Wednesday, December 2, 2009


B. asked me to make this post last week, but I haven't been feeling very eloquent. Actually, I still don't feel very eloquent, but I'll see what I can come up with, anyway.

I got a new everyday collar for my birthday. Yay! That makes me happy because I couldn't wear my old one much, since the rivets on it aggravated my nickel allergy and made my neck itch like whoa. So now I have a new collar that won't make me itch. :) Fabulous!

And that was supposed to be a neat little segueway into what being collared means to me, but my English major brain is failing me tonight....

So now I'm going to talk about what being collared means to me. (Heh.)

It means they want to keep me. It means in spite of the fact that I'm whiny, annoying, self-centered, self-absorbed, egotistical, narcissistic, cynical, bitter, spiteful, pseudo-intellectual, moody, prone to fits of brooding, unnecessarily cruel at times, lazy, unmotivated, unambitious, completely batshit fucking crazy and probably two steps from the nut house at any given moment (I could keep going all night with these), they still want to keep me.

God knows what form of insanity they've been afflicted with, but I hope they never find a cure.

It means I'm theirs to do what they want with. They're smart enough to know that owning me isn't exactly like owning a really stupid animal that you have to lord over all the time. I always use horse comparisons, so I figure why not here, too? From a plain old trail horse that does nothing but mindlessly ride people around on a dude ranch all day, I'd expect total and immediate obedience, no questions asked. I'm willing to tolerate a few quirks out of a good show horse, though, because to take those away from him/her may mean taking away his/her fire and will to perform brilliantly every time, and it's just not worth crushing World Grand Champion material just because the horse doesn't like to stand still in the three seconds it takes me to get on. (See, there's the massive ego again.) The fantastic ones are worth the minor bullshit you have to put up with to keep them functioning at their very best, and I hope that's how they feel about the whiny, annoying, self-centered, etc. me.

However, in the end, they're still the ones holding the leash, regardless of how loose or tight it may be at any given time. The collar itself is a comfort to me, in that I know no matter where I am or what I'm doing, they're the ones who have complete control over me. I'll do whatever they want, and it's a tangible reminder for me. When I'm able to wear an everyday collar, well, EVERY DAY, I miss the sense of comfort and security I get when I have to take it off to go out in public or around people who wouldn't get it.

It means I'm theirs. It means they aren't going to let me go just because I open my mouth and say something stupid or do something stupid. It means they plan to keep me forever and ever, despite the best efforts of some dumbasses.

It means I'm their property, that I'm only allowed to make the decisions they let me make. If I were to lose my mind one day and try to leave, it means they'd come after me. It means that they'll handle things I'm too stupid/incompetent/incapable of doing myself.

It means I have a permanent place in their lives. It sounds stupid, but for someone who's always had almost all human interactions be on extremely tenuous ground her whole life, the knowledge that I always have somewhere to go, someone(s) waiting for me, a stable and safe and secure spot JUST FOR ME at their feet is very comforting. I dunno how to explain it. It just is.

I'm sure there's a lot more I could say on the subject, but I feel like I'm just babbling instead of making sense, so I'm going to stop. I think it's about bedtime for me, anyhow.

Sunday, November 15, 2009


When I look over some of the things I write, here and in other places, and think about some of the ways I act and the things I feel, it occurs to me that I am probably much crazier than I ever wanted to admit.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Down The Rabbit-Hole

It's roughly 7:15 am on Saturday morning. My sleep/work schedule is all out of whack at the moment, hence the reason I'm up at this hour. STILL up at this hour, that is. I haven't been to bed yet.

There's something about the wee hours of the morning. Seven am hardly counts as the "wee" hours, of course, but I actually mean the few hours before this, between 3:00 am or so and daybreak.

Nobody's here but me and L. The other two roomies are out of town for the weekend. L. fell asleep a little while ago. Even the cats are napping or, at the very least, not tearing around the house like bats out of hell. So it's only me up in this quiet, still part of the day. Even the phone isn't ringing, and I honestly hope it continues to stay silent, at least until I finish this blog.

The quiet gives me time to think, which isn't always the greatest thing ever, but whatever. I've had things running around in my brain for awhile, but I've just not had a chance to put them into words yet. Big things, yes, but not bad things. At least, I don't think so.

Two things here....

#1.) I need to go back to the doctor to get something for the daily preventive treatment of asthma because after using my inhaler 20 times a day for a week, I can already tell it's losing its effectiveness. I plan on doing that after Thanksgiving.

Now, that was kind of a random thing that didn't necessarily need to be posted, I realize. But it's a segueway into what's ACTUALLY on my mind here.

At age 5, I was diagnosed with scleroderma. It goes in and out of remission. I am *very* lucky that, while it's one of the ickier forms of localized scleroderma to be stuck with (Morphea Profunda, or deep morphea, for those of you keeping score at home), it HAS remained localized. It sucks. It's ugly. One of my legs is shorter than the other. It still may yet destroy my right hip joint. BUT it's not turned into the systemic form of scleroderma, and as long as it doesn't, the chances of it spreading to any vital organs are pretty low. So, yeah, in this form, it probably won't kill me.

At age 15, I acquired some really bad allergies. Again, I'm lucky that while I have some crazy reactive symptoms (when I had the test done where they inject you with various things to see what you're allergic to, the nurse doing the test told me she'd never seen anyone react as violently as I did), I don't do the anaphylactic shock thing. I'll just be cursed with hay fever the rest of my life. Yay.

And now, at age 25, I've acquired asthma. Well, I've probably had it for years and just didn't know it, given my allergy to doctors. (I do NOT like going to doctors because I spent so freaking much time in doctors' offices' when I was little.)

Anyway, it's not looking so good for me. Autoimmune diseases are semi-common in my family. My grandmother has one. My mother has at least one. I apparently have three, or at least one with two other conditions that have roots in autoimmunity. (My mother should never have been able to reproduce, but I digress.) I seem to pick up a new one every 10 years or so. Go, me.

But I've been thinking about it because it's kind of a scary thought. It's not so much "Oh, God, I'm gonna die" because we're all gonna die. It's just that I think about things a lot and like to have a plan for all contingencies. So, naturally, I thought about this, too.

If something happens to me--not dying because it won't matter then, but something fairly catastrophic--, do you know who will make all the decisions for me? Yes. My mother. She's my closest relative, unfortunately, as I don't even have any siblings to pawn the responsibility off on.

My mother. As if I'm still 5 years old and need to be dragged to doctors, kicking and screaming.

Obviously, this doesn't apply as long as I'm semi-capable of making my own decisions, but what if I'm not? What the hell happens then? I could be lying in the hospital dying and not allowed to see the people I love the most: J., B., and L. And, really, I do NOT want to spend my last moments on Earth dealing with my mother. Really. I don't. Or most of my other relatives, for that matter.

