❤️Help me, Daddy?

i’ve been thinking about a lecture given during our residency, where we were exhorted to ask questions often about the sex lives of our clients.  She told us a story about a couple whose “only intimacy” was confined to the wife giving a blow job, which resulted in him cumming into a fancy cup.

i was quietly thinking that she had no way of knowing what that act meant to those two people.  It sounded ritualistic to me.  For all the therapist knew, the wife might absolutely enjoy her mouth around her husbands dick, consumed with giving him pleasure.  i know i do.

The Psychologist went on to illustrating her ideas, and she was comparing the cum-in-the-cup-couple to her ideas of what sex should be, and using sex as a marker for intimacy.  By the time, she directly stated that a marriage without intercourse by definition was a marriage without intimacy, i was so enraged i wanted to walk out.

Frankly, had i not been in a packed ballroom and would have gotten my ass beat for walking out, i would have.

My marriage contains a ton of intimacy, thankyouverymuch.  i am the only person who touches my Master, the only person who knows our inside jokes, knows how to please her, shows off my body for her pleasure, and is her bonafide “happy place.”  She is the only person whose touch fills me with intense emotion, whose presence conveys safety, whose emotions i cater to, whose tenderness is hard won.

We are each others playmates, our inner children play together every day.  i am the only person who knows her innermost demons, have become so trusted through our trials that her little boy inside knows a mothers love through me.

We are dependent on each other to release our carnal urges.  It is intimacy when she spits on me, or puts her dirty boot on my chest while i clean them.  It is intimacy when she beats me.

And, yes, it is intimacy when i curl up in our big bed in frustration and beg for her.  Yesterday, i got a notification from both professors that even though they acknowledge that i redid my papers, the turnitin program flagged me.  So i have to redo my work a third damn time, even though they take no responsibility for giving out the same freaking assignment term after term.  Some of the work rests on quoting APA guidelines, so-yes-it will be the same, no matter what i do.  Sigh.  i was working on it all, including trying to figure out if i should just change my research topic in the research class, when Sir Raven came home from work.  i poured her wine and asked special permission to order pizza.  After i made sure her favorite pizza was on its way, i asked if i could open the box that had been delivered earlier in the day.

It was a new nap blanket for me! Fleece lined and suede.  So soft and yummy.

i had returned to working on one of the rewrites, was about to sum up the conclusion, when i realized i just needed to rest for a bit.  i took my nap blanket into the big bed, turned on the soft lamp, and just laid down in the silence.  Then, almost as an afterthought, i grabbed my pink vibrator for some release.

“Daddy, will you help me?” i called out, from bed.  She came in the room, pointing out i had a vibrator to help me, jerking the blanket aside.  “Please?”  i always remember the pain of her dick, the intensity makes me feel like i’ve suddenly been taken by a rip tide, jerked off my feet and warm sea water invading my senses.  Yet, i’m always surprised.  Like the strap, it is somehow always worse than my senses can accurately measure.

In between the orgasms, her dick slammed securely inside, she stood by trying out the new strap and the old.  The thinner, lighter strap stings like a son of a bitch.  The heavier strap helps to slam her dick back into me, every time my body naturally wants to push against it.  The pain and pleasure merge.  Where i am careful to be quiet when she is fucking me, this is different somehow.  It is not attached to her, she is just standing by, witness to my overloaded senses and cruelly using what i hate the most.  She is expertly forcing the pain to overwhelm, her Sadism combined with my own precious need to be forced to take it all.

i have no sense of shame, begging, pleading, Daddy make me take it.

She waits until i cum harder, and leaves me alone in the dark room, with my nap blanket.

While my professors may be right about sexual attraction having not much to do with having great sex, they are wrong to think that only one type of sex is satisfying.  Or that intimacy doesn’t happen if that one kind of sex isn’t happening.

Last night was just what i needed, the intimacy that comes from both of us knowing that my body needs the very things i hate the most.  i need the force.  i need the pain.  My body and soul needs the reminders.

Maybe she likes it to start with-Daddy please??

i’d ask, but she doesn’t want to talk about it.  And-frankly-i got off and she got to try out her new toy-so who cares?  It works.  It works for us.

Today, i feel calmer inside, ready to work my ass off to get these two papers redone and then get back to the rest of the work for this week.  But before i do that, i’m gonna head down to the farmers market and get my Beloved her delicious pie, drop off her dry cleaning, and meditate so i can be fully present to enjoy every step.

