Monday while walking to the train with a co-worker he asked what I would be doing for New Year’s Eve?

Which seems  the only small talk folks do this time of year, I don’t go out I explained, doing that kind of thing has never been something I liked. And the few times I did, I was bored. I did once spend the evening at a hotel overlooking time square which was fun, but that too was a long time ago.

Because one does have to ask back I did. He will be spending the evening with his family, “money in one hand the bible in the other,” he said. We said our good nights, on the train ride home I wondered if others have a ritual they do on New Year’s Eve? I know Black folks do, and from what I’ve heard from my Spanish-speaking friends they do as well.

I have a ritual that I do, but would love to hear of, if any rituals that are done by others on New Year’s Eve?


Merry Christmas




This is my second attempt. Sheesh. While i’m looking for my pleasant demeanor, enjoy this pics!
i had a whole post done and wanted to add pictures and somehow erased everything!

Remember the best date ever? Yep. Those are my Lions, all dressed for Christmas. i married the Beast and got that Library! Very fitting indeed that my band comes from that store, yes? 🙂 And, of course, the Fortitude came home.

Then, we had a gift exchange and i was spoiled again with an Eiffel Tower keychain and clutch. Sir Raven warned me to not be upset that i had no more gifts. i wondered aloud how anyone could possible feel upset when they were so spoiled.

Winter solstice came and so did my Bear!! Soft, so soft! He isnt allowed in the bed because Daddy says he is too big. She also gifted me with a pride and prejudice zipped pouch, my necklace (a funny nod to CNC, with Alice chasing the White Rabbit down the rabbit hole, which is apparently located in between my breasts).

My favorite part was giving Sir Raven her gifts and finding out which were her favorites. 😀

This morning, after an illness that has dragged on for too many days, i woke up when Sir Raven got out of bed. She hushed me and told me to stay in bed. So, even though i very rarely ask her to bring things to me, i asked for my medicine because it couldn’t wait. She sweetly brought it, along with the last of my gatorade. Realizing i wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep, i called from the bed, “Daddy? Do you think i could have my cigarettes, please?” She comes back with them and says, “Would you like me to bring you coffee in bed, too?” “Oh, no, thank you Master, that would be too much.” And we both busted out laughing. Laughter and being able to consume my first cup of coffee in days was the best Christmas gift ever!

Karida is in her own home now, but i tried to call her earlier. i can’t wait to hear how she liked her gifts and if her daughter’s liked theirs. i loved the “sister” pandora charm from Karida, because we both have a matching one. i didn’t realize til this morning that she also gave my teddy bear a lovely gift. She is wearing an entire ballet outfit and couldn’t be happier!! Sir Raven had to help me get her fat little foot into her ballet slippers, but don’t tell anyone!

Karida and i joked that Sir Raven bought Levi, my new bear, because she would literally do anything to avoid Build-a-Bear. Even buy a soft bear from Papyrus! Heh.

i hope that everyone has as much love in their hearts as I do, this day and all days. i am grateful beyond measure that Sir Raven and i woke up laughing, take care of each other in illness, and enjoy each other immensely. i’m also pretty darned happy that we get to spend the day relaxing, watching Dr. Who marathons! i’m one very thankful slave.

positive energy

For two days, there has been a jackhammer near our window. Inside the building, there is hammering and drilling. It’s sort of like i’ve been trapped in an MRI for days. Perhaps predictably, my body has responded to this with sensory overload and a pain spike to match the noise.

When Sir Raven got home, i took my migraine pill. i don’t like to take it when i’m alone because it makes me feel so weird. Thank God, it works. i fixed her dad’s recipe for pork chops and heated up some noodles. i’m almost never a whining person but i was last night. Sir Raven kind of giggled at it because everything was upsetting me. My clothes itched too much to wear, even my sleep pants. i was too hot and too cold. My socks felt too tight. i had cramps, too and pointed out (again!) how much i resent having to go through this misery monthly when i can’t have a baby. i also told her it was rude to have not knocked me up so i’d have one less thing to complain about.

Then i fed her and cleaned up the kitchen, bringing her more wine on the way back, because i figured it was the least i could do. You know, serve wine for the Master who could tell me to shut up and doesn’t tonight.

She turned on Project Runway, which we both like. Sir Raven decided she liked the name Alyssa for me due to it. i ask her if she still likes it.

“Honey,” she says, “I have good news and bad news.”
i was hoping the good news was that she had a secret chocolate stash.
She said, “The good news is that I’m madly in love with you. The bad news is we are not having another conversation about the name change.” Evidently, it’s on me to pick something. She didn’t like the two i matched up and i thought she didn’t like them at all. It’s hard to pick anything until i know for sure she likes it. Apparently, i’m just not able to do it without a shit ton of angst. i’m not programmed to decide things. She’s the Decider. i thought alyssa mia sounded okayish. See? She is the Decider.

