water would get hot because i’d about kill for a shower right now and the goodliest Master is finally going to dye my hair!  Yay!  i am sick to death of white hair.  It was funny when i started turning grey at 21, but at 35, its not funny anymore.  Her black won’t crack and mine is!  Boo!  Boo Hoo Hoo Hoo!  i have to use face creams and stuff now, because sheesh.  It’s a lot of pressure when you are standing next to her sexy ass.  Just sayin’  

Oh…we have been invited to do some demo thing for the Lesbians.  It should be easy enough for me to get what i want out of it, namely to make at least one of the Welsley girls to barf or cry during it.  Or both.  That would be fine also.  They are so fucking uptight, i swear.  So, it should be pretty easy for them to freak out if we just treated the demo like a fun Saturday night.  😛  We haven’t had one of those in a minute and even though we both agreed we need it, well meh.  i feel pretty much nothing, which could be where the numb/disconnected feelings are coming from.  i’m not sure it’s better than the stages of grief happening inside of me.  i’m not sure it’s worse either.  


It’s better for her.  



Urban news

This is funny…
From the Urban Dictionary, Alyssa means:
the kind of girl who still manages to find a way to smile; the one that you’ll see walking down the hallway, having her head up high, trying just one last time; the kind of girl that will get back up, each and every time she falls… the kind of girl who NEVER gives up.
alyssa will never lose hope…
It’s all good til we get to the hope part.  i hate hope.  i think hope is the thing that has killed me more than anything.  Life is much easier without it.  The rest of it, however, describes me very well.  i am generally the girl who is always cheerful, upbeat, kind, and i do always find a way to get back up when i fall.  
So, Sir Raven let me get a starbucks coffee, which was so sweet.  It isn’t always offered and i decline the offer more than i accept it because something about walking into that place puts a big stick in her ass for a few minutes.  Heh.  And so i’m quietly gauging if i want to ruin her good mood with a good cup of coffee and decide against it usually.  This time i agreed because i needed the extra caffiene to help me not fall asleep from the muscle relaxer i’d need to take very soon if i wanted to be able to think at all.  
Anyhow, i asked if i would endlessly have to repeat my name if/when we change it to Alyssa, if they don’t hear me correctly the first time.  Undaunted and once again surprised by how i miss very simple things in life, she pointed out all i have to do is spell it.
  Sir Raven also told me on the train that she wanted me to show her that i can get to some more places alone.  i get parts right, and then don’t have any mental picture.  Or, i get all of it right when i say it, but by the time we are heading home i’m in too much pain to focus on everything.  Fibromyalgia can cause up to sixty seconds of confusion so complete that its like having a full minute of amnesia, where you actually can’t remember anything.  It’s scary.  Part of your focus is always on not getting anxious over pain spikes or that confusion that can come with it.  That takes away some focus that i need to get from point A to point B.
That being said, i’m glad SR is trusting me more and is becoming more interested in my getting places alone.  i think the doctor is on her list but honestly i think she would be too controlling to let me go there alone, even if i was normally sighted.  It wouldn’t happen more than occasionally anyhow.  
i’ve waited a long time for Sir Raven to initiate wanting me to learn more routes and i want to make her proud.  

# Blind problems

Hashtag Blindproblems.

1. When you loose twenty minutes of your day because you can’t find the clorox wipes. i bought a yellow jar and was looking for something orange. It was on the table, in plain view, to anyone but me.
2. Dropping the white soap in the tub and being unable to find it. Get very annoyed because you are trying to hurry and scrub off the dust/dirt from cleaning and don’t have time for this.
3. Needing a potty escort because we were seated in a different spot in our new sushi spot, which is lovely and features black furniture on a black floor. Yep, we have a black-on-black problem, rendering everything invisible to me.
4. Cleaning takes up most of Monday because i go over everything i do twice. It’s the only way i can figure it is cleaned well.
5. Crossing the street with Sir Raven is always a trust exercise.
6. Yesterday, i learned that Sir Raven has dreams that i am fully sighted in. When i have them, which is rare, i’m either driving or reading. Between the two, i’d pick reading hands down. Plus, i do this cool thing in dreams where i am still legally blind, where i can kind of magically zoom in on faces, freeze the expression until i can zoom in enough. So, clearly, what i miss the most is faces and understanding some facial expressions, even though i have always missed a lot in that department. There is blind sight, which i realize i’ve always had, and i’m in INFJ so i can feel emotions. i just used to call that “seeing” their face. Heh.