 

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Empty

i’m feeling a bit lonely and empty tonight.  Sir Raven is asleep, and hearing her snore lightly from bed makes me smile.  i wish she was up, and was able to comfort me.  In many ways, i have learned to associate comfort with just her mere presence in the room with me.

i’ve been feeling a bit emotional lately.  i think the overwhelming stress going on for months, followed by the last two or three weeks in a flare, the pressure of needing to nail an A in both classes i had to retake, money, and changes within our family of choice has all built up.

While out at a nearby Mexican restaurant, the topic of the choice to vacate the nest by one of our tribe came up.  Specifically, the fact that i have reached out several times via text, and how it was wrong of me.  Or, anyhow, that was the message i got.

i remembered sitting in the Residency class on Grief and Atonement, and the lecturer said that the closer the grief comes to trauma, one loss is the same thing as all loss.  That is, when we have experienced grief associated with trauma, even a smaller sense of loss will cause us to revisit the earlier grief.

So maybe it makes sense my brother has been on my mind, the sad and dejected man, the evil fuck who i woke up to with a gun and crazy glazed over eyes, standing over us with a double barrel shot gun one morning.  If i had not had my glasses on and fallen asleep on the sofa with my mother nearby, and had not caught a glimpse of him, and not been able to react quickly by waking and acting like i never saw the gun or his vacant expression, he would have killed us.  He is also who i called after an impromptu visit to our childhood home, waking him at 7am in another state, and having him answer the phone and know exactly where i was.  He had no reason to know i was there, except our own bond.  i can remember clearly the last time i saw him, he was leaving my oceanfront apartment and heading back to Tennessee.  He wanted to gift me with a pit bull, one he assured me would “take care of” anyone who abused me ever again.  i was already trying to figure out how to get away, and trying to figure out how to take a puppy with me was just too much.  We kissed each other on the lips, his eyes registering hurt in leaving me there.

My mind is throwing up memories like that lately,  Like i’m the unwilling Princess of Tides.  That is what my mother called me.  In “The Prince of Tides,” we learn of child abuse and love through Tom Wingo’s eyes, in flashbacks so benign to my mind, i would have simply called them “memories.”

For me, “flashbacks” were full out disassociations, sucked into a black hole, with no sense of current time.  i keep myself tightly controlled, and clearly ask for what i need, and won’t let that happen again.

i really hate this.  i don’t like being emotional, of having to tell myself-gently-ten times a day, “You don’t have to think about this right now.”  The hurricane threatening the people that used to be my family really hurt me.  i felt helpless, realizing all over again that nothing will ever change anything with them, and that i have nothing to offer them anymore.

i hate the physical pain, which is exhausting and mentally draining.  My doctor refused to write a letter for the school, for me to not have to repay for classes, and i am feeling a bit betrayed.

i’ve been keeping the house nearly immaculate, despite it all.  i’ve been keeping grades to a B.  i’m trying.

i know-for sure-that part of what i need is to be acknowledged as a woman, as a passionate human being, as someone worth being held and treated special, and being able to just cry it all out as she beats it out of me.  i know that the eventual outcome of not having those needs end up with my pain.

i’m also a bit stressed that my doctor has ordered another MRI, this one for my mid back, which was damaged by the wreck my brother caused and by other abusive shit done to me over the years.  The good thing is this time i know that Sir Raven will refuse surgery for it, because she already did that for my neck.  It is just too risky.  i don’t think there could be anything going on that would be as scary as finding out about my neck damage, the multiple places my spinal cord is being pushed on all of the time.  And we survived that intact.

i’m just wishing that we would devote time to our needs as a couple consistently.  It would help a lot for me right now.  i ask, i send sexy texts, inviting.  There is nothing more i can do but wait and focus on trying to be a good slave for her.

Fall weather should come back again soon, and that is always welcomed.  i can’t wait for us to take cool walks in the botanical gardens, ride the tram and see all of the changes, and the sense that everything is full of possibilities in the air once again.

 

 

Slowly

i woke at around 8, my usual time for rising.  Today, i am going through the morning with deliberate leisure.  i’ve spent a few hours in meditation, listened to some podcasts that help uncover Ancient Ancestral wisdom, and just quietly listened to myself in silence.

i made myself a cup of my favorite tea, Chamomile & Lavender and ate a fresh plum from yesterdays bounty of fruit i bought at the farmers market.  i also heckled the vendors yesterday, because i walked there in the rain last week only to discover the farmers market had been cancelled.  i got Sir Raven a peach pie and a bag of mixed fruits.

