i went back out to the grocery store, to haul all of the vegetables, fruits, green tea, and so on that i was told not to buy yesterday. i asked her to please check her texts as best she can today, because micromanagement really sucks when you are waiting for an answer to what you should buy.
i came home to prep everything and it somehow took me three hours to wash and trim three pounds of string beans, clean corn on the cob, chop sweet peppers and onions for the turkey meatloaf, chop up more sweet peppers and broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots for the salad, make lemonade, stock the frig with beer, and put away the rest of the items.
Once, with Barbara, i was cleaning corn and couldn’t see to get the silk off well enough for her. She had grabbed me by the shoulders, swung me around to face her, and shook my while saying, “Don’t you get it, girl? You are blind. You can’t do everything you think you can do!” And then she took me in the room and angrily beat me with her grandfather’s horse whip and the belt i hated the most. To her credit, she at least beat me through the anger. i’ve never cleaned corn again without thinking about it, the shame of being blind.
This morning, i wrote about the first time Sir Raven ever used the strap on me. To be really honest, there had been a couple of close calls, but we had been together about two years and i had begun to think privately that it wouldn’t really happen. Sir Raven had mentioned wanting a sewing machine once (in passing, she thought) and i had researched and found an excellent model for 300 dollars when it should have been 500. i read consumer reports, saved my money up, and proudly had it sent to her work. She was livid.
So, when it didn’t happen then, i sort of thought it wouldn’t. Certainly not for eating her cookies in a silent rage. The strange thing is that when she wordlessly dragged me into the bedroom and ripped my clothes off while i was bent over the bed, my only association for that was rape. So i was struggling to stay in my body when i really wanted out and to be safely on the ceiling. i may not have agreed with her reason-or even knew what it was-in the moment, but i consider this to be part of being a slave. If i did something bad enough in the eyes of the Owner to deserve a beating, then i accept it. Period. But the way it happened was so shocking, so upsetting, that i blocked out the skirt ripping part all together. In fact, i asked her some months later if she knew where my skirt was, and felt all crazy when she said she had no idea what i was talking about.
And i was thinking it was weird that the corn thing stuck, and the skirt thing got repressed.
Anyhow, i was knee deep in organizing everything into clean, chopped, separate bowls, i got the text to get bagels because she wants to have a light spread of fruit salad, veggies and hummus, and bagels with cream cheese before the actual meal.
i went back out for the bagels and strawberries, and she called to send me out for wine.
i came in long enough to pour her juice, exhaustedly stand over her and use my best patient-Mommy voice to coax her to take meds. Finally, spent, i say, “Mommy loves you but i may have to kill you if you don’t swallow this pill for me.” For all the world she replies like a small, defiant child, and demands more juice making a gigantic elaborate display of how difficult it is to swallow the mucinex. i want to jam her giant dick down her throat for a second, but go make myself a cup of coffee instead and take more meds because on a scale of one to ten, i’m at a 15 pain-wise.
i finally eat something for the first time all day. i bought strawberry cream cheese which is heavenly on my bagel. i have coffee, smoke a cigarette, and have a weird conversation with Sir Raven. Because now we have apparently traded hats again.
i see this post on a Rescued animal site on facebook, and am absolutely horrified that a perfectly healthy dog who belongs to a deployed service member is on the kill list for Memorial Day weekend. i was so upset, i literally considered going to get the dog myself. Who kills a soldiers dog, for Christ sake? i ask her if, after she had beat me senseless with the strap, if she would have let me keep the dog until the soldier comes home. She considers it for a moment, because we both love soldiers and hate wars, and tells me that we won’t discuss this further. That is Sir Raven speak for, “Yeah, you would have been beaten til you were literally trying to crawl into the wall again, but we can’t let a soldiers dog be killed.” The only reason i did not go get the dog was thinking how scared she would have been listening to the sound of the strap. My dispassionate observer counted to 100 once, before she got bored across the room, watching me trying to crawl into the wall. That would have made it pretty hard for the poor dog to relax and bond here and that is the only reason i didn’t go get her. i’m an empath, and this upset me to gigantic proportions.
If you were counting, the micromanagement (which SR believes she does not do) resulted in three extra trips so far. She is watching her youtube chilling, reminded me to go out and get her cigarettes and more kleenex. When i got back, i kissed her and then asked to come in the bedroom and write until i stopped feeling so weird. i had planned to get my mani pedi today, which is overdue, and i need the touch to stop feeling this way. With all the extra trips, i was clueless about what was on the housecard, and i have no way to know for sure unless SR tells me. So, my mani pedi has to wait. Thankfully gels don’t look bad, they just hurt when your nails grow out. i want my nails to not be hurting but i’m also looking forward to the big strong hands massaging me, grabbing and moving me around, and clearing my mind out.
In unrelated news: i’m wearing what Sir Raven has dubbed my second life dress. See? With my white cane. Unfortunately, i can’t fly or hit people with my white cane when i’m not in second life. 😀 Just like on second life, except the avatar isn’t curvy like me. Forgive the pile of paperwork by my head. i’m not allowed to mess with those. 😀