Sir Raven sent me my horror-scope today, which she does when it amuses her. Today, it read, “Concentrating on your chores today may be an uphill battle, because you would rather be doing anything else. Be careful, if you chose play over chores, you will get caught.” 0.0

i read it after i spent time at my favorite relax online spot, happily pinning stuff all over pinterest, to my walls. One of them goes to her email, so yeah.

i sent her an email saying it was a bit anxiety provoking that evidently the *entire universe* is telling me the strap is heading my way.

She came home to her dinner ready, a clean home, scrubbed walls and all, and i was fresh from the shower. i had started to absolutely panic in the shower because i thought i prematurely heard the door. She is quite unhappy when i’m not there to take her coat, smiling and ready to embrace her. i’m always cheerful, happy to see her. Tardiness to the door isn’t good. It can actually ruin the evening, where everything feels slightly off.

Yesterday, while the Master’s talked over sushi, they had a pretty interesting conversation about how sometimes people are very surprised that they are what they say. It’s not a euphemism when Sir Raven says she’d knock me out if i did the same behavior or if she says that she beats my ass. It happens to be true. It was nice to hear another Master say that he too has times where he wants no interaction with his slave, just wanting his drink filled. i wonder why Master’s don’t talk about that more often. i figure, silent service is still service. i am actually here to make her life more pleasurable, give her more leisure time, provide for her needs. If those things include me, or interactions with me, that is wonderful. i just don’t take it personally when i routinely serve her and am quiet. When she is curled up in bed reading blogs or relaxing for hours, i feel a quiet sense of pride, because she does not have to get up to do anything at all. i serve drinks and snacks in bed, empty ashtrays and am quietly devoted. My efforts mean that she doesn’t have to shop, run tedious errands, or do laundry with her precious time off. That is a part of slavery as much as anything else.

Talking in my sleep again…

i’ve had nightmares the last two nights.  Both of them were about my mother.  In the first, i stupidly put my hands up to protect my face and she put a lit cigarette out in my palm.  She said i’d been away too long, that i had forgotten that my hands should have been behind my back.  

She was right, of course.  i know that.

In the other, from last night, that evidently prompted a whole lot of talking in my sleep.  It was similar, if less vivid.

i can remember in real life being five and thinking that i wanted to hurt her back, wanted to turn her into a worm, but by the time i was 30, there was no trace of that willfulness left.  What i thought about as an adult was to not make any movement, not give any possible indication whatsoever that i might hurt her.  i apologized for making a mess with my blood.  

The Marine pointed out that i will hold my arms stiffly behind my back, still, and asked what that was about.  

And i just looked at her, confused and frightened.  i was remembering Barbara’s eyes, turned deep ocean blue with rage, telling me that she didn’t need to hear the stories, that it was obvious what had been done to me all along and she had seen enough for herself.  Then she took pictures of finger marks, my mothers, while my eyes carefully avoided the camera.

We had our first argument because i defended my mother, saying she had been abused as a child, that she didn’t know what she was doing.  It wasn’t a big deal, i had said.  And that was the comment that put her over the edge.  Eventually, she held me tight in her lap, as i told her she was mean, and a poop head, and didn’t understand anything in between sobs.  That was perhaps not the best greeting from my inner child, but there it was.  

i didn’t want a witness.  The whole of my life, i had wanted someone to grasp what went on there in that house but when i had one, i was horrified by what i saw in her eyes.  

Most people, by virtue of growing up and getting the fuck out, have years between child abuse and present.

i don’t.

Night terrors happen here.