Yesterday was so hectic.  During morning chores, i was trying to field calls from my advisor, figure out the next Residency schedule, go over what needed to be submitted this week for classes, and every time i thought i was about to head back out the door the phone rang for me to buzz someone up.  i received several packages, which was good.  Then two wrong calls happened, breaking into my chain of thoughts around what i needed to successfully figure out about the timing of two important needs for school.  The phone rang again for the last time, right as i was giving myself ten minutes to just sit before i went out to the farmers market.

i was delighted to discover it was Sir Raven, home very early.  She brought home comfort food-mac and cheese, green beans, and jerk chicken.  We shared a nice lunch together, and several kisses, because i was so happy she was home.  i know she needs quiet at home, rest after so much time spent busy and away from the nest, where she finds her peace.  i ordered some early gifts online, finalized the next Residency (in Atlanta, for March), and then went about my weekly trip to the farmers market.  Since i have been having some anxious feelings, i decided to make the time to walk down there before the blue skies turned ominous.

Over the stressful months, culminating in the hurricane, i have used every tool i know.  i stayed grounded, focused, kind, loving, made time for coloring and drinking herbal tea and meditation.  i walked when i could.  i planned for enjoyable activities.  i always feel gratitude and express it daily, so that practice continued.  i wasn’t able to make time for writing here, and what little time i had left over i spent with friends.

Still, though, i eventually turned exhaustedly to binge eating.  i’ve had to try and forgive myself for that and move on.

i have to forgive myself for breaking down and checking on people who truly don’t deserve my compassion.  i’m still trying to find self forgiveness there.  i know it goes against what Sir Raven wants me do to about bio family members and others who have proven themselves abusive.

i work really hard at this life that i have.  i am always trying to find new ways to bring peace and joy, service and warm, gentleness and openness, respect and love to my Masters life.

It is hard for me to open myself up to tell her i am disappointed with her, because that was something that would have led to rage and abuse in my former life.  You just did’n’t discuss these things, unless you were willing to say your peace and have them make light of it or chance getting hurt.  Neither reaction felt good.

It is a testament to trusting her that i will admit when i feel hurt, when i feel she lost an opportunity to make me feel special.  i don’t know if me telling her will ever result in different behavior or if this is simply an exercise in me learning how to not withhold from her in any way.  So, i tell her, pout for a few minutes, and try to let it go.

From a slave perspective, she has every right to say no.  That is not the issue, for me.  It is being told yes and then having the treat taken away.  It makes me feel like i can’t trust in her, that i can’t let myself feel excited or happily surprised because it will likely end in hurt.  i don’t know what to do about that.

All i know to do is to continue to show love and respect and trust.  i can’t say i trust her if i won’t share hard things with her.  On some level, that means i do not trust her to be able to handle hard information.  So, even this act of telling her she made my five year old self sad and mad is an act of trust and obedience.  It doesn’t look like it, but that is exactly what it is for us.

i believe that it says a lot for her to want to hear those things, rather than have me hide them and take a step back from everything inside.

It was far more comfortable, to me, to not share things like this with her.  i have to remind myself-With enough time and persistence, anything feels natural over time.  i’m not hoarding my feelings anymore, and i think that is a good thing for us.

Showing respect, trust, love, and demonstrating obedience is about me and my path and are not conditional acts.  i feel new levels of respect for myself when we uncover another way to give something else over.

It is my hope that she feel inspired too.

Like everything else, only time will tell.  Everything has a rhythm in life, and right now we need some slowness, quietness, mystery.  Everything will happen as it should.

 

Balancing Act

Before we left for Residency, i asked Sir Raven to use me.  i also asked her to pack toys specifically and packed her dick myself.  She took it out of the suitcase, determined to control the shit out of packing, as always.  Heh.  She said the suitcase was for “necessary items,” to which i pointed out that this was going to be highly stressful for both of us, particularly me, and these were necessary items.

i was very disappointed in her when i unpacked and there were no toys, no nothing, despite me very clearly saying-several times-this was a need based thing right now.  i had already gone months without, had already dealt with a bunch of stress, and was directly appealing to her for support and for taking care of me.

i was even more disappointed in her when the same thing occurred for the Master slave conference.  Okay, so she packed a single small whip.  She never even told me she had done that and never used it.

i was also really disappointed that the few things we had discussed ahead of time and planned that were meant to be periods of time to have for just us, Daddy and little jade time, if you will-got cancelled.

