Tuesday, August 24, 2010

That's What I Get For Thinking

I've been gone a lot longer than I should've been, but a lot of things have happened.  A LOT.  So I apologize for my absence and apologize for what is likely to be a very anti-climactic post.

After a lot of thinking and talking with several friends of mine (one in particular helped a lot), I've come to the conclusion that I don't have it in me to be a slave.  Yes, I know that being a slave is what this whole blog is about, and I'm sorry if I disappointed, but it is what it is.

I am submissive, the personality trait.  Not always, but a large enough percentage of the time to say that, yes, I am fairly passive and flexible and willing to accommodate.  On the other hand, I've had that submissive nature of mine kicked around, stomped on, hacked into pieces, set on fire, and the ashes pissed on so many times in the last 26 years that I'm simply not at a place in my life where I can peacefully accept "slave" as the way I want to live.

I've been exploited and fucked over more times than I can count, and it's because I don't have the ability to set boundaries.  Do you think I WANT to be this way or that I somehow ENJOY people using me and then callously shoving me aside?  Not hardly.  I've just felt my whole life like I'm not good enough, and I've had that reinforced by my mother, my unfortunate choice of friends and relationship partners, and so on.  I guess a large part of me feels that I HAVE to bend over backwards to accommodate everyone in order to be liked or valued or whatever.

But, newsflash:  Nobody likes or values the spineless person, the doormat, the one with no self-respect.  If she doesn't respect herself, why should anyone else respect her?

And so because of that, I've built up a whole lot of resentment.  I mean, a WHOLE lot.  And right now, I'm not able to give that of myself because it makes me feel worthless...inferior...used (and not in a good way)...disposable.

I will remain submissive in certain ways because that's just who I am.  That's not going to change.  But I'm not able to let myself be used at the detriment of my own sanity anymore.  Maybe someday when I don't have huge, gaping emotional wounds, but right now, no.  I need the freedom to get what I need out of this relationship more than I need to be told what to do.

Which brings me to my second point.

I feel really lost right now.  I tried and tried and tried to force myself into that "slave" role, even though I knew I wasn't really capable of doing it, because I wanted to have a place, a special place, in B.'s life.  Now that place is gone.  I'm not the slave, the special slave, anymore and certainly not the wife or anything else for that matter.  I'm just some fat girl he keeps around for reasons known only to him.

It sounds stupid, I know.  But my brain is such that it won't rest until I can accurately label things.  I'm very verbally-oriented, I suppose.  If I don't have a name for things, I don't know how to relate to them.

And so now I'm just sort of floating, trying to figure it all out, and failing miserably.  I don't know how to handle these things, and I would imagine I'm just going to screw up more than I fix.  That's usually what I manage to do.  *Rolls eyes*

Part of me thinks it'd just be a lot easier to go back to being told what to do.  But I reckon I've already betrayed myself for long enough, haven't I?

Monday, April 12, 2010

Security And The Evolution Of A Relationship

I hesitate to post this, for fear it might do more harm than good at this point, but I certainly don't mean it in a bad way. I'm hoping to help, rather than hurt. *Crosses fingers and hopes that's what I manage to do*

This post actually concerns two things, but I sorta think they tie in together. At least they do in my own mind. Who knows if it'll make sense to anyone else?

Ok, the first part concerns something J. said the other day. She told me that she can't understand how two people can be as drawn to one another as B. and I are without wanting the type of relationship that he and she have. I understood implicitly why I didn't want that type of relationship, but I wasn't entirely sure how to make it make sense.

I was talking about this to my roommate, and she kinda pointed out something that made it click a little better in my head. She said, "For J., marriage equals security. For you, it doesn't."

Wow. Duh. I'm an idiot. Why didn't I think of that on my own? *Facepalm*

I can completely grasp why someone else might believe that marriage equals security. It just...doesn't in my mind. I've always felt that too many people I know jumped into getting married or whatever because they thought it was a good idea at the time. You know, you graduate college (or high school, depending) and get a job. What do you do next? Oh, yeah. Get married.

In my opinion, for most people, marriage is something that's done for stupid reasons. Men and women are equally guilty of this, by the way. I'm not blaming either sex for that.

