All kinds of expletives

i do actually try to be upbeat, cheerful, steady.  Mostly, i think i am those things.  i’m also an optimist who was told i was pessimistic most of my life.  i reject that notion.  It’s sort of like how i was told i wasn’t quiet enough, sweet enough, submissive enough, pretty enough.  i wasn’t enough.

i push back against those ideas. Sometimes, i push hard.

Right now, though, for just a few moments i need to feel it.  i don’t feel like enough.

i’ve been sick since before Christmas.  i’ve started my period over a week early, so objectively i’m sure hormones are playing a part in this.  There is an endless drone of a drill somewhere in the building that is making me want to cry.  The stream of meds: cymbalta, nuerontin, cold medicine, mucinex all floating around my system may not be terrific either.  Nor the lack of sleep.

The weird fragmented dreams are not helpful either.  Superimposed over whatever i was dreaming was the beautiful squared penmanship of my biological father.  His writing looks like he could have been an architect, an engineer.  Instead, he was writing from prison: hello little one, hello angel.

i had forgotten those letters, carefully saved, in a bag that i used to house the important mementos of my life both good and horrendous.

The battery on my laptop is pissing me off.  It’s loose and not charging without me holding it or propping it.

i have no focus for my classes and i resent the shit out of it.  i promise myself every night that i’ll wake up and feel good the next day, have a great focus day, get everything done.  And then i wake up and my bones hurt and i try to smile and clean and cook and not have anyone see how much it all hurts how everything seems like a huge fucking deal.

i tried to talk to Sir Raven yesterday.  She wants me to save my kind words, my terms of endearment for private times only.  It feels like distance.  It feels like not allowing me to express my care of her, my love for her, my gentleness towards her.  And i don’t know why.  She says it takes away meaning to say, “I love you” too often.  i think a person can really never say that too often.  i think it adds meaning to express yourself, how you feel about someone, what you admire in them.  i think, how in the world would someone know, if you don’t tell them?

She thinks in more ethereal ways than i do, which is something i admire.  i have to quantify, understand, analyze.  i think that had i been allowed to bloom in my own way, i too would have been more ethereal.  Less precise.  Less organized or definitive.  i had to be these things.

Sometimes, it was a matter of fact-checking, because i couldn’t believe the words that were said.  My mother liked to say that we were friends, equals, that i could question anything.  Those things were objectively untrue.  And so i learned to code, quantify, qualify.  i had little else to go on with the outside world, because that was not a part of our lives.  i read voraciously, tried to glean information from everywhere.  i didn’t have the luxury to be a daydreamer.

i had to learn to tell people what i loved about them.  i had to learn to receive information about what they loved about me, which was much harder work.  i considered my value to be about what i could do, the tasks i could free them from, the consistency i could offer.

I worked til it became uncomfortable to me to not know.

There are simple, basic things that i don’t know here.  i know Sir Raven thinks i’m sexy but i couldn’t quantify it or explain what or why.  i have no idea.  Every effort to understand feels wraught with frustration, like i’m trying to gain compliments, when what i’m trying to gain is understanding.  i end up feeling frustrated or apologetic for asking.  Inevitably, it becomes a thing where i’m asked why i’m asking and i feel shut out of her inner life.

How can you become someone’s idea of perfection if you don’t know what it is?

How do you communicate without understanding what specific things are attractive, desirable, good, wanted, valued?

But she speaks in vague terms, as if i should organically understand.  And i don’t.

i know she is happy, overall, but don’t know what makes her happiest.  i feel very passive in our relationship, in the sense of i need to do my jobs and sit quietly on my playpen.  i’m in a ready mode: ready to talk, serve, answer questions, share a joke.

i’ve learned to not come right out and express sexual interest or s/m interest because it seems to have the opposite effect.  So, i’m pretty passive here too.

i asked her how passive she wants me to be.  She says she doesn’t want that.  But the words don’t match with what happens.  It seems, to me, that she wants a totally passive participant in the relationship.

And now she wants simple kindness, kind words, to be private.  As if we should hide our affection in all ways.  To her, it makes it sacred.  To me, it seems like a secret.  Like that we love each other should be a secret.  Like that we can be gentle with each other should be secret.  Secrets are sick things, dirty things.  They are not what i use to mark something as sacred.

i understand why she does.  i understand that private things are sacred to her.  i do.

i don’t know how to work my way to that in an emotional manner.  That is exactly what my job is, to figure out how to work my way to her ways.  i don’t need to agree to do it, that will come in time.

To me, sacredness is in the repeated act of sharing: a core of truth.  i have to think enough because we are Butch/femme, constantly gauging if we are safe, constantly thinking to not touch.  This isn’t sacred: it’s safety.

Words, feeling, ideas all feel like trapped birds with wings that can’t take flight.

i’m exhausted.

i’m near tears.

i feel like a failure right now, academically, emotionally, physically.


When we were talking yesterday, it was on the tip of my tongue to blurt out that we had an agreement which she has not met and i went to try and nap instead.  i thought, “what the hell is wrong with me?”  i couldn’t sleep, couldn’t rest.  That one thing, if it was met, would change everything for me in a positive way.  It would bond us and to me, though it’s private, it is indeed sacred.

Maybe it’s just sickness, fibro, exhaustion, and hormones messing my head up today.  i’m going to try and nap and reset myself.  i don’t like this emotional fog i’m in.  Yesterday, i asked Sir Raven to just sit by me, that i needed her touch and it was blissful.  Sometimes, i just need her near me to feel okay again.


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