And Sir Raven is my silent witness.

i can neither crawl up in her lap and say mean words, nor cry, nor talk.

i admit i had nightmares, but i don’t say more.  From what she heard me saying in my sleep, it was fairly obvious i was having nightmares.

The child and the adult stood in the house and were hurt, together.

Today, i feel foolish, like i should not have silly nightmares.  i make the bacon and eggs to serve her breakfast in bed, like every Sunday. i make Sir Raven laugh and suck her dick.  i blast music in my ears and write up a response to a classmate.  i function.  

i’m running a fever again.  i’m exhausted.  i don’t even know why i’m writing this, other than it needs out and the least i could do for myself is to not be a liar anymore.  The shame isn’t mine.  Stockholmn syndrome is what this is.  Every sign, every symptom is there. i still feel badly for my mother even as i never want to see her again.  Especially not in my dreams. 

Judgmental much?

Ignore this post if you don’t like gossipy, judgmental bitches.

So, my classmates and i have to read and critique each other’s work.  Not all of it, but we are assigned to read and respond to a certain number of our cohorts and their work.  Not to be outdone in the recovering perfectionist department, i always do more than assigned in responses but generally read way more than that.

We have some over-sharers in our midst.

Let me say that electroshock therapy has come a long way and i think that it can be a highly effective form of treatment for people who don’t respond to other methods.  It is done in a very humane manner these days, in a proper hospital, with sedation.  i have a visceral reaction to the immediate thought of, say, the shock “therapy” from “One Who Flew Over the Coo-coo’s Nest” but can assure everyone that isn’t what happens anymore.

So that is my little disclaimer before my little midday rant.

Coming in 3,2,1…

It behooves someone who is going to practice in mental health to have a bit of a filter, i think.  Do i ever share personal details of my life?  Sure, when its relevant, and there is a reason, i might *briefly* touch on certain things but there is a boatload of anecdotal things i keep to myself.  My general rule of thumb is that if i would not share the info with a client, i should likely not post it on a public classroom discussion board.

A classmate felt the need to point out that she has had regular electroshock therapy.  Another said that they were in treatment for being borderline.  A third made the announcement of being sexually abused as a young child.  i keep wondering when our professor might gently suggest that these kinds of things should maybe be handled in therapy and not shared in public.  Maybe i’m wrong, though, because it keeps happening and she doesn’t suggest not sharing.

And then i think i could be a hypocritical ass, which i detest, because i write here about all kinds of things.  This is also a public forum, in a sense.  The blog, though, is not tied to my professional identity and i’m not touting my child abuse as a reason for why i want to go into mental health.  In fact, it isn’t.  What it did was prompt me to read seriously about psychology when i was 12 onward and to develop a sense that psychology is a lot like putting together a puzzle.  It’s satisfying to me in that sense and that you never know what tip, breakthrough, meditation, medication, art project, or tool that could be a pissing piece that helps a person get on with their life.  

i’m not a Crusader.  

i don’t want to save anyone.

i have my own shit to deal with in life.  i consider the blog to be a tool for dealing.  Even here, there are things i just touch on because i’m trying all of the time to focus on here and now.  

i don’t always succeed at that.  Today is not a great day for it, i’m mentally tired.  

Yesterday was Sir Raven’s only day off of work and she had to go to a work meeting and hear what a grand job she is doing.  i’m so damn proud of her.  She left mid morning and i wasn’t expecting her home til 6pm.  i did more laundry and got a text around 5- “Start the beautification process, girl, I’m on my way home.”  i finished folding her shirts, threw the sheets from the dryer into the bag, and nearly ran home.  i think she likes the idea that i will take the time to put on make-up, fix my hair, and dress for her at the end of the day before she gets home.  i mean, i figure who wants to come home to a woman who looks disheveled or haggered?  i try and be the kind of woman she wants to come home to and it might be the femme in me responding to her Butchtasticness.  So, she comes home to lit candles, a clean home, and a cheerfully smiling me.  i’m ready to take her coat and bag, pour her wine and water, and offer to remove her boots.    