Obviously, it's fairly easy to get divorced. But even if people stay married, it doesn't mean anything. My mother and father have been making one another miserable for the last 36? 37? 38? (I forget exactly) years. Staying together only means you have more endurance than most people.

Until I was in college, I never really saw examples of happy marriages. People in my family don't get divorced. They stay together and drive each other batshit. My uncle supposedly beats and rapes my aunt, but she stays with him because "it would be embarrassing" to leave and "have people know." (I say supposedly because my family loves drama, and who knows if it really happens or not? If it does, my cousin is a piece of shit for not shooting his father on behalf of his mother, but then who am I to comment? My roommates and I saw a bunch of "Stop Domestic Violence" posters around campus and decided we needed shirts that said, "Stop Domestic Violence: Hit A Bitch Back!" So maybe I'm not the best person to pass judgment here.)

Anyway, I digress again.

So, to recap, to me, marriage does not equal security, even if the couple remains together because it's entirely possible to live with someone for a zillion years and completely Hate. Their. Fucking. Guts.

And that's why I don't give three shits about ever getting married. Unless he's really rich and about to die and leave me everything. That's completely different.

Mind you, I don't think people who see it differently than I do are wrong. It's just a difference in opinion, and I'm pretty used to marching to the beat of my own drummer in most facets of life, anyhow.

But in spite of the fact that I've laughed in the face of every dude who ever told me he was going to marry me (how's that working out for you, buddy?), I do want security in this relationship. I think everyone wants that when they truly love someone; it just takes different forms for different people.

Which brings me to part two of this blog.

Lemme go ahead and throw out the obvious here. Slavery is illegal in this country and all other First World countries. Also, I don't really qualify as a slave (too bitchy and stubborn), so it's a moot point.

However, as I said in my previous blog, I do believe that there are people in this world who perform best as the property of someone else. And since it's not exactly like I can be snatched up by the first idiot who comes along and collared and branded a la the Gor books (thank God 'cause that's lame as shit), it requires a bit more creativity. In my case, I fully believe that my emotional inability to walk away from this man for any length of time does constitute a sort of intangible ownership of me.

Blech. It makes sense in my own head, but none whatsoever once I type it out.

I think all relationships have some expectation of evolution by the participants. Hence the reason bitches get all pissed when their relationships with drunken frat boys aren't "going anywhere."

Again, I think this goes back to my previous blog. I won't be happy with being able to be a house pet a couple of days once a month my whole life. Right now, that's what I'm stuck doing, but it's not what I want forever.

Ultimately, what I want is twofold. Number one, I want to be close enough that anytime I need to see them, I can just pop over there and do it. Number two, I want them to take more control over my life. In the ways that they want, of course. If you've got a slave/pet/little girl type thing, you might as well use it, right? Plus, I think it gives me a sense of security in that if they don't like something I'm doing, they can change it, rather than try to live with it and eventually pitch me out on my ass if it drives them nuts long enough.

Beyond that, I have no idea. I also don't know if this blog has helped or hurt, but I hope it's the former. I was sort of on a roll, and then I got distracted and lost my train of thought. So I'm going to stop now before I make a bigger mess of this post. I'll be glad to clarify if necessary, though.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Word Vomit

I've been thinking about this one for quite some time, but I wasn't entirely sure how to put it into words. Ok, so I'm *still* not exactly sure how to put it into words, but whatever. I'm going to try, anyway, and will come back and clarify later, if necessary.

I know this is a fairly controversial point of view, but since when has that really bothered me?

I believe that there are certain people--and, yes, they are most likely few and far between--whose place in the world is in the ownership of another. Yeah, I believe slavery has valid applications, and not just "ooh, fun sex slavery," either.

I don't think the need to be owned has anything to do with age, sex, race, religion, financial status (or lack thereof), or anything else. I just think that there are certain people in the world who function at their best only when they are under control of another, kinky sex or no.

I'd never advocate for slavery as an institution, simply because slavery as an institution is too rife with corruption and exploitation to be valid. However, on the other hand, I think the lack of that sort of outlet to the people who most need it is less than healthy as well.

As you may have guessed from this little monologue, I am one of these people. If reincarnation is something that actually happens, I was almost surely a house slave in ancient Rome.