First, it was the aquarium in Atlanta.  The only day they closed before 9pm was the only day i was out of school obligations before 2pm.  Had Sir Raven looked this up, i wouldn’t have spent a week looking forward to it to just be disappointed.  i looked it up the night before, because they had special tickets after 4pm until closing, and i had wanted to know if i needed to order them online.

Then the swimming pool was literally like an ice cube, and i have had far too many broken bones for that to have been anything but torture.

i cheered myself up by reminding us that the hotel at MSC has an indoor pool.

So, of course, when we got to MSC and i got an offer to go swimming with someone else, Sir Raven jumped at the chance to not be bothered with taking me.  And it hurt, because she had said that she was really disappointed about not getting to watch me swim in Atlanta, and i believed her.

It turned out that the offer didn’t make much sense to involve me that night, and we were going to go swimming the night of the cigar party.  That was after the formal dinner at our house.  Okay. Fine.  i can wait a bit longer, no problem-

except-

After the formal dinner, i started cleaning the kitchen up.  i had asked about doing that and got the okay from the other slaves, and since it was “my” kitchen it made sense for me to get it done anyhow.  Halfway through, i realized my tights were falling off my butt and i sort of hastily pulled them off and took my expensive dress of and replaced it with a regular dress.

Everything finished and my backpack packed with my swimming suit, i was ready to just relax for a bit.  i sat on the floor by Sir Raven, who said, “I’m going to ask you something, and you will say ‘yes.’ Do you have homework?”

Confused, because we had already discussed that earlier and i had everything done that i could actually do at that point, i just did what she told me to and said, “yes.”

“Good.  So you will stay here and do homework, and i will be going out to the Cigar party with the others, since you already took off your nice dress anyhow.”

i tried to explain that i had wanted to go too, and was sad to be excluded since it seemed very clear she didn’t want me to go.  She said that wasn’t true, and either could not or would not see how the way she set the conversation up was the reason why i was feeling this way.  We went a bit round and round then, me unsure of what changing my dress had to do with anything, and her acting a bit miffed as if i was playing some kind of female head game with her.

And so we went, got there, and found it had been cancelled and moved to the next night when none of us would be there.

The next day, i had been looking forward to a return to The Cheesecake Factory, because they had an awesome confetti cake and cheesecake that i had really wanted to try when all of us slaves got to go out to eat along Friday night.  Instead, i had brought back a slice i knew Sir Raven would enjoy with two spoons and ate just two bites before giving her the rest.  Now we were going to return as a large group, and i mentioned several times how i was excited to have the confetti cake.  It got cancelled.

i asked Sir Raven meekly if we could go alone and just have dessert together.  No.

Well, then could we go swimming?  No.

How about some sexy fun times?  No.

Sigh.  How about homework?  There is literally always something i could be reading.

All of these little disappointments build up and rattle around inside me.  It’s very frustrating because i otherwise had a really good time at both events.  There is so much good to say and focus on, and of course i have already done that.  But the little girl inside is really hurt about all of it.  Still.

i’m in another flare with a period, so now its a moot point for another week.

i’m really angry and worn out with the pain.  i’m aware that getting my needs met would reduce those flares.  She is aware that getting my needs met would reduce them too.  i just cannot-just truly cannot-understand why these things go on.

It’s hard for me too because since i promised to not take my little girl self away from her, it means i have to tell her that i’m hurt and disappointed in her.  That isn’t easy.  It feels extremely awkward around other people, for damn sure, but the alternative is that i go numb for a bit and absorb it.  SR has decided that isn’t good for us, so i have to tell her she hurts me.

The last couple days have been 24/7 intense pain, sharp knife like stabbing pain in my back and legs that keep falling asleep.  i’m exhausted, mentally and physically.  Ro cleaned up the kitchen and made lunches last night, and i felt really thankful but also a bit guilty.  When i point out she worked all day, God bless her, she points out that i did too.  And then she shooed me off to bed.  Intellectually, i get that i am needing the rest and sleep now.  Emotionally, i’m too worn out.