At this point, i have a ton of work to do for school. That’s not an exaggeration. i’m ignoring the migraine left-overs, and blasting Weeknd in my ears so i don’t have to hear the damn drilling noise. i was seriously thinking of going to Starbucks to work but they have a locked bathroom that you have to be let in to use. That could be an issue. i have to get to a potty pretty fast and have paranoid thoughts that i’d pee myself waiting for them to get the door for me.

i’m sick to death of the fibro. There are days that i am surprised something can so consume me with pain and not be killing me. i try to keep it to myself but Sir Raven notices more lately. i’m dragging a foot, running another fever, or the look of pain or sheer exhaustion is written on my face. Anyone else would leave me, i swear. Last night, she pulled my arm to her, in my favorite spot where i can feel her breathe, and curled up close to me in her sleep. Just being near her makes me feel safe and loved.

Tomorrow, i’m going to her work to help out and enjoy the day. i have to get all of my work done though, or i can’t go. i desperately need a window of clear thinking and positive energy.


She is my everyday Hero.

Everyday when she comes home and kisses me, everything is perfect in that moment.
She tucks me in on my playpen with her special blanket, the one i think has magic powers to make my unrelenting pain pause for a nap.
When she holds my hand and doesn’t get mad at my slow feet and my cane getting stuck in the cracks in the sidewalk, making me feel safe and cared for
she is my everyday Hero.

Yesterday, she emailed me in response to asking her to print out yet another form to be faxed to my school. She wrote, simply, “I’ve got you, babygirl” and my heart melted because it’s true.

Getting off the train Tuesday afternoon, i had thanked her, for the fact that she is always here for me, has my back, and picks me back up when i fall down.

i truly can’t accomplish any great thing without her in my life, steady and in control. i see how i was failing for months to see this simple truth. When i may have needed more structure, more control, i didn’t ask or even recognize it. i can see now that when i wasn’t vulnerable to her, she felt out of control. And that is my fault. My heart wasn’t fully open, my emotions were shut down, and i felt like i was in a free fall.

i needed my Master, my Spouse, my Daddy, my Hero, and my Best Friend.

i think she needed these things, too.

Laughter is back in our home. Simply joys. Silly jokes. Touches. Cuddles. And, yes, Control.

She noted recently that she will assert herself with micromanagement and s/m when she wants to tighten the leash. That is true. i realize too that i turn to her for more direction, making huge decisions and helping me sort through the outcomes, and asking small things (Daddy, can i take my shower now? Should i wear my mary janes or boots?). i think this is my way of inviting micromanagement and scratching that itch for her?

i also started sending her lists, which i’ve been terrible about the last few days, as i’ve been distracted by a number of things. For one, they are jackhammering outside and it’s an endless drone of noise. i’ve not feeling well at all and had a number of calls that i had to make for school. It has been a huge mess.

My Master still believes in me and in her course of action.
And that is all that matters to me.


My classes started up again yesterday. One class is about Multicultural Counseling, which i am excited about. The other concerns Ethics and the Law. The final project gives me pause, as the instructor wants an autobiographical account of how we developed our sense of ethics, and how that can be incorporated into our practice in the future.

The truth is that i was raised by and with a sociopath. It’s a myth that they categorically have no sense of ethics. They just are not based on a thoughtless or seamless sense of right or wrong based on societal expectations or laws. What ethics do exist may only be there in a self-serving capacity or are only extended to people that have been accepted into their clan.

Recently, i read an autobiographical account on sociopaths and while it contained the expected overblown sense of self, it also had a variety of gems of truth. Basically, i could see my family all over that book. From the author’s account of her mother’s rage at having to even momentarily remove her rose colored glasses to her fathers unexplained rages, i saw us. Clearly. Maybe for the first time. My mother and brother’s propensity to constantly be involved in one-upmanship, always keeping score, always playing chess with my emotions. They both show a lack of fear, a sense of recklessness. i have a learned reaction to fear, in that i learned young (age 4) that showing it provokes greater rage. i learned to not show fear or anger often and to ignore my physical responses to it. It’s not absent, as it is for them, but it isn’t clearly detected often. i label those emotions in myself only as a negative and can fully rationalize those reactions in others most of the time. i have retained the child-like sensibility that if someone is angry, it is likely my fault, and i need to show the correct response or suffer the consequences.

Being in a Consensual-non-consent relationship involves a lot of discussion around ethics. Before i ever came here, i was working to develop an accurate understanding of Sir Raven’s ethical code and was wanting to be quite sure that i could adapt or already had the same moral and ethical codes. In very many ways, we matched up well. That went a long way to understanding each other and not making the other person feel like their back was up against the wall. We have each done something that violated the other’s sense of rightness and it cost us. But it also taught us that we are strong, that we love and are in love, that we fit each other well, and that we need our power exchange to work more than anything else. We might be stronger for it, as it removes any sense of curiosity. We did honor our Domestic Partnership, which we marked as the date we became Owner and property. For me, a great turning point came when she returned her collar to my neck. i found it extremely hard to function without this, feeling that we both needed the validation of who i am to her. i had a strong preference for a new collar, and i still do, but at least i feel like me again.