Sure, it's easy for people who don't get it (and that'd be most of the people on the face of the planet) to say there's something wrong with this particular mindset. You can say I'm a doormat. You can say that if I'd set boundaries, people wouldn't take advantage of me. You can say that it stems from a lack of self-esteem or whatever mental illness happens to be de rigeur at the moment. You can say that I need to learn a more adult way of dealing with the world, that I need to grow up and take responsibility, blah, blah, blah. You wouldn't be saying anything I've never said to myself.

You can argue that I'm this way because my mother hardly ever let me out of her sight until I was 17 or so. You would quite possibly be right.

However, what's really more humane? Forcing someone like me into years of therapy, hell-bent on changing his/her natural predilections, and making him/her believe that there's something inherently wrong with him/her, and ultimately failing and making everyone involved miserable, or allowing that person to embrace what he/she is in a non-exploitative manner?

I've trained horses for years. Not green-breaking them, but refining them. And I can tell you right now, it's a hell of a lot easier to work with what you've got than it is to try to make a Clydesdale into a racehorse. You end up with a lot happier horse in the end, too.

So if people can agree that it's kinder to let a horse be what it is, then why's that not true for humans?

I have a degree in psychology, and I can tell you unequivocally that psychology, as a profession, and pop psychology, as a pastime for armchair therapists, has failed humanity miserably. Miserably. Read Martin Seligman if you need criticism of the discipline from someone who's a lot smarter than I am.

But I digress.

Anyway, if you're not convinced, then go ahead and stop reading because nothing I'll say from this point on will change your mind.


Ok. You're still with me.

I think that there are hallmarks of someone like me, someone for whom being property is a viable option--and, yes, there have been psychological studies done which demonstrate that for most people, the loss of freedom is devastating, but for a few oddities, it's not. Let's look at me, for example, because I'm an unrelenting narcissist, and this blog is about me, after all.

Yes, I was extremely sheltered for most of my life. I'm also not a dumbass. I'm capable of taking care of myself, in a perfunctory sort of way. I can take care of the basics, but as for the rest, I don't really give a shit. I don't really lack ambition. I can do whatever needs doing, but I'm not very good at knowing what needs doing. I lack direction on my own.

I'm also incredibly self-destructive if there's not someone around to stop me. I won't go into this in any sort of depth, but imagine every self-destructive behavior known to man except drugs, and you pretty much have the portrait of me.

Then, there's the compelling evidence that I simply perform better when I'm told to do something than when I have to figure it out myself. On my own, I waffle and waver and never really get anywhere. Call it Hamlet Syndrome. I have no impulse control, and I basically just do whatever the fuck strikes my fancy at the time, whether it's a good idea or not.

So, yes. Inability to make decisions. Lack of direction. Lack of willpower. That's not even bringing up the inherent desire to please, the way I cave to whatever the strongest influence in my life is, etc.

I'm probably carrying about twice the weight I should be carrying. I've never been a small girl, but I'm disgustingly huge now. I hate to look at myself. But on my own, I'll never really do anything about it. I'll try. For about three days. That's pretty much how long it takes my willpower to run out.

But my Master told me to start exercising, not for myself, but for him. I've been steadily at it for nearly two weeks now. Yeahhhh....

He told me once that one of two things happens to people like me. Either we find ourselves in abusive relationships, one after the other, or we somehow manage to fall into a situation where our need to be a possession, of sorts, is used for good, rather than for evil. Now, honestly, I'm too damned mean and stubborn for the former. (My nutjob ex once threw a phone at me, and I calmly picked it up, turned around, and slung it back at him, then advanced on him with one of those crazy, sociopathic smiles that you normally see on the villains in horror movies, saying, "What now? What NOW?!?!?!" I think he was afraid I was about to slice him to bits or something.) Somehow I got lucky enough to get the latter. Kinky sex notwithstanding.

I know, without question, that if he told me to kill myself, I'd do it. In fact, some of my darkest emotionally masochistic fantasies involve him deciding he doesn't want me anymore, but as a reward for my faithful service, he tortures me to death, rather than letting me go and forcing me to face all that release would entail.

Yeah, I'm fucked up. Shut up.

The upshot of which is that I really believe I need more of this type of control in my life. I'm afraid I'll never do anything or be anything worthwhile otherwise. I obviously suck at doing things without it. Not to mention how good, how secure, how WHOLE it makes me feel.