Not yesterday.  i rushed in and noted she was in the kitchen, pouring her own wine.  i panted out an apology, for missing her arrival, and she told me to sit on the bench and to close my eyes and open my mouth.  She stuffed a huge bite of melt-in-your-mouth chocolate cookie inside.  She said something about it coming from Oprah’s favorite snacks or whatever.  

i went to put up the laundry, make the bed, and cook her dinner.  We had shrimp with stir fried snow peas, red pepper, onion, and carrots over jasmine rice.  The night before we had salad with fresh herbs, red pepper, strawberries, cherry tomatoes, carrots, snow peas, onions, and crispy popcorn chicken.  Since we had one single nice day, i wanted to serve fresh veggies.  Today, it’s freezing again and i need to figure out what i’m cooking tonight.  i’m thinking about turkey meatloaf and roasted vegetables.  

The wind is coming in through the windows.  i’ve been running a fever all day (thanks, Fibro) and pleaded with Sir Raven to leave them open so i’m not over heated when the heat finally comes up.  i lit candles and tried to meditate today.  i’m feeling a little bit tense. i have a lot to do and it’s very hard to not get mad at myself when i have to keep replaying the same information over and over or to look at a name five (five!) times to cite it.  Getting mad won’t help, of course.  Plus, it’s silly to get mad at myself that i don’t have control over.  Fibromyalgia really does mess with cognitive functioning and i have to be okay with that until there is a cure or better treatment.

Today, i am thankful for my playpen the chaise lounge and for a Master who brings me her cookie.  i’m thankful that my best is (mostly) good enough.  i’m thankful for my friends because i don’t think i’m an easy person to love.  i’m thankful that if people are judging me for putting my own stuff out here about child abuse and a sociopath family, i remain blissfully unaware of that.  

You know, on that note, it took a full 33 years to stop lying about my mother, to stop defending her, to stop minimizing.  And it feels good to be honest with myself that it was that bad, for most of those 33 years.  i did survive it and i’m not often ashamed of where i come from.  Will i admit it on the class message boards?  Hell no.  It’s good here though to be able to admit that i still have nightmares about her sometimes.  It wouldn’t hurt me if i was being judged about it.  i was a damn good daughter and i know for sure that i didn’t make her not love me.  What i have accomplished in four years is really a kind of miracle.

The other day, someone that knows me well made an offhand remark that it’s obvious to anyone looking that they are looking at the results of an abused child.  And here i was, worried i would start hand flapping (which i do) and have everyone in the Residency look at me and think “Autism” at the same time.  Heh.  i am now seeing myself as a battered young child with a giant white cane wearing an adult womans suit that is far too big, like i’m dressing up and playing therapist.

Thinking about that, though, i figure it’s not too terribly far off from how most of us are feeling about the prospect of having strangers dig into our psyche’s while professors judge our reactions.  Heh.  Sounds fun, yes?

Sir Raven said i can’t take my teddy bear and that she will choose which friend i can bring with me, if any.  i’m worried.  Perhaps she imagines me trotting into a conference room with my bear.  She is aware that i don’t give a damn and have brought him to the airport.  It is utterly amazing the number of people who have a smile in their voice in response to an adult little girl, with a bear.  Though, to be fair, i have a lot of days that i’m a magnet for people with dark intentions.  However, i still think the world would actually be a much better place if everyone brought their teddy bears with them.  

Yeah.  They are going to let me into someone’s psyche.  Heh.  Yep.


Control can manifest itself in ways one girl would never imagine.  Today, Sir Raven sat while i suffered through twenty minutes of booking the Amtrak tickets.  She decided we would travel by train, in a little room with bunk beds, rather than fly.  She hates to fly and the one airlines she doesn’t hate won’t fly to Atlanta.  

So, i had some sticker shock, to say the least.  The train was double the price of the filght.  

Sir Raven was quite blaze about the price.  She said things meant to soothe like, “We will eat in a dining car.  It will be nice.”

i was trying to not throw up and said unhelpful things like, “Honey, my first car didn’t cost this much” and “Babe, i could buy you a huge black diamond for cheaper than this.”  

i breathed through it and ordered the tickets.  This is damn sure not something i would have ever done on my own.  It’s one of those things on my Fantasy List like flying first class just one time, shopping at Tiffany’s, or owning a pair of Louboutin heels which i can’t imagine doing anything remotely like walking in.  😛

Anyhow. It was ordered and i did it.  