So i am getting chores done in bits.  The bedroom is clean, dusted, and Masters bed has fresh sheets.  The bathroom is scrubbed.  The kitchen is decent, though there is some more to be done.  i have a plan for dinner.  i’m going to wrap myself up in a soft blue nap blanket and have my nap bear, Levi, with me.

i knew with the last month of back-to-back crazy going on that i was going to suffer for a long time later.  It could have- and should have -been made better for me by just doing what i needed.  i know i didn’t deserve to be disappointed over things that we had the ability to do.  i know i deserve to feel special.  i do.

Sigh.  It is really hard to feel like i’m worth anything when i ask for her to just hold me and make me feel safe and she won’t.  She blames the fibro, or says she does it when i’m asleep, or some other excuse.  sometimes, i want to point out to her that when i ask her to cuddle me and she rejects me, she is rejecting the  very part of me she claims to love and need the most.  It is an area we need to work on.  She needs to help me balance.

i’ve been pretty terrrorized about Irma hitting Florida, because even though i know i shouldn’t care, my mother is there.  My Bigs are there.  Friends. My grandmother’s house.  Her grave.  My nephews are likely somewhere in Georgia, though of course i don’t know where.  So it was hard.

Florida seems to have mostly pulled through.  Sometimes, when the anxiety gets really high, i resort to checking facebook pages.  Is my brother there?  Is my mother okay?  Sometimes, i look and find nasty surprises.  Enough to remind me that i’m not crazy to never ever consider seeing them again, for any reason.  Enough to let me know that the nightmares are sometimes revving up for a reason, telling me that are not to be trusted to not find some new way to attack, given any chance.

So, i’m trying to feel some compassion for myself in all of this.  The last seven or eight weeks have been very stressful, and i’m trying to be kind to myself, trying to do the things that make me feel comfortable right now-even if it is eat ice cream or take extra pain meds.  Time for a nap so i can get some work done for school.  If i can manage to get enough done, maybe i will have time for a walk in the gardens before dinner.

Unpacking

We finally made it through August.  What a freaking whirlwind!  Two Spiritual birthdays, Onyx Pearl Bar night, Onyx Pearl group meeting, One week long Residency, One Amtrak ride from hell, and four days later….the Master Slave Conference.

The major takeaway of all of this for me is that Sir Raven and i are genuinely really tight, both within our dynamic and as a couple.  For the first time, she gave me the honor of shopping for needed things for her Spiritual Birthday along with other duties.  When we had little misadventures, we handled them with grace and humor.  With all of the stress-and this was extremely stressful for both of us-we never once had an unkind word or nasty exchange.  Sir Raven is always stressed this time of year from just the pressure of the Spiritual Birthdays, let alone adding all of this other stuff on top.

The misadventures included her controlling the shit out of everything so hard that we were packed and going out to the Amtrak a full day early and made it two stops from home before she double checked everything and we got off to call Amtrak.  This was partially a issue with Amtrak, which confused us by closing down Penn Station two weeks after we made our reservations and rerouting us.  It was also my Beloved Master reacting to the stress of the entire thing and missing a detail.

So there we were, both dripping in sweat because of the humidity and hauling suitcases up and down stairs, with me trying to call Amtrak with this damed automated thing that really doesn’t like my voice ever.  We finally got confirmation that it was tomorrow, with a time change, and i called Ro to tell her to cancel her wild party for the night. Heh.

While we were soaked in sweat and waiting for the train to take us back home, i leaned over and kissed her and laughed.  “This is exactly why we would be getting married in New York, because this would be totally us trying to get to the Altar, on the wrong day and dripping sweat.”  i had just been trying to hold things for her and remind her to drink her water, and she had just been trying to wipe my sweaty face with her already soaking wet handkerchief.  We laughed about the whole thing.

i realized how much being hers has changed me, in that when things like this happen, i want to soothe her more than anything.  There is absolutely no anger or annoyance or anything on my part.  It’s an opportunity to show grace, compassion, and that i’d follow her anywhere-even if it was a sweaty ride hauling what felt like half my body weight up and down stairs.  It is a reminder that she is human too.  It is a chance for me to show adoration, in remembrance of all of the little times she could find fault with me and doesn’t.