So whatever. Call me crazy, call me whatever. The truth is, I need it. I need my whole life to be subject to the whims of my Owners. Not just parts of it. Not just, "Hey, do our laundry when you're here." All of it. Not that I think I'd be micromanaged. That's not our style. Plus, eventually, I'd go psycho. Just tell me what you need done and get the hell out of my way, please. I need something to work towards and someone who really wants to me accomplish it.

There's a line from the old Rob Thomas/Santana collaboration from back in the late 90s, early 00s ("Smooth") that goes, "I would change my life to better suit your moods."

Yeah. That's pretty much it.

Anyway, I've been awfully long-winded. The point is, I suck at school, at work, at life, period. And since none of us are independently wealthy, I guess being a real live house slave is pretty much out of the question right now. So I need direction. I need to be more under the thumbs of my Owners to get my life out of its current shithole, or else I'm pretty sure I'll be in this godawful state of ickiness forever.

God, it's gotta be hell to be an Owner. 'Cause when your pet looks at you and goes, "Here's my shit. Now fix it," that's gotta be a horrible feeling. But, yeah. Here's my shit. Help me fix it?

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Pouty Little Girl

I've touched on it before, but it's not something I talk about much. The truth is, I have way more problems than I'm wont to admit to. Again, I don't like to talk about it because I hate to burden people with my bullshit. But I think, given the way I feel at the moment, it may be better to explain than let the Owner people think it's their fault or whatever.

First and foremost, I'm nuts, and it's really nobody's fault except mine.

But there are times in my life when I feel a dark cloud settling overhead. It doesn't happen often, really. A couple of times a year, maybe. I can usually keep it away the rest of the time. I keep doing things to take my mind off of it, and I try never to dwell on it. Even that sometimes doesn't keep it away, though.

I feel the dark cloud settling overhead. And while I'm aware of its existence, I can no more stop it than I can stop the sun from coming up tomorrow.

I don't know what's wrong. I don't know what causes it. I just wish it didn't happen. Even though I force myself to keep doing whatever I have to do, I really don't feel like doing anything other than curling up in bed and never getting out again.

I'm drained physically and mentally. I'm tired of people needing me all the time. I swear to God, I'm surrounded by the biggest bunch of life force vampires on the face of the planet.

I just don't want my Master and Mistress to think it has anything to do with them. It doesn't. In fact, I have no idea what causes it. I don't want them to think that my bad mood and my general ickiness is their fault.

Mostly, I just want to hide somewhere and cry. It doesn't mean I don't still love them, though.

I'm just being a strange little girl again.

The only thing I hope is that if I get in a really black mood, they won't let me push them away. Sometimes, I do that because I think they'd be better off without me. I'll try not to do it, but I pray that even if I do, they won't allow me to get away with it.

I'm only seven, and I don't always know what's best for me. :( But I really do love my Master and Mistress lots. I hope they'll be half as glad to see me on Thursday as I will be to see them.

Monday, March 1, 2010

The Non-Invoking Of Plan Z

So it's been a year now since I became my Owner people's little girl. (Actually, I think it's been a little more than a year because I can never keep up with stuff like that, and I'm too lazy to go back and try to figure it out, especially since it's not relevant here, anyway.)

A year (or so) ago, I expected this to be, hands down, the hardest thing I'd ever done. I promised myself that I would stick it out for a year, come hell or high water, and then I'd re-evaluate and decide what to do next. Ultimately, I figured that when everything went to shit, L. and I would invoke Plan Z, our nuclear option for when there's nothing else here for us which involves us getting rid of almost everything we own and taking what's left to one of the small white trash towns in the Florida panhandle that's far enough away from the beach that we could afford to live there.

Yes, I'm ashamed to admit that I went into this expecting to fail. And fail miserably.

I doubt I was the only one, though.

But I knew I had to try, to give it my best shot. That way, when the inevitable running away on my part happened, I wouldn't have anything to regret.

Along the way, I've more than once found myself looking at rental places and jobs in Florida while I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Strangely, it hasn't, though.

Looking back, it feels as if it's been much longer than a single year. More like fifty. I don't mean that in a bad way, though. It's just that a whole lot has changed over a fairly short period of time.