Later, we had some conversation about the one topic we just don’t see eye-to-eye on.  We just don’t.  We won’t.  And its a big deal to me to at least have her have a supportive attitude on the topic.  Her tone and general affect isn’t supportive, even when her words attempt it.

i got up and showered, which i do when i’m frustrated.  i was trying to be mindful, giving thanks for the teeny bit of warm water, how nice the shampoo smells.  i realized my little area for my things was getting full and saw that i had saved the dollar bottle of shampoo i purchased when my travel size stuff ran out a year ago.  

i’ve had time in life that i had to choose between toothpaste and toliet paper in life.  Still, i was surprised that i was still hoarding a bottle of shampoo that cost a dollar when SR saw it when i first purchased it and flatly informed me that i wouldn’t be using that crap in her house.

She was stunned, actually, that anyone would spend a dollar on shampoo.

Now, i have big bottles of special shampoo and conditioner with bamboo in it that she buys special for me in the mail.  

She nearly broke into applause when she saw my hands with various bottles, headed to the garbage can in the kitchen.  

It’s funny that i’ve held onto that stuff, but have never touched them to use them again after it was forbidden.

Sometimes, it’s spending an obscene amount of money and getting rid of hoarding junk that lets you know who is in control.

Later, i tried to lay down before heading out to do more laundry and errands and housework.  The dumb ass next door was yelling at someone and i think what i always think: people consider that the way i live is odd.  That slaves must be sick or weird or that it is just a sex thing.  Meanwhile, the slave next door thinks your yelling, anger, and pathological bullying is sick.  We are never over here yelling at each other or throwing things around.  We aren’t the deviant ones.  Not really.



Sir Raven has lovely friends and a few have adopted me a little bit.  One is moving and i am deeply sad by this.  She isn’t just moving, she is deflecting and moving across the damn country.  

i don’t trust people easily or well.  i trust her implicitly.  So, yeah.  i’m happy for her but my inner child isn’t there, yet.  

Anyhow, we got to have dinner with her and some other fantastic people on Saturday night.  It was really a lot of fun, drinking and laughing.  At one point, after we had eaten, i pulled the chopstick out of my hair and was treated to a lovely Lady playing with my hair.  i forgot how much that relaxed me, my eyes were closed and everything.  Unfortunately, i was holding the wooden chopstick in my hand and was jerked out of my happy place by Sir Raven, who stabbed me in the hand with it and told me to focus.  Hurumph. 

You know what’s funny to me about that?  My reaction was to apologize to her and feel bad for having a moment that i wasn’t focused on her.  Because, you know, having your hair played with is bliss.  Um, not bigger bliss than having all of my devoted attention on Sir Raven.  😛

The next day, after more homework, we joined another M/s couple for Korean Bar-b-que.  Words can’t describe this place but it was amazing.  Miss Korea has small little rooms with dining tables and Asian sliding doors.  You are effectively in your very own diningroom with a grill on the table.  i got seated by THE BUTTON, which i didn’t know was there.  When it was pointed out to me, i was downright gleeful.  i was wondering if it was the eject button for the Master’s seats, a comment i may have made aloud.  i’d like to blame the Saki, but it’s been a few weeks since i’ve gotten a beating and it’s starting to show on both of us, despite my best efforts.  Oh, well, it will happen when it happens.  🙂 My sense of humor is generally a great thing but its more enjoyable when i can actually edit. 

The other Master proffered his insight that i may well be heading for a beating after the eject button comment and pointed out it was the Master’s decision to put the blind little by the button and so it was really their fault.  

THE BUTTON turned out to be a call button and when i pressed it, people in the hallway careened into each other.  It was *fantastic!*  My button-pressing privileges were denied at that point.  Boo.  