Yes, it's kind of morbid thinking about it. And, normally, I would say something like that is too far in the future for me to worry about. But you never really know, do you?

It's terrible of me to say, but I do not, DO NOT, want my fate in the hands of my mother, for numerous reasons, none of which I'll go into here because this blog is going to be long enough as it is. After the first of the year, when everything (hopefully) slows down a bit, I need to look into this, into having it changed somehow.

I don't mind the idea of someone else ultimately holding the responsibility of my life (duh, slave), but I DO mind the idea of that someone being my mother. Surely, there's some legal way around this. I just can't fathom that an unmarried female has to remain at the mercy of her parents as if this is 1845 or something.

Now, in the realm of the less morbid....

#2.) I believe that I long ago reached the point of being unable to function without my owners. Now, that doesn't mean I need them to wipe my ass for me. It's just, without their presence and support in my life, I think I'd be pretty damned useless. Not that I'm going to test the theory to find out, mind you. I just know myself well enough to know this.

I mean, honestly, the plan is, right now, to finish school (hopefully this summer) and move closer to them. Well, if they want me to, anyway. I already tend to lapse into these deep spells of darkness that nobody can pull me out of from time to time because I need them and can't be with them at that moment. It sucks, and I'd prefer to not have to deal with it any longer than necessary.

I may end up back in school again. Actually, it's a pretty distinct possibility the more I think about it. I may not even have a real job once I finish this degree. In this economy, that's a pretty likely scenario, too. I'd be lying if I said that part of the reason for going back to school yet again is to defer the $40,000 I owe in student loans until the job market stops blowing so badly.

That's not the ONLY reason; don't get your panties in a wad.

Anyway, that really has nothing to do with where I'm going with this, so I'm going to try to steer this train of thought back on track here.

I want more than anything in the world to serve them and be close to them forever and ever. Like I said, I don't really think I'm capable of functioning without them anymore. But sometimes I wonder, will I ever get enough? Will the desire to go deeper and deeper into servitude stop after awhile? Will I be content with a boringly normal life that, on the outside, looks like every other person's? Or will I just keep falling farther and farther down the rabbit hole?

Knowing me as I do, my money is on the latter, hence the title of this blog.

I hope that once I'm closer--if they want me closer--, I can fall deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole. I hope my whole life gets turned upside down for them and that they can change whatever they want of it to suit them. Or nothing, if that's what they want.

You know, most people would bridle at the thought of their freedom being curbed by another. But I'm weird, I guess. Once I got used to the collar, I started craving the leash to be shorter and shorter. I used to wonder why, but I don't do as much of that now. I used to be afraid, but I'm not nearly as scared now. Yes, I still do question, and, sometimes, I still have fears. But they aren't as big as they used to be.

It's funny. Up until this point, my MO was to run away from anything even remotely resembling commitment to anything other than my own ever-changing whims and desires. And mostly what I was running from were the expectations being placed on me by the other person(s). Already, what I have with my owners, having belonged to them for, what, nine months, has lasted longer than all but one of my previous relationships. (And I only stayed with him a tiny bit longer than that because he kept threatening to kill himself if I left because he was a crazy, manipulative fuck.)

I'm glad I did all that leaving, though, or I'd have never found the most wonderful owners in the world.

I just want to keep falling, farther and farther, deeper and deeper, until they own and control every bit of me. Not that they're that far from it now.

I think I know why I've been running my whole life. I haven't just been running away from those who were too weak, inconsistent, incapable (and too stupid) to keep me, to own me, to be responsible for me, and to control me. I've been running *to* B. and J. I just haven't always known it.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009


I haven't written anything here in forever, mostly because it's been too much of a struggle to muddle through all the thoughts swimming around in my head. I'm writing partly just to break radio silence and partly to throw some things out and see if anything will stick.

I've said it and said it and said it. I love my owners. (I hope I haven't said it so much that it's lost its meaning.) And serving them makes me happy in ways that nothing else can. Their desires give me purpose and structure and the feeling that I'm actually good for something.

Call it co-dependent, call it a slave mentality, call it the thoughts of a really fucked up masochistic whore. Whatever. I don't care.

The fact still remains that feeling useful to them makes me happy. Doing things to please them makes me light up all over in ways that nothing I can do for myself (and nothing others can do for me) can. I have wandered through my life trying to figure out what it was that was missing for much too long. Serving their needs and wants is my reason for being here on this earth. They give me purpose, structure, reason.

It's amazing, really.

In my deepest, darkest fantasies, I imagine serving them all the time, 24/7. While I'm always theirs now, I'm not always around to care for them, and that's the source of a lot of loneliness and melancholy for me. Yeah, yeah, brain the size of a planet, and my calling in life is house slave.

Whatever. I've kind of reached the "If you don't like it, fuck you" stage.

See, I'm fulfilled for two reasons. The first is all that stuff I mentioned up there. The second is not quite so esoteric.

I never thought, in all my life, that I could ever be loved by someone who owned me. I knew I could only serve if I loved them deeply, with all my heart. For me, that's part and parcel of being owned, mind, body, heart, and soul, etc., etc. But I never thought I'd be loved by one owner, much less two.

But they do love me.

And hearing those words from my Master and Mistress has made every struggle, every heartache, every time that I wasn't sure we were going to make it, worthwhile.

I serve them. I love them. They love me. I don't really need anything else.

Monday, August 31, 2009

Deep Breath

So I'm probably going to post this and then go hide for two or three days because I'll be so nervous/embarrassed that I won't want to face B. and J. Forewarned is forearmed, etc., etc.

I don't know how to word this, so it may come off awkward and goofy-sounding. I apologize in advance.

I've been doing lots of thinking lately, and I've told the Owner-people that I really want to do the slave thing more often. That I think I would be happy being an all-the-time slave-girl instead of just an occasional one.

One of my deepest, darkest secrets, one that I never share with anyone, is that I've imagined being a slave since before I was even old enough to start school. There was sexual service, obviously, and that was a big part of the fantasy. But that was hardly all of it. It was actually pretty elaborate for a little girl's fantasy.

But, naturally, I buried that particular imagining as I got older. Even when I was little, I sensed that other people didn't think about stuff like that, and as I aged, I realized that people took enough advantage of me as it was, so I should probably try to change that part of me.

Insert a whole bunch of irrelevant drivel about my life and how I turned evil to keep people away from me, etc., etc.

Anyway, now that I think about it, I see that I've been unconsciously trying pretty much every tactic known to man to get J. and B. to send me away. Looking at this site, I see a sense of fear pervades pretty much all my blog posts. And it's not fear of whatever it was I was saying I was afraid of at the time. Well, it was, I guess, but that fear is simply a symptom of a much larger problem.

I have been afraid of who I am for nigh on 20+ years.