Throughout most of this time, I've kept one foot outside the door. It's a failing of mine; I always make sure to have another option open. But some time ago--three-ish months or so ago--I realized that I wanted this to work. Not in the perfunctory "oh, I need to do what I can, so that when it all goes to hell in a handbasket, I can say I did what I could and then walk away" way. But in the "I can't live without my Owner people" way.

So I waited my year like I said I was going to do. And I re-evaluated. And I'm not invoking Plan Z.

I do still want to leave *this* town, though. But instead of leaving to go farther away from my Owner people, I want to go closer to them. There are a number of factors that are interfering with this at the moment, and I want to talk to them about the whole thing pretty soon. (After My Cousin's Big Fat Redneck Wedding fiasco is over, that is. Maybe next week/weekend when I go over to visit.) It's just a little too complicated to type out in a blog. Plus, I'm kind of tired right now and would like to go to bed in a few minutes.

Anyway, I guess what I wanted to say is this: Somehow, I changed. Somehow, the little girl who was so terrified of committing to anything that she didn't even like signing year-long leases for apartments has transformed. (Well, in a sense, anyway. I still get bored way too easily and will probably never be able to "settle down" in the commonly accepted manner, but I've mellowed a lot, at least for me.)

I'm not just here for the party and ready to bail when it's too much to deal with. For the first time in my life, I guess I've actually made a commitment to something. It's a weird feeling.

So, in the end, I guess I was *kinda* right. I've made it through my year, and I've re-evaluated, and I've decided to run. Only I'm planning on running toward them instead of away from them. ;)

Also, Florida's not entirely out of the question for eternity. I'd be ok with dragging them down there with me, should I ever manage to run into the money for a cottage on the beach. :)

The Little Pet Girl Who Loves Her Owners More Than Any Other Little Pet Girl In The World

Monday, February 15, 2010

More Thoughts

I can't say that I'll be terribly upset if I'm snowed in here again at B. and J.'s house tonight. ;)

I have random thoughts swimming around, and since I have nothing better to do today, I think I'll throw it all out and see if anything sticks. :)

I can tell that my Owner people are trying very hard to make me a happy little girl. And I appreciate it lots. And I'm furiously trying to shove down the voice in the back of my head that's telling me I don't deserve it, I suck at life, they're going to get sick of you and tell you to go away, etc.

For the little that comes out of my mouth most of the time, there's a lot that goes on inside me. And while I'm really, really lazy physically, I still have to keep moving constantly, even if it's just mentally moving. I don't do well with stasis. Stasis feels to me like Damocles's sword is hanging precariously over my head, just waiting to fall on me. It makes me uneasy. I don't know why.

When I was little, I liked to sit around and read a lot. Well, I still do that, but I'm going somewhere with this, I promise. I could (and still can) read all day, or, at least, until I ran out of something interesting to read. My mother would laugh at me because she'd look in on me at one point, and I'd be on the couch. Then, she'd look in on me a little while later, and I'd be on the chair. A little later, I'd be in the recliner. And after that, I'd be back on the couch again. Even something as quiet and unobtrusive as reading required motion, even if it was just a tiny bit. I'm still that way.

Some people can't take silence. They have to talk and talk and talk to fill the void because it scares them to death. Those people annoy the FUCK out of me and make me want to do violent, bloody things to them. But I'm not much better, I guess. They abhor silence; I abhor stillness.

Why am I babbling on about this? I'm not entirely sure, really.

B. and J. have probably noticed while I've been here, I've been in a bit of a frenzy. Nothing major. It's just that when things go well, I keep moving, keep moving, keep moving because I think my forward motion makes everything continue to go well. That if I stop, everything wonderful and beautiful stops, too. I do things like cooking and laundry and whatever because I want to make them happy. But I also want so badly to please them to make the happy place stay there.

And then when I'm sad, I stop. And the stopping makes things so much worse. I hate myself for stopping. I get convinced that it's all my fault, that if I'd tried a little harder, done a little more, everyone would be happy. It's hard to get me to go again once I stop. So I rebel against it with all my nature. Hence the reason I am not a nice person when I'm bored. There is a rage inside--not an angry rage, but an ever-present impetus to do, do, do--that is rarely ever silent. Again, it doesn't have to be physical "doing." The mental "doing" is most likely the reason that I have such a hard time falling asleep at night.