Our other misadventure was going back home, when our train got delayed four times, and we ended up not leaving Atlanta until midnight.  i had already made arrangements with the front desk to pay to stay late and we had then checked out before the delay notices came, so it wasn’t possible to just pay the half day rate and rest until 8pm.  That would have been better.  Nope.  We ended up chilling on the pool deck together, where they had really awesome sofa-like seating around private tables.  i colored.  i tried to go swimming but the pool literally felt ice cold and wasn’t going to happen.  We talked about setting money aside to go stay in a hotel locally together a few times a year, just for the opportunity to get away and fully connect.  We both really enjoyed after my classes (which ran from 7am-6pm) meeting up in the suite where they had wine and lots of fresh vegetables, salads, soup, and trays of cheese.

Actually, the hardest part of the Residency, for me, (other than the pain) was not being able to serve Sir Raven.  She pretty much always takes care of me in brand new spaces, or spaces where the lighting and people preclude me being able to serve drinks and snacks.  This place had bad lighting for me, and i was just unable to make her snack plates at all.  i tried once, desperate to serve, and made a mess.  Sir Raven took it all in stride, even going out each day to have a lunch ready for me at the pool deck, where we could sit together and enjoy being out of the building.

We both felt like we were in a non consensual leather contest, because-yes, we were always being watched-all of the students are.  And we stick out in any setting, so it was very easy to spot the blind girl and her stunning Master.

The residency experience itself was really awesome!  i felt really lucky with the professor and classmates i got.  She let everyone sit on the floor, even though i was the only person to do it for much of the class because the chairs were hellish.  She let everyone bring laptops, which helped a lot as i had been told we had to handwrite notes only.  We got taped and got lots of practice both being the counselor, and the client.  that was incredibly fun!  i was really humbled at all of the personal things that classmates shared.

At one point, there was a brief discussion about having to break confidentiality to report because it is our duty and obligation under certain considerations, and our professor remarked that these people whose job it is to respond to allegations of abuse have tremendous capacity to hurt.  She shared a personal story which illustrated her point.

All i could think of was sitting infront of a caseworker with a black eye almost swollen shut and second degree burns that were huge oozing painful boils on my hand.  The first thing i told her was i didn’t want to talk to her, that i didn’t want anything to happen to my mommy.  She replied that she had already talked to her, that my mother had told her i did this to myself, and that because i was worried about my mother-she was certain that i had hurt myself and blamed her.  She went on to say that abused children shouldn’t care what happens to their mothers and fathers.

As an adult, that is exactly what i would expect an abused child to be worried about-the person who hurt them, especially if that person is a family member.

The strangest thing-to me-was that it was my right eye that was nearly swollen shut (the only eye that sees anything) and my left hand that suffered from an iron (i’m left handed).  So even looking at this-i’d guess that if a person was going to self harm, they would have at least damaged body parts that they don’t actively need all day long.  But i had already been checked into another psychiatric hospital for “self harm” so it didn’t really matter to anyone what happened to me.

Still, it was a bit of an interesting preshadowing that i remember thinking with the lovely Olivia if she was looking at the scars on my hands and then that came up days later.  i don’t often think about those things at all.  Suffice to say, i have been damaged by any person that i tried to report abuse to lifelong.  Whatever preconceived notions they have about what abused girls and women are, they have unilaterally used their position to re abuse me.  Even the most benevolent cases, where psychiatrists told me they knew without me telling, but simply couldn’t guarantee that i would end up in a placement in foster care that wouldn’t also get me abused was hard to handle.  Florida, at that time, was ripe with abuse and mistreatment happening in foster care homes, in particular those that were deemed “theraputic homes.”  Those homes got substantially more money for taking a couple of extra classes.  Guess where you went if you were already labelled crazy by your mother dumping you off in psychiatric hospitals after knowingly and inappropriately drugging you?  Yep.  Those homes.

So, that was a bit to unpack and think about.

i am always trying to make sure that i am not becoming a therapist out of some fucked up desire to save the world.  Or me.  And i’m not.  Inside, somewhere, is that beaten up kid and i wish that i was able to feel compassion for her, but i just can’t.  i couldn’t at the time.  My dispassionate observer was already there, coldly laying out the facts, the number of years left on my sentence as a child before i could leave her.  Of course, by then i was unable to even formulate that idea.

And on that note, more updates later.  i’m going to have more coffee, take a nice hot shower, and get ready for the farmers market.  i’m behind in making the sauce that i put up for winter.  A vat of sauce is on the menu for today, and i invited a friend over to smoke and talk and do con drop together.  🙂