Even as a little girl, I knew I was very weird for what I wanted, and I guess I've been trying to hide it ever since.

I need certain things (and people) very deeply. I'll do things for others that I won't do for me. I'll just drift along mindlessly my whole life unless someone intervenes. Thing is, I'm stubborn, and I'll just ignore anyone whose opinions I don't care very deeply about, which I suppose is contradictory to the very nature I'm implying that I have here, but whatever.

I have a degree in psychology. I know I could probably diagnosed with a host of personality disorders from this post alone. But I really don't feel as if there's anything wrong with this "me," assuming we set aside the assumption that the nuttiest people never believe they're crazy.

So that was a pretty roundabout way of saying this, mostly because I don't know how to say it and am really stupidly nervous about writing the words on a screen, for some reason.

I want to be theirs. Totally and completely.

Yes, I know I've been theirs for quite some time now. Six months, to be more precise. But that's not really what I mean.

I've always, in the deepest, darkest corners of my mind, wanted to belong to someone completely, but the fear of being abandoned has always stopped me. (See? Needy.) But, again, as I've spent the past six months doing my level best to shove them away and not being able to succeed, I'm pretty confident in the knowledge that they won't take what they can get from me and then dump me off somewhere.

It's a hell of a thing to ask someone, I know. Part of me is still hesitant for that reason. It's a lot of...responsibility? ask someone to take. That's not really the word I'm looking for, but it'll do for now.

But there is nothing more I want in my life than to turn it completely over to them. To devote said life solely to them. To follow them for all the days of that life (hopefully, they'll let me). And to spend the rest of my life serving them.

I've never been more certain of anything. I love them and trust that they'll take good care of me.

I dunno. If they are willing to take total control of me and my life, then I'll be the happiest and luckiest little girl in the world. I never wanted a "normal" life, to get married or have kids or anything like that, but I never knew why. Now I do. I'm meant to be a slave--their slave--, and I'm ok with that.

It's like I told J. before we ever met. I don't have a lot to offer, and on paper, I look kinda bad. But for whatever practicalities I lack, I make up for it in loyalty and devotion and the desire to just be a good girl and serve.

Take me. Keep me. Let me follow you. I do not want my life to be my own anymore. I want it to be yours. Please?

I love them both, stupidly, irrevocably. I hope they understand what it is I'm offering, as I'm not having much luck putting it into words. And, even more, I hope they want it, too.

~A very nervous and embarrassed slave-girl

Wednesday, August 19, 2009


I was telling B. earlier that I'm in a weird mood. Not a BAD one. I'm still really stupidly happy from finally being able to spend some time with B. and J. this weekend. I just feel odd.

Do you ever get in one of those moods where you want something, but you don't know what "something" is? Yeah, that's how I'm feeling now.

I think I'm just in a really submissive, non-painslutty mood. I wanna do the service pet thing, I guess.

It sounds really stupid, but it makes me so happy to serve, to do things for them, to make them smile. I think about it all the time, and I feel kind of empty inside when I'm not able to do those things.

I may be much more submissive than I like to let on.

Monday, August 3, 2009


I've been reading Dr. William Glasser's books again. I read some of them while I was an undergrad for my long-forgotten Positive Psychology class. I loved that class, but I can only remember a thing or two about it now. The major emphasis is on taking control of one's life, and since I've felt like I've been drifting along aimlessly for quite some time now, I thought it might do me good to read them again.

There are lots of...things...I need, but I either don't know what they are or don't know how to put them into words.

My mother says I lack ambition. I don't think that's the case, but, hell, maybe I did lose it somewhere along the way. It's not that I don't want things. It's more that I don't know how to get them. I used to think that I knew, but I don't really believe that anymore.

There are definitely things I want out of being J. and B.'s pet. I mean, things besides being petted and adored. (Not that those are bad things, by the way.) I just need things that seem stupid when you put them into words, which is why I'm not writing about them here.

Dr. Glasser says that whatever issues we happen to be having in our heads are because we aren't getting our needs met. And so we behave in fucked up ways because for some reason, it makes sense to us.

That particular theory makes sense to me.

I say that I'm unhappy, but I don't think that's really the case. I think I just need things I can't have, and it frustrates me.

I don't like being stuck in this shitty town with this moronic job. I don't really even want to take the three classes necessary to finish my degree, even though I realize it'd be stupid not to. I think somewhere along the line, my priorities changed, and my life plan hasn't changed to go along with it, so I'm just kind of coasting until I figure it out.

What do I want/need/like?

I know when I'm stuck here in this shitty town with this moronic job, what I think about--and, yes, I am prone to daydreaming--is being a slave girl, almost all the time.

I try to talk to people about it, but it's like they minimize my feelings. I don't like not being taken seriously. Maybe I just don't know how to talk about things to make people understand how important they are to me.

I really don't want to wander around alone forever. What I need is to love, to be loved in return, to serve, to be allowed to be who I am without fear of derision, to be understood, at least a little, and, as a slave girl, to be such an integral part of their lives that they couldn't imagine their lives without me.

Maybe it's too much to ask.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

The Giant Merry-Go-Round

I'm unhappy.

No, scratch that. I'm VERY unhappy. I don't know how to fix it. I don't even know how to communicate it. All I know is that I'm sick of this all-pervading unhappiness.

I'm on a fucking merry-go-round that I can't get off of. 'Round and 'round in circles, and I never get anywhere, and it's making me nauseated.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Same Song, Different Verse

I neglect this blog way more than I should. It's partly because I do so much blogging for work, for sure. The other part is not for lack of thoughts. It's more of a lack of ability to put said thoughts into words. Well, that and the redundancy of those thoughts. I have the same struggles as I always do; I'm just tired of writing about them.

I'm weird. They dominate my thoughts all the time. Even when I'm thinking about something else, they're still there at the back of my mind. And when I have a quiet moment and am actively fantasizing about being with them, I'm not even being my typical perverted self and thinking about kinky sex. (Well, not usually. *Grins*) I think about sitting in the floor at J.'s feet while she feeds me macaroni and cheese. I think about rubbing my face against B.'s feet and purring happily. And, favorite of favorites, I think of being between them and snuggling close to them both.

I get so overwhelmed by my own emotions, and I don't really have the foggiest idea of how to proceed here. I'm not used to being in this situation of not really knowing what the hell to do. I don't go around lording it over people, of course, but I'm used to being one of the smartest people in the room. Being at a complete loss is unusual to me. So I just sort of flounder around and struggle with things normal people don't have any trouble with, and it's damned frustrating.

I don't really form any lasting attachments with people. I've got all these deep and, well, overwhelming emotions inside me, and I don't know what to do with them. It's really scary, as stupid as that might sound.