My crazy works in mysterious ways.

Funny, really, that someone who prizes motion and freedom so much wants to be owned so much, isn't it? Those two desires are often deeply in conflict with one another.

B. asked me once, a long time ago, why I was so drawn to him. Not to being a kinky perv with him just as the vehicle to my fantasies, but why I was drawn to HIM in particular. I told him that he was the only person in the world I'd ever met who I felt like I could be both silent AND still with. The only person with whom I felt I could just float without thinking, without moving, without doing, even if only for a little while.

I can't do it all the time with him, mind you. I can't even do it most of the time. It just comes in short little bursts that are often over just as quickly as they start. I can go for months without ever having it happen. But those moments do exist.

Anyway, I tell you all that to tell you this.

Every now and then, I need to be knocked down, to be stilled, to be compelled to accept the lack of motion, to float somewhere blissfully motionless in my own mind.

It doesn't work just by tying me up tight or mindlessly applying force, by the way. I don't really know how it works. But I know that sometimes it does. Like Friday night, I fought it all the way. But something happened on Saturday, and they got through to me. It didn't last that long, but I remember losing some time. I was still and peaceful.

And while I can't remain in that state of stasis long, the sense of peacefulness remains. I did laundry and cooked today, not in hopes that they would like me more or that they would pet me and tell me what a good girl I am for doing it (not that I'd turn that down, though), but because my submissiveness runs along an arc. And the quieter the "go, go, go" rage inside me is, the more submissive I am. And when I'm submissive, I want to serve, etc., etc.

I'm babbling, I know, but I hope there are some gems of truth to be taken away from here. The more difficult I am to deal with, the more I need the forward motion. When I fight or pout or sulk, I often just need a change of pace. And when that happens, every now and then, it's possible to get through to me enough to kill that instinct if only for a little while.

I feel very little, very small, very submissive. I want nothing more than to be the center of their universe for just a little while like they are mine right now. I'd put my hair in pigtails for the remainder of my visit if my hair was long enough. (L. and I have decided to stay through tomorrow, whatever happens with the weather. I don't really trust my four *ahem* not quite bald, but close e-damn-nough tires on the truck when the weather is iffy.) I MIGHT be hoping for a "play with the little girl" night tomorrow. *Whistles innocently*

By the way--and this is probably completely unrelated to the rest of this post, but I thought I'd point it out, anyway--, I finally figured out how to describe my relationship to my Owner people. Doesn't sound like a big deal, I know, but I am one of those people who needs to put words and images and metaphors with my feelings to make it all make sense for me.

You know how some bitches are like, "My Master is like my Daddy, and he disciplines me and recognizes my best interests better than I do" and some are like, "He has total control over my life, and I don't question anything," and other kind of nonsensical bullshit? Here's mine.

I worship B. and J., like any pet does with its owners, like any little girl does with her big people. Love and worship. But I don't see them like the infallible, impersonal, cosmic God or any of those other incarnations of God where He/She/It/We/They are always wonderful and perfect and glorious, and we should never question any of His/Her/Its/Our/Their decisions or motives or whatever.

I see them more like the Greek or Roman gods: imperfect, fallible, given to roughly equal measures of capriciousness and charm. Somehow greater than human, though not without their own weaknesses and failings, yet still, STILL somehow worthy of my complete devotion.

And, yes, I am the capricious follower as well. Sometimes in lock step with their every whim, and sometimes no. Sometimes self-absorbed and petty, sometimes reverent and self-sacrificing.

They are my loves. I *do* worship them, at least in a sense. And while they can be volatile and whimsical at times, they have yet to turn me into a spider for being obnoxious. And even if I go off the deep end periodically, I'm still devoted to them, to this way of life. For some reason, this metaphor sits much better with me than pretty much any other one I've heard or can think of on my own.

Meh, don't mind me. I get caught up in my own brain and my love of classical allusions sometimes. You should read my poetry if you think this is bad. *Rolls eyes*

Ok, time for a sandwich and bed. I have a long day of being a little girl ahead of me tomorrow. :p

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

New Year, New Blog

So I don't normally make New Year's resolutions because half the time I can never remember the things to keep them and the rest of the time--like the "lose weight" resolutions--I just kinda say screw it and don't care anymore. But there are things about myself I'd like to work on, so I reckon now is as good a time as ever. And since I don't really keep personal blogs anymore, except this one, I may as well write about that here.