A friend of mine who is also a slave recently remarked that when things are not right in her dynamic, everything else suffers. Neither of them are able to function at work well, or deal with other obligations, until they deal with whatever is going on and get it right again. That seems to be common, especially the closer you get to living in a CNC relationship because it permeates every area of your life, down to your sense of self. When i lived, or tried to live, outside of CNC, my sense of self was violated. i wasn’t being true to myself or her. i believe Sir Raven could do a better job of explaining this, from her side, but i think it is very similar for her.

We had a breakthrough, of sorts, when i stormed out of therapy in a rage months ago. She responded by taking me home, talking to me, and then beating me with the strap until i was near tears. She didn’t let me violate us by behaving that way. She didn’t violate herself by letting me get away with it. i am very thankful she punished me and got me back on track. It told me i could trust her. Shortly thereafter, she returned the broken collar. i might be broken but i’m hers.
This is a part of our ethics, that we made a commitment to each other and to our dynamic. Hopefully, one day, i won’t be broken anymore. i’ll know that she sees us as unbroken when she replaces the collar or adds something new that locks. We tend to speak of the most important things in tangible ways.

In the meantime, we are a work in progress, like everyone else. We are both working on communication. i am trying to communicate in my own way by writing again. i also asked her last night if i should go back to making daily lists and sending it to her. i am aware i need to stay on track for school and can’t afford to slip up and miss something. i am hoping now that we are more settled and in a better place together that i can devote my energy to better fulfilling my responsibilities. Keeping her aware of my day also makes her more in control of it and makes me more accountable to her. Having her in control, even very tight control, feels good and right to both of us. Control is her drug of choice, and i want to be the drug in her veins, the thing she craves, the smile on her face.


We are in the first day of the last month of this year. i am looking forward to a New Year, something fresh, with no mistakes made. God knows, we’ve earned it.

i think that Sir Raven and i are in a good place. We are both actively working on it. She hasn’t gone into auto-pilot and i haven’t withdrawn into silent workhorse. i think she is happier again. i certainly hope so because i am giving my all to her, holding nothing back.

She told me she wants to know how i feel, and i’m still pondering that new idea. There is a lot i don’t say. The little details of life, like today, when i went to the laundry mat and a woman told me that i should hire a home health aide to do my wash for me. She would cook and clean, the woman said. i know she is trying to be helpful but i start to panic inside a bit. i had to hide being blind for most of my life, some thirty years, because in most ordinary situations my family was ashamed of it. Of me. And so i started to panic, for a moment, trying to look at our laundry and figure out what i had done wrong. i remind myself that the woman only means to be helpful and i try to sound cheerful, as i explain that i like to be independent. The woman persists, telling me that i shouldn’t be working so hard on my own. She notes the small burns on my arms, cooking burns, and repeats her ideas on how i should be living. With help. Then, she tells me she is not a “religious person” and i brace myself inside for what i know is coming. She tells me God can create miracles and let me see again. Something about her peers deeply into me, as if she can see my life all at once. i tell her that i have no regrets, that i am thankful for what i can see, every day. Nearby, i hear a newborn gurgle and turn to the noise, a sad smile crosses my face as i wish i could see the child. Quickly, i cover my face and return to the ongoing monologue about all of the miracles God could achieve. i agree with her, and tell her i weighed one pound and seven and a half ounces when i was born. She says my life is a miracle, that i was a miracle baby. i stiffen. My mother used to say that, in a sad kind of tone. She would say, “what do you expect? Of course you don’t understand. You were only one pound, the length of a pencil, of course you can’t skate or do math or understand a conversation. They thought you’d be retarded and you are brilliant. Brilliant people don’t understand simple things.”

There is some truth to this, to all of it, the tape of my mother in my head, and the woman in front of me. i am standing there nodding, a mute puppet. i want to crawl into the floor.

The woman tells me that my miracle is coming and stands. She wants to touch me, i’m certain of that, and i start to feel a panic again. Does she want to lay hands on me like Benny Hinn? Will she suddenly turn hostile and cruel like my mother?

The laundry mat is too small and the air has been sucked out. i close my eyes and fold shirts and when i open them again, the woman is gone. All of the religion abuse comes rolling back and i choke it down, breathe, and let my breath go slowly from my mouth.

i can’t be angry about the sight thing. i would have taken my nephews far away if i could have seen. They had lived with me as their sole caretaker for most of their lives. It would have never occurred to me that it would have been kidnapping. Compliments of being raised by a sociopath, i would have assumed the legal system would have understood my predicament and would not have returned the boys to drug addicted and abusive parents.

i would have been wrong.

Maybe that was God’s miracle. Saving me from doing the one thing that would have prevented the good life i have. Saving me legal consequences, which would have kept me from taking care of my grandmother until her death. i would have never forgiven myself for not following through on that duty. She died the day before Thanksgiving and i wear her ring that week, with great pride and love. Gabe’s birthday is on New Year’s Eve and i’ll send another balloon into the sky, with all of my hopes and dreams for him.

And then i’ll muster everything i have to work on the present and prepare for our future.
i believe in Sir Raven. i believe in her-in us-with the same passion as the woman in the laundry mat believing in God’s miracle. That we keep getting stronger and renewing our commitment to each other is a kind of miracle of it’s own, to me. And for that, i am truly thankful.