Everyone says they've never met anyone they've ever felt this way about about their current partner(s). It's the cutesy, romantic, cheesy-ass kind of line you're "supposed" to use. That's why it sounds so factitious, so artificial, so completely insincere and/or ingenuous when I say that I'm blown away by how I feel about them.

The upside is, anyone who's known me more than about three seconds knows I don't do anything just because I'm "supposed" to, so I'm hoping they realize I'm being for real here.

I think part of the reason I've always resisted any sort of encroachment on my freedom, particularly in the context of personal relationships, is--aside from the fact that I've decided that all I've ever known is dysfunction--something born of fear of who I am and what I'm capable of. My life is mine, and I've never had any particular desire to share it with anyone. I always kind of identified with Elizabeth I in that regard.

But you know what? I've bumbled through my whole life, and now I've stumbled into something much stronger than me. To comfort myself late at night when I'm lonely, I imagine myself on a huge, invisible retractable leash. It goes with me wherever I go, and I can go as far as I like. But, ultimately, they're the ones holding the thing, and I'll always come back to where they are.

I think that's what love and devotion are. Maybe I finally am learning something.

See why I've neglected the blog so long? This is just the hundredth verse of the same old thing. Maybe one day I'll learn how to swim on my own instead of trying to drag everyone down with me when I start to panic and drown. *Rolls eyes*

Monday, June 29, 2009


B. and J. came over this weekend. I was really, like, stupidly happy. It was partly because I hadn't seen them in way too long (damn this whole being broke thing) and partly because, well, it just seemed right for them to be snoring on my couches after dinner. ;)

We must do this again soon.

In other news, I'm still struggling. No, I swear, I'm not one of those bitches who always has to have some kind of drama, or she'll never be happy.

No, really. Shut up.

I'm still in the stages of figuring out how to word this and actually identifying the problem. But I'm going to give it a try, anyway.

Saturday, J., L., and I went over to L.'s place to see mine and L.'s cats. While we were there, we were talking because that's what happens when you get a bunch of females together, right? J. and I both briefly talked about how we have a complete inability to do things halfway. We have different approaches, naturally, but it's a trait we've got in common, for sure. It's one reason I have a huge amount of respect for her.

But upon further reflection, I realize that, in relation to myself, that's not exactly the truth.

I'm doing better than I was in this relationship, but I'm still holding back. I'm afraid, of course, because I'm full of insecurities and always afraid of something, but I'm also stubborn and refusing to accept things I know are true about myself.

I think a lot of my refusal to identify with the "slave" label is not because I don't see slavish tendencies and qualities about me, but because I still can't quite give all of myself that there is to give, for a multitude of reasons.

But I'm also seeing that in the past month or so, my ability to hold my loves at arm's length has waned considerably. I've let the two of them in much closer that I ever intended to. On one hand, it cues the old "chew through the straps and run like hell" reaction, but on the other hand, it makes me quite happy.

Upon closer examination, though, I'm kind of disappointed in myself. They deserve more than this.

After they left Saturday night, I was lying in my bed, unable to move because I was so sore. ;) And I realized I've pretty much reached this crossroads now. I can either continue on in this strange sort of holding pattern, where I'm deluding myself that I still retain some sort of control (thereby remaining vaguely dissatisfied for all my days), or I can say, "Fuck it," and make the leap.

'Cause leaving's not an option anymore. (Well, aside from the fun "Oh, you must come kidnap me because I won't go willingly" games. But that's totally different.)

Part of the fear is the knowledge that if I were to become one iota more dependent on them than I already am, I don't think I could ever function as a whole person again should they decide they don't want me anymore. And since I've always been very independent because I learned a long time ago that you can't count on other people, and you've only got yourself to make things happen, this whole dependency issue is a problem for me.

But something tells me I'm not ever going to be completely happy--just vaguely annoyed and disgusted at myself--if I don't do this all the way, like I do everything else in my life.

(The proverbial bull in the china shop and all that.)

The other fear is, maybe they don't want this. Maybe they don't *really* want me as complete and total slave. Maybe it's asking too much of them. Maybe it would be wrong to ask them to shoulder the responsibility and hassle. Who could possibly want someone who's THAT dependent on them at all times?

And, for the purposes of this discussion, "dependent" doesn't mean financially so or so needing to be told when I can go to the bathroom or whatever. It's not a matter of worthless or stupid, just...dependent. And redundant. Yay, redundancy.

A very large part of me wants to beg to be brought down extremely low. To have my illusion of control that they've let me keep up until now completely shattered. To be completely at their mercy and in their control, not just for the duration of our fun playtime, but for always. To be brought to the place that I can be the slave that I know I can be. To be shown how *unworthy* of love I am and then loved, anyway.

But only if that's what they want. I love them far too much to ever want them to do something they didn't want just because I'm whiny and angsty again, even if I do crave the peace and acceptance that finally being what I apparently was born to be would bring. :)

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Insert Interesting Blog Title Here

Mistress wants another blog, and what Mistress wants, she gets. ;)

Even I admit I've been neglecting this thing way more than I should. I just feel extremely uninspired most of the time. The proverbial well ran dry awhile back, I'm afraid. Not that there was ever a whole bunch there to begin with. :p

Well, to loves are coming to visit me this weekend. Yay! L. and I have been frantically cleaning and buying groceries. Mostly 'cause I don't want them to think I'm total failure as a female.

But, no, seriously, I'm really looking forward to it (and hoping they don't mind my other friend L. and possibly her husband showing up). And hoping they can tolerate my cooking. And planning to have L. (the one who lives across the parking lot from me, not with the married one) and J. help me tie B. up and do evil things to him. *Grins*

Seven-year-olds can be very cruel, you know. *Giggles*

Anyway, I'm currently having yet another internal struggle that revolves around me knowing I have so much more to give my owner-type people, but being afraid to let myself go that far. Yes, yes, I know, bad slave-girl, not conducive to good relationship, etc. I think I just have this rather self-destructive habit of rebelling against my true nature.

And then I'm PMS-ing. I swear, I get downright ornery when that happens.

I dunno. I wanna be a better slave-girl. I know I can be. But apparently, I'm only capable of falling so far before I stop myself and go, "Nope, can't do it."

I really wish I were more comfortable in my own skin.

Ok, to end this on a good note, I'm still really, really excited about this weekend! And about spending time with J. next week while B. is away. :)

Sunday, June 14, 2009

I'm So Tired

Shit...I'm tired.

It's been a hell of a weekend. I got almost all my work caught up. I have worked 70 hours since Thursday. I have done 560 minutes worth of phone sex in that time. Unfortunately, our pay period ends on Friday night/Saturday morning at midnight, so that time is split between 2 checks. Just on this pay period, in the last 48 hours, I've worked 44 of them and done 335 minutes of phone boning.

I'm not saying this to brag about my amazing phone prowess. *Rolls eyes* I'm just illustrating how exhausted I am.