The first thing I want to do is get serious about this stupid job of mine, since it looks like I'm going to be stuck doing it for quite some time. I want to make twice the amount of money I made last year. Now that I have two jobs and an affiliate line that pays very well, this is probably a reasonable goal.

This will allow me to do several things, like get out of debt, not be broke and worrying about money all the time, not feel stressed and guilty when I want to take a day or two to myself without working, etc.

I believe three consistent 10-hour shifts per week, plus another three days of working whatever hours I can, and one day where I don't work at all will accomplish this. The three 10-hour shifts will give me 30 hours and then the other three days should give me enough hours to make anywhere from 40-50 hours a week, reasonably. Then, there'll be one complete day off where I can do whatever I want and not even think about work, which will help me avoid burnout, where I go, "Fuck this, I'm not doing it," for, like, a week at a time.

Last year, I averaged about 33 hours per week and less than $300 per week with one job (not counting dispatch hours). So it stands to reason that at 45ish hours per week with two jobs, a high-paying affiliate, various other places to try and make money, and counting dispatch pay, $500-$600 per week (amongst all this) would be a reasonable goal, yes?

At $600 per week, I can pay all the bills I owe in basically a week and a half. Another week would cover gas, food, and the occasional movie ticket, drink at the bar, or shirt or pair of shoes. The remaining week and a half could be saved for emergencies, paying off credit card debt, paying for school, paying on student loans if I don't end up in library school, thus getting yet another deferment, health insurance, or whatever else.

The fewer money worries I have, the more time I'll have to spend time on things that actually, you know, matter to me. Like spending time with my loves, getting the hell out of this town in a few months, having my car fixed, going to the beach more than once a year, etc.

Ok, so, yeah, that was probably way more detailed than necessary, but I have a tendency to do that at times. So...money is the first thing.

The other thing is that I'm going to try to be a little more cognizant of my own moods and how they tend to affect the people around me. (This is probably more easily said than done.)

Thing is, I have this kind of addictive personality that craves constant stimulation. And if I get bored (or hurt, which is usually caused by inactivity, more by something that someone *didn't* do than something someone did do), I try to create what I need, often with disastrous results.

So I know I need to be more observant, realize when I'm feeling restless, and point it out before I do something stupid, rather than much, much after.

Like, I realize I really suck at being a slave. Really, really suck. I don't have the constancy and the stability to place myself at that level all the time. Sometimes, I can, and sometimes, I can't, but I can't be relied upon in that kind of way, unfortunately.

Despite the name of this blog (*ahem* I had such high hopes), I'm about equal parts pet and little girl with more than incidental slavish tendencies with enough sadistic bitch and crazy and good-girlfriendish-type-if-you-don't-mind-the-inability-to-stay-in-one-place-for-any-length-of-time-and-the-near-insatiable-sex-drive-and-the-occasional-desire-to-break-things thrown in for good measure.

(So sue me. I'm crazy. I have no stable, inner, unchanging core and can spend 2 hours describing myself, and you won't know me any better than you did before I started.)

In spite of my occasional tendencies to throw it all out there and see what sticks, there's still a lot people don't know about me. *Shrug*

Anyway, I'm about to derail my own train of thought, so let me try to drag myself back to the pet and little girl thing.

I believe in a lot of ways, I have been a.) talking to too many people who take themselves WAY too damned seriously (which is something I never have been able to do and never will be able to do for any length of time because, really, let's face it: my life and I are just too damned funny), and b.) embattled in a ridiculous battle of semantics in my own head (English major) that has culminated in idiotic expectations of myself which the Owner-people never had of me in the first place, but because I'm more than mildly batshit, I have managed to secretly resent them for, anyway.

Ok, I have to take a small break and point to the paragraph above. That paragraph = one freakin' sentence. Who do I think I am? Faulkner? Actually, I hope not because he's boring as all get-out. If we're choosing Southern writers we'd like to be compared to today, I pick Flannery O'Connor. She may have been a.) dying and b.) nuts, but at least, by God, she was interesting.