The meal was insanely good.  So many little dishes, pretty colors, heavenly flavors.  We were in there for almost four hours, eating and drinking and laughing.  It was fabulous.  

While the Master’s talked, i learned some very interesting things.  Among them that Sir Raven would like to do a class called “Come to Daddy” (which i think should be renamed “Come to Bad Daddy”) and that she has plans for buying an eternity cuff for my ankle.  Yeah.  Remember how i wrote i was trying to ease myself into it?  You know, after the whole PTSD from literally being kidnapped for months?  Yep.  Bad Daddy has decided i was willful to have done anything about that at all.  i keep turning the idea around in my mind, of a cuff locked around my ankle that matches the one around my throat.  It feels one part pride and one part fear.  

i can count on one hand the number of times she has declared me willful.  She pronounces willful likes a particularly dirty word, with a great disdain.  The few times i have heard it, i ended the night with blood, snot, tears, and trying to crawl into the bedroom wall.  And this was before the strap so all-in-all, i think she is treating me kindly by the ankle cuff idea.  The end goal would be to associate everything with my Master, and i imagine it would do that very clearly, in a muscle memory kind of way.  Ankle restraints seems to be my last trigger we have, and i am committed to it being gone.  

For anyone considering an eternity collar, they do stand up to anything a Master could want.  Mine has literally picked me up by my throat using the collar a few times.  Roped me to the bed by it and while i was certainly trying to get away, i succeeding in only choking myself. Good times.  

Sir Raven wined me and dined me so much that i’ll be damned if i had time to do much else besides homework, homework, homework.

Yesterday, i had a lot of cleaning and laundry and shopping to take care of.  Today, i finalized plans for the trip so everything is taken care of.  Our hotel room is reserved, the amtrak train booked, and i have a very slight idea of what i’m wearing for the classes.  i’m slightly stressed by the business casual outfits i’m supposed to be pulling together.  i don’t think i have enough for six days of looking like that.  i don’t think i have six outfits that don’t show my cleavage because Sir Raven is a fan of the girls.  😛  Whatever.  i have boobs, they are going to be DDD no matter what i try and conceal with a camisole.  And this is yet another reason for the name change, because i’ve been informed that my birth name is fit for a stripper.  Heh.  It doesn’t exactly scream, “Hey, pick me to be your shrink!”  

The closer we get, the more i feel my inner control freak wanting out, to fixate on stupid details like finding the right shade of lipstick.  Heh.  i bought a wine chilling keeper for SR because i figured she would appreciate having cold wine after the train ride.  She said it was very gay of me, and all of her gay friends would approve.  That’s priceless.

So is having access to THE BUTTON, trying in my i-am-the-most-awkward-person-alive way to make sure that someone leaving knows how much she will be missed, and knowing in advance about the cuff.

Speaking of which, Mr. I-don’t-do-collars-but-have-seen-the-light pointed out that she would kill anyone who removed the collar.  Because, clearly, she has no feelings associated with me living with a hunk of steel locked around my throat that i can’t remove.  Heh. It maybe shouldn’t have, since we were discussing premeditated murder and all, but it made me smile inside.  She pointed out that for a person to remove my collar, they would have had to have premeditated removing it, so her response would be fitting.  

i’m so glad we cleared that up.  

Oh, so last night, i dreamed about the Marine.  i confess i miss her.  It’s kind of odd, now that i’m thinking about it, that no one mentions her.  i wonder if i went MIA if everyone would politely never mention it.  Sir Raven’s friends know the Marine, so it would stand to reason that someone would ask how she is or something.  Nope.  Sir Raven can be an intensely private person, and i understand that because i certainly am as well, other than writing here.  Sir Raven mentioned her the other day, as we passed a suit store, that they had intended to get measured and buy from.  i asked if this was still something SR would consider doing with her and she wasn’t sure.  Maybe it would be nice for them.  Time will tell.

Speaking of time, i have to eat something since it’s 2pm and i haven’t done that yet.  i have more laundry to get done, dinner to prep, wine to buy, and always more homework.  But before all of that, nap time, because the pain is spiking and it’s a rule.