I caught up all my blogs AND converted the dummy blogs over to Blogger. Of course, the import tool didn't work, so I had to copy and paste and appropriately date EVERY SINGLE MOTHERFUCKING POST. I put some affiliate links up on them. I fucked with my website. I did a whole bunch of other shit. I am thoroughly sick of sitting in front of the computer.

In addition to that, I also wrote TWO resumes for myself. One's a "regular" one, and the other is a skills-based one to use when applying for writing jobs. Unfortunately, I'm too tired to search for jobs at the moment, so they're kind of useless at the moment.

I also cooked two freaking meals a day all weekend because I'm apparently the only person of the people who were here all weekend that know how to do ANYTHING. I suddenly remember why I could never be a housewife. I'm of the mindset that if you're hungry, fucking fix you something. And if you can't do that, then fucking STARVE for all I fucking care. Just leave me alone, goddammit.

Sorry. I am feeling more than slightly underappreciated at the moment.

It's like...I work myself to death, and nobody cares. The only thing that matters is that I give and give and give, even if it's to my own detriment. I don't know why I accept it. Maybe I'm getting way more like my mother than I care to admit and think taking on the martyr role makes me look good. Or maybe, and more likely, I'm just too nice to say "no."

I don't like feeling undervalued and underappreciated. I guess that's why I like being with B. and J. They don't really make me feel like that.

And, as always, when I get stressed, my sexual fantasies turn dark. But, then, inexplicably, on the other hand, I want gentleness and tenderness.

I'm just a confused little girl, I think.

Monday, June 8, 2009

A Slave-Girl's Primer, Or Why Princess Bunny Will Never Be A "Real" Dominatrix

(Ya see what I did there? I might've ripped the title of this blog off from Marlyn Schwartz's A Southern Belle Primer, Or Why Princess Margaret Will Never Be A Kappa Kappa Gamma.)

This blog is a conglomerate of a whole bunch of thoughts that have finally managed to come together in my head in a way that's somewhat coherent to ME. Whether it will be coherent to others is anyone's guess. (And, no, Mattress, it's not bad, so you can stop holding your breath now. :p)

I know it sounds silly to say that I struggle with being who I am, but it's the truth. Any casual observer reading this blog will realize it. I'm sure it's a good bit of the reason for a lot of the angst in my head, which bleeds over into my relationship, too.

I've bounced around a whole lot in my self-labeling process. That also sounds stupid to anybody else, I'm sure. But words are my forte, so it's a big deal to me.

I've mostly stuck with "switch," since it's a catch-all for things that don't fit neatly in boxes, but I'm seeing more and more here lately that it doesn't fit.

At heart, I am a quiet, unobtrusive, complicated soul, though I can appear to be whatever I need to be to fit most any situation. Sarcastic, flashy, and bitchy tends to serve me well, as a general rule. Admittedly, I have more defense mechanisms than, as my Granny would've said, Carter has liver pills, but there you go.

Anyway, I'm pretty good at pretending to be something I'm not. So good, in fact, that I sort of tend to get the actual me confused with the me I happen to be pretending to be at the moment. Which sounds vaguely MPD, but whatever.

I'm beating around the bush, I know.

As I've mentioned before, I'm really, really, really good at getting people to do exactly what I want them to do. It's no great feat or strong personal character trait. I'm just stubborn as fuck. (Only child.) You'd think that'd translate to dominance, but no. It doesn't.

I like hurting people. Well, under certain circumstances. But put me even slightly in charge of having to decide what happens next, and I'm at a complete loss.

For a long time, I couldn't figure out why subs got on my nerves. I thought they were just annoying. But I think it's probably me. No, actually, I know it's me. I'll tell you why

Today, B. came to visit. I tried to tie him up and give him what he needed and failed miserably. He didn't seem terribly upset about it, but I felt like I'd disappointed him in some profound way, and I hated myself for it.

What I'm getting at is that I've pretty much been tying people up as long as I've been being tied up. I've gotten mostly comfortable with the latter, but increasingly uncomfortable with the former. You'd think experience would ease the discomfort, but it doesn't. I think it gets worse each time.

When I play, I'm ok as long as someone else is telling me what to do. If I have to do the deciding, I'm lost and feel really uncomfortable and vaguely sick.

Unfortunately, I've realized this is basically a metaphor for my entire life. I've kinda clung to the "switch" thing because it's beyond hard for me to admit that not only do I need someone to keep me from doing something stupid when I play, but I apparently need a keeper for daily life as well.

It's kind of embarrassing. It makes me feel stupid and worthless and lacking the wherewithal to do things by myself and for myself. I don't like depending on other people, and God knows, there aren't too many people in the world I CAN depend on.

The whole problem is not with the label, of course, but in the way I see myself. I don't like needing other people, so I try to shove them away. Then, I manage to get myself into idiotic situations to prove to myself I can get out of them, I guess. I dunno.

My friend B. (not the Masterly one) kinda banged me over the head with it earlier, though. I'm submissive. The sooner I stop trying to be something I'm not, the sooner I can deal with it and get on with my life.

It's scary needing my loves so much. I'm so used to being generally dissatisfied with things that I'm always looking for something else. But I've finally found what I need for the rest of my life, and maybe one day I can actually be cool with being "slave" instead of something else. Or at least "sadomasochistic service pet." That's kinda long, though.

I love them with all my heart, and I'm just trying, trying, trying to get past the self-loathing that seems to keep creating stumbling blocks. I started small. I'm currently changing my profiles on random kinky websites to indicate this new epiphany of mine. Stupid, yes, but baby steps.

A large part of me still hates myself for not being what I thought I should be--strong, independent, and self-sufficient. I feel weak and useless and stupid in a lot of ways. But you know something? When I'm with J. and B., I feel none of those things. What I feel there is a quiet sense of contentment. I think I should probably listen more to that feeling than the ones I have when I angst alone.

I'm getting there. I'm used to doing things the hard way, so as long as they don't give up on me, I should make it eventually.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

I'm Really Trying, I Swear

Ever since a couple of weeks ago when J. told me that I didn't really act affectionate toward her, I've been trying to make a conscious effort to do better.

Problem is, until I got involved with these two, I had no idea just how fucked up I really am. *Wry grin*

Just as a sort of parallel to demonstrate the issue I'm having, I was reading an article the other day about autism-spectrum disorders, Asperger's in particular (because I'm still a psych nerd at heart). Traditionally, people with Asperger's have been assumed to lack empathy because of their trouble relating to other people.

Now, though, there's this radical new idea out that perhaps these people have MORE empathy than the average person. The reason that they withdraw when they're in a roomful of people is that they're more empathic than everyone else in the room put together, and all those emotions overwhelm them, so they shut down altogether to keep from having to deal with it.