Yay, Southern Gothic!

Err...anyway. I find the pet/little girl thing interesting because they're two different manifestations (depending on what kind of mood I'm in) of basically the same desire: to be loved unconditionally and accepted as who/what I am. The pet girl is usually silly, playful, and snuggly. The little girl is usually silly, playful, and snuggly. The overarching aspects are the same; it's the details that are different, I guess.

B. says sometimes that I'm a natural-born submissive. I guess he's right. If it's true, then it's damn sure gotten me in a lot of trouble in my life, hence the reason for defense mechanism after defense mechanism to keep people the fuck away from me. I hate it, resent it, utterly despise it in a lot of ways. I think my life would've been much better up until this point had that not been my nature.

Thus, why I serve and want to please people I love who have shown me that they won't take advantage of my nature. That, I think, is what makes me a slave to those people more than anything. Service is completely wrapped up in love for me, and I can't extricate the two.

And, like an actual pet or an actual little girl, my love is unconditional. This is another one of those things I've been cursed with. It doesn't just extend to lovers, but to friends and such as well. I tend to try to please people I love. They know this and take advantage of it. I hate myself for letting them get away with it, but I can't stop it because I can't stop loving them, thus I can't stop trying to please them.

So I think in order to be the good little pet/little girl/slave-type thing I want to be, I have to stop loathing that part of me, and I have to know that my Owner-people don't secretly hate/resent/despise it, too. I "know" it intellectually now, but there's an awfully big difference in "knowing" it intellectually and truly feeling it down deep inside. It's like the difference in telling yourself that you love someone and actually loving him/her.

Randomly, I keep going back to the mental image of the dog on the really, really long retractable leash.

My Owner-people hold the end of this huge retractable leash. Most of the time, I'm pretty content to walk along within arm's length or so of them. It makes me feel safe, secure, happy, stable, loved, what have you. I'm mostly well-trained and will follow along happily at whatever distance they decide is best. But every now and then, I feel the need to chase a squirrel, and there's not much that can stop me, really. Even so, they've still got the other end, and it's still going to be there, however far I chase the squirrel.

I just need to know they will be there after the squirrel-chasing episode is over, and I come trotting back. Little girls/pets don't do so well when the leash is dropped. :(

Then, on my end, I need to get better at recognizing the approaching squirrel. Or at least not nearly violently ripping their arms off when I tear out unexpectedly.

This is going to seem random and not connected with anything, but I think it is, if only in my ADD brain. You know what I'm so afraid of in dealing with people or situations that are unfamiliar to me? It's not knowing how to act. It's the fear of being abandoned by the people I do know who are there with me. It's being left alone to deal with a situation I have no control over. I'm not agoraphobic. I rarely flip out before going into Wal-Mart or whatever. That is a very limited sort of contact with people, one that largely has a script for what to do and how to act, and rarely do people deviate far from it. There's not much I have to say other than, "Hey, how are you?" and "Thank you" when I'm finished.

I'm afraid of the unknown. Afraid that in my complete ignorance of whatever social mores that people hold about this encounter with me, I will violate them all because I'm a social retard, and they will hate me.

It's hard to screw up,"Hey, how are you?" It's a lot easier to screw up something more complex.

I guess that, too, is the root of my fears in my relationship. There are certain things I don't know how to deal with, and I'm afraid I'll always choose the wrong way, and they'll hate me for it.

Like a pet, like a little girl, I respond best to consistency, to knowing the boundaries beforehand. Literally, the "No matter what, we will always love you, but if you act in such-and-such way, we may not like you very much. We much prefer that you do 'x' instead" spiel. That way, I don't have to worry that if I do 'x,' they'll hate me. I'll already know what is expected.

Yeah. Make lists. "What We Want From Our Little Girl." No, I wouldn't think it condescending in the slightest. The creator of the "Mittens" name wasn't too far off, really.

I dunno. I feel like there's still a bunch of stuff churning around in my head, but I think I should probably stop because I need to go to bed, and because I've already written a novella. I just kinda wanted B. and J. to know that I have been thinking about some of the things that they've said and that I am willing to work on things about me that suck at life.

I'm a bad slave. But I think I can be a real good pet. Or something.