I read some of the accounts that people with Asperger's wrote, about how overly sensitive they are and how overwhelming it is to face people and their emotions and how awkward they feel in such situations. You know what I thought? I could've written that exact thing.

Ok, lemme stop for a second and say I didn't just diagnose myself with Asperger's, LOL. I don't fit the diagnostic criteria. ;)

I just wanted to use that as an example because I know how those people must feel. How you often want to reach out to people, but you just don't know how. How you hide away inside yourself because just being around people and picking up on their emotions hurts, so God knows how much it'll hurt to actually, you know, become involved in those people's lives in any sort of meaningful way. How when you do make an effort to reach out, it feels so awkward and wooden and unnatural. How you pretend that you don't want to interact with people, even though you really do, because it's easier to just keep them away from you than to go through all those pained and awkward motions.

I've been doing my best to try to be more affectionate, but I'm afraid it'll be hard road. I'm writing this to B. and J. to tell them not to give up on me.

My friend B. (not the same B. as the Masterly-type person, though they share the same name) says that while I'm in the 98th IQ percentile of people in this country, I am--and I quote--"emotionally retarded." I whacked him for it, but he's right. (He actually said, "You're emotionally retarded. Emotionally, you're riding a small, yellow bus, licking the windows, with your mittens pinned to your jacket." Now the bastard has taken to calling me "Mittens." Fucker.)

In my defense, I must've missed the whole "how to show people you love them" socialization somehow. Aside from the fact that my mother and her side of the family are a case study in the Axis II personality disorders, mostly Clusters B and C, with a little of Cluster A thrown in there for entertainment (and, yes, that probably includes me as well, LOL), I've just never really been around people who were particularly effusive about how they felt about others.

My Daddy is a prime example. I could probably count on one hand the number of times that stoic country man has ever told me he loves me. It's just his way. But I know he loves me nonetheless. Same goes for Mother. She's a complete and total whackjob in a lot of ways, I know, but I think she's probably told me she loves me fewer times than Daddy has. I listen to other people talk on the phone with their parents and say, "I love you" right before they hang up. That weirds me out. I just...can't imagine.

Same thing with physical affection. Nowadays, because they hardly ever see me, my parents will awkwardly hug me before we part ways. Well, sometimes. But it's more uncomfortable than anything.

Everyone I've dated? Well, I've tolerated them petting and holding and kissing me, even when most of the time I didn't want them to. But reach out for them? Nope. Not my thing.

I'm only pointing these things out to show that I'm this way with everyone, not just my fabulous owner-people.

So I watch B. and J. interact, how easily they touch one another, how they don't seem to feel awkward petting or hugging one another, how they kiss each other quickly on the lips as they pass, how they say, "I love you" without it sounding like something out of a really badly scripted movie, and it makes me feel both befuddled and vaguely sad.

I really don't know how to do that. But I wish I did. And I'm trying, but I still feel like an autistic kid sometimes.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009


Ok, I'm not working now because all our websites simultaneously shit themselves and now refuse to load. I can't go in chat, and I figure if neither my friend L. on our Internet or I on B. and J.'s Internet can pull up the pages, neither can the dudes, so there won't be too many calls, anyhow.

Plus, I've been alternating between working my ass off and being Laundry Bitch, so I can take a break, especially since it'll be time to eat soon, since Mattress just got home. I'll log in again tonight when I go to bed.

No rest for the wicked and all that.

I know I'm, like, the epitome of moody, but I'm really happy today. I've been happy since I've been here. Someone--not calling any names *ahem, B., ahem*--found it extremely amusing that I was sitting at his feet crying softly into his fur yesterday because I was so happy.

It's just being around them when I'm in such a submissive mindset that brings me such peace and contentment. They don't have to even do anything, just be there and let me purr at them. :)

Also, J. gets bonus points for dinner today because it's almost my girl time, I think. (That's not why she gets bonus points.) It's because at that time, I crave three things: pasta (well, I always crave pasta), grease, and green vegetables (I pretty much always crave these, too). And she fixed macaroni and cheese, cheddar brats, and steamed mixed veggies for dinner. So yay! :D If I just had the chocolate-peanut butter-oatmeal cookies I've been craving the past few days, I'd be fabulous.

Plus, playing last night helped my mood tremendously. I can almost guarantee that playing again tonight will help it even more. *Evil grin*

Even being Laundry Bitch made me feel better. Which is truly weird, I admit. But, I dunno, it makes me feel, well, useful or something. Rather than just sitting here stupidly and uselessly, which makes me feel like there's not much point in me being here.

Ugh, stupid slave-girl. I can't even begin to understand myself sometimes, much less really expect anyone else to, LOL.

I'm still making plans to bring two of my most favoritest people, both of whom I write this blog for ;), back home with me soon. Well, whenever they have a day of the weekend free. 'Cause I'm going to take them out and spoil them (along with L., of course). Movie + fantastic Chinese = a good waste of a weekend night.

Ok, I really don't have anything interesting to say at the moment, I'm afraid. Just that I'm happy. :)

Monday, May 25, 2009


I miss them.

I'm tired of posting these stupid, melancholy, whiny-ass blogs about how much I miss them. Desperation and clinginess are not attractive traits in a person, particularly a slave-girl. Seems that's all I do nowadays, though.

It's so bad that my friend L. just looks at me when I'm whining about something completely unrelated and says, "Hurry up and go see them." The "before you run me crazy" part on the end is implied.

I just don't want to need them so much that I ultimately push them away.

I don't like being here 'cause it sucks. This whole town sucks, and I've been here much too long (7 years). Truth is, the only reason I'm still here is that I don't feel like I have anywhere else to go. My lease runs out in August, and I have no idea where I'm going to go or what I'm going to do next.

I'm just NOT staying here. And I'll be damned if I'm going home, which really isn't "home" anymore, anyway.

That kind of leaves me a gypsy. I don't really have anywhere to go, and I don't much like the idea of going somewhere I don't know anyone. That didn't work out so well for me the first time.

But when I'm with them, I feel like I belong somewhere. I guess maybe that's why I'm almost always lonely when I'm not with them or something. Or maybe I'm really just crazy and whiny.

Either way, I hope I get to see them soon. The little girl in me doesn't like not being close to them. :(

Wednesday, May 20, 2009


I have a problem with trusting people.

We can psychoanalyze this all we want to, as I'm sure there are multiple causes for it, but most of them boil down to simple operant conditioning. I trust people; they fuck me over. Which, of course, makes me wary about trusting people next time.

Obviously, this kind of thing happens to everyone on the face of the planet. I'm hardly alone in this respect. I just either have extraordinarily bad luck, or I'm a terrible judge of character.

I know J. gets upset at me sometimes because she feels like I don't trust her, no matter what she does. But I just want her to know not to take it personally, that it's nothing she's done to make me be distrustful.

I must have a neon sign above my head that says, "PLEASE FUCK ME OVER!" because I attract losers and users of all sorts. It pretty much never fails that if I put my trust in someone, that person is going to think of some new and improved way to screw me.

I think it's because I go out of my way to be nice to people. I let myself be bullied and walked all over because I...well, I don't know why, actually. I guess because I'm a people-pleaser, and I want other people to be happy? I dunno. I could play the "I'm a natural submissive" card, but I think that's a cop-out. I know I'm ultimately the one responsible for the fact that I can't tell people no.

I'm pretty sure the lack of trust thing is somehow tied in with J.'s other complaint about me, that I'm too withdrawn and un-affectionate. (Which is another thing she shouldn't take personally. I've loved B. for years, for much longer than I care to admit, and you know when I finally managed to tell him to his face? Um, October. Yeah, like, 7 months ago October. Oh, and I was bound to the point of being completely immobile, AND I was totally hooded, so I didn't have to look at him while I said it. Me? A chickenshit? Never!)

So the fact that I've told J. how I feel about her (albeit while she had her fist buried inside me) this quickly should be an indication of how much I've fallen for her already. *Blush*

But, anyway, I didn't write this to complain or bitch or try to find something to blame my innumerable issues on. It was just my weird way of trying to explain myself and hopefully make J. feel better.

I'm going to try to do better. I really am.

The truth is, as goofy as it sounds, after all the drama that went on over the weekend, I actually feel BETTER about everything. Not that I'd ever recommend to anyone else that particular method of making oneself more secure in one's relationship, but, you know, whatever. They got really angry at me. I hurt them really badly over what amounted to a fundamental breakdown in communication among the three of us. I allowed myself to believe the worst when that wasn't actually the case. I did various and sundry other stupid things and made them not trust me anymore.

But you know what? Now I know they DO care about me. They aren't just tolerating me because they can't figure out how to get rid of me. If that were the case, they would've seized on the events of this weekend as an excuse to kick me to the curb.

But they didn't. A lot of things were discussed, and there were some changes in perspective. And, weirdly enough, even though their trust in me may perhaps be shaken, mine in them is much, much stronger. Oh, what a tangled web we weave, etc., etc.

They want me. I can't imagine why, but they do.

I don't deserve these two. Really, I don't.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Being Submissive And The Bad Bondage Analogy

I have a lot I want to say, but I don't quite know how to say it. Talk about an edumacation going to waste there, huh?

I, badly to be submissive. Not in that annoying kind of way (or, at least, I hope not). It makes me feel, I dunno, safe, in some convoluted sort of way.

I'm trying to figure out how to explain it without sounding like a total dumbass. I think I shall attempt some lame analogy.

It's like bondage. I'm not someone who actually gets off on bondage. I mean, yes, it's fun, especially wiggling around when I know I can't get loose, but I don't think I've ever in my life gone "OMG, ROPE, UNNNGGGGHHH!!!!" *cums* like some bitches claim to do. It's just when I'm bound, I feel safe and secure. Well, at least when I'm being tied up by someone I trust. Otherwise, well, it ain't pretty.

It kind of works the same way when I'm being submissive/being dominated/whatever. I don't have, like, this overwhelming need to be guided or controlled or anything like that. (And, yes, I'm a cunt and like to make fun of bitches who say they need guidance because a.) it amuses me, and b.) they almost always spell it wrong.)

Like, service calms my soul. Which sounds almost as stupid as saying I need "guidence" (misspelling intentional), but let's overlook my hypocrisy for a moment. I just feel so secure when I'm pleasing someone else. Then, there's that whole "they love me enough to see me at my most vulnerable and still wanna keep me, anyway" thing.

But, yeah, when I can't quite be as submissive as I need to be, I get to feeling insecure, and then when I get to feeling insecure, I do stupid things. I don't doubt that my inner vulnerable, scared little girl had something to do with the stupid shit that's transpired lately.

I guess I just don't know how to express it sometimes. It kind of seems obnoxious to just show up and hand my leash to them. And I know that it's my moodiness that makes it hard for J. and B. to give me what I need. Well, what I hope we all need, actually.

But I dunno. I crave consistency and submission. Too many rules annoy me, of course, because I'm a loner at heart, but certain boundaries keep me sane. But then I know I push J. and B. away and make it hard for them to give me that. And then that makes me more insecure, which makes me push them away more, etc. It's a chicken/egg conundrum.

I want to make it easier for them. My no-longer-friend K. and I had this discussion before she acted like a complete and total asshole. She was bitching because her idiot husband didn't "make her feel submissive" anymore. I, of course, think that's kind of a cop-out. It's not B. and J.'s place to make me feel submissive. So I want to work on that myself.

I think I had a point in mind when I started this, but I've had so many interruptions that I've completely lost it now. Anyway...I hope this made at least a tiny bit of sense.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

I Dedicate This Blog To My Vanity And Massive Ego

I went shopping with my kinfolks today.

In retrospect, I know it was a really bad idea. But I felt guilty (yes, same theme, different variation) because I went to the concert Friday and didn't spend the entire weekend with my mother. Then, Mother offered to buy me something.

I'm a shopaholic. I'm not turning down an offer like that, however ill-advised it might be.

So due to the fact that nothing I liked fit because of my massive midsection and lack of any discernible waistline, I started feeling shitty.

Actually, let me go back for a moment. I was looking at some pics of myself the other day in which I'm wearing no makeup, and I started feeling shitty THEN. Today, when I couldn't find anything that fit right on me, it just got worse.

The insulin resistance from the PCOS is so bad that I probably have full-blown diabetes at this point. God knows, the sugar cravings are insane. I think I could eat sugar straight out of the goddamned canister at this point. Also, I know my blood pressure is suffering 'cause I have those headaches every day that I used to only have when I was so angry I could murder someone.

When I was a freshman in college, I wasn't exactly thin, but I hovered around the 170 mark, which, for my height and build, isn't too bad. I looked decent, too. Then, I got fat, but I could still say, "Well, I may be fat, but at least I'm not ugly, too." Because I'm nothing if not vain and egomaniacal.

But now, I can't lose weight for shit because of this stupid disease...thing. I don't have the money to get treated for it, either.

So I'm fat. My hair's falling out. I have greasy skin that, even after I shower, is gross and shiny after about 15 minutes. I still have acne, for God's sake, and I'm 25 years old. (And it's not like it's an easily-remedied skin problem. It's damned persistent, and I've figured out the best way to deal with it is to leave it alone for the most part.)

And, you know, I used to have this really pretty pinky-looking complexion that looked fantastic with all my favorite colors. But all the insulin spillage has stained my skin. I have large patches of sallow yellowish looking skin. And then in other places, like my elbows and the back of my neck, have turned dark brown or, in the case of my left elbow, black. Even my eyelids are getting that ugly yellow-brown tone. I Googled the medical name--acanthosis nigricans.

(Not that I imagine it really matters, but just in case people think I'm nutty and making this shit up.)

I look much older than I really am. And I look like the stereotypical fat woman--greasy, nasty-looking, icky skin. All I need to do is stop wearing deodorant and start mouth-breathing and the picture will be complete.

I know I'm vain, but every woman wants to at least be able to fool herself into thinking she's moderately attractive. I've always been kind of mannish, I know, and I've always been kind of ashamed of my lack of femininity. But at least I was still kind of decent-looking when I dressed up and did my hair and makeup.

Now I look like a troll. All because I have too much testosterone in my system for a chick.

I know, I'm being ridiculous. But I want to be pretty again, goddammit! Or, at least, not this giant, lumbering, disgusting man (complete with beer belly and huge upper arms 'cause that's how insulin resistant people gain weight) and tits. And don't even get me started on the fog my brain's always in from this shit.

So fuck it. I'm wallowing in self-pity. Maybe it's stupid to feel sorry for yourself because you hate the way you look, but whatever. In spite of the fact that I LOOK like a man, I'm still a woman, so I'm entitled to my vanity.

Another Blog

It's me again.

I'm not sure what happened. I've gone from really, really aggressive and sadistic last week to extremely submissive today. Probably if someone tracked my moods, they'd find that the more stressed I get, the more submissive I become. I get tired of always having to be the one to take care of things because I feel like I fuck everything I touch up.

My submissive moods vary, too. Sometimes, I need to feel my lack of control over a given situation (hence the various "force/rape" fantasies a few weeks ago). Sometimes, I'm more masochistic than submissive. Sometimes, I want to feel deep, dark humiliation and degradation, particularly on an emotional level (which is probably the old self-destructive impulse kicking in in new and exciting ways). Sometimes, my inner seven-year-old takes over.

Then, there are times, like right now, that I don't care about anything but pleasing my two owner-type people. If they want to whip me bloody, I want them to whip me bloody. If they want me to bake cookies, I want to bake cookies. If they want me to clean and do laundry, I want to clean and do laundry. If they want to fuck me stupid, I want them to fuck me stupid. If they want to snuggle me between them and make a slave-girl sandwich, I want them to snuggle me between them and make a slave-girl sandwich. If they want me to orally service them and a roomful of other people I've never met...well, you get the idea.

I don't really think of myself as terribly complex, but even I sort of get lost in the weird labyrinth of my own sexual identity. Some people can nail themselves down; I can't. Submissive me vaguely self-identifies as "service pet." That's about as close as I can come to a good, short descriptor for myself.

But now, I feel the "service" part heavily.

All I want to do right now is to serve, to please. I literally do not care about anything in the world but their pleasure, whatever it may be. I crave the feeling of sitting quietly at their feet while I await being told what to do.

When they're happy, I'm happy. When they're pleased, I'm pleased. It's so hard to break through my defenses, to get to me, to make me care about someone. But then, when I do, they're there in my heart forever. I'm not a half-assed kind of person. I don't do things halfway. I don't know HOW to do things halfway.

Love and service, in my mind, in my heart, are closely intertwined. I am stupidly devoted to Master and Mistress, and serving them is my way of showing it.

So, my loves, what can your devoted and slightly demented pet do to make you happy?

Saturday, May 9, 2009

*Insert Sound Of Slave-Girl Pulling Her Hair Out Here*

In the last couple of days, my blood pressure has gone from high to ridiculous. Between being stranded last night (twice) and pretty much all my "friends" blowing me off, trying to keep my friend K.'s husband from killing some drunk dude in the Waffle House last night who kept hitting on us, and telling our neighbors today, "Sure, you can try and tow mine and L.'s vehicles...if you think you're man enough," I just want to strangle someone. Repeatedly. Isn't it Lake Superior they say never gives up her dead? Or is that some other large body of water in the Midwest?

Add that in with the "friend" drama from a couple of weeks of ago, and I've had enough.

I'm not a dramatic person myself (usually). But somehow or another, shit always happens to me, and I get dragged into other people's bullshit. On the way home last night at 3 am, K. told me that most of my problem is that I let people walk all over me. And she's right. But unless I'm absolutely flaming mad, I cannot tell people no or to fuck off or whatever.

And so, in the interest of not giving myself a heart attack or an aneurysm, I'm going to cut some of these toxic people out of my life. No big to-do or anything. I'm just going to stop having anything to do with them and not say a word about it. I doubt most of them will notice, anyhow.

I'm weeding out friends faster than I can make new ones, it appears. That's kind of a scary prospect for me. I don't make friends easily. But maybe that's better than having a bunch of leeches hanging onto you and sucking the life out of you. I dunno.

I remember when I was a freshman in college. I didn't have any friends here. None at all. I'd gone home for my cousin's birthday one night, and then I was coming back to my place later. It was raining, and the tires on my car weren't the best. I hydroplaned going up the side of a mountain and crashed into a concrete ditch...thingie.

I was fine. Just shaken. I love my car, and it was torn all to pieces. I was heartbroken. But I had no one in town I could call. I stood out on the side of the road in the pouring rain while they towed my poor car away. The cops drove off and left me standing there. Luckily, a good Samaritan had pulled over when I wrecked and let me sit in his car and use his phone to call my parents because I'd lost mine in the excitement.

He took me somewhere safe to meet my parents and sat with my soaking wet ass until they arrived an hour and a half later. Then, Mother and Daddy took me back to their place. I was just lucky the guy wasn't a serial killer, but I wasn't exactly left with any options at that point.

It was equal parts sad and humiliating that, at 19 years old, the only people I could call were my mama and daddy.

I decided then that I wasn't going to live the rest of my life that way, that I was going to make friends somehow. So I joined the sorority the next semester and made friends whom I thought were real friends.

Last night, two of those sorority sisters/friends told me tough shit when I was stranded on the side of the road in a moment eerily like the one several years earlier, minus the wreckage and the thunderstorm.

Cutting these people out of my life is scary, but I have to do it for the sake of my own mental health. I'm tired of giving and giving and giving to people and not even being able to count on them when I really need them. I have to meet new people who aren't assholes. That's also scary.

Thanks bunches to B. and J. for coming and rescuing us last night. I felt horrible about bothering them because I knew they were busy. But if I'd had anyone else to call, I wouldn't have bugged them.

I have more I want to say, but I just got to Mother and Daddy's, and, while no one's here now, I'd like to get something to eat. I'll probably post some more tonight.

Monday, May 4, 2009

My Rambling

56 log-in hours since Thursday. $365. Part of it on last week's check. Part of it on this week's. Not hardly worth it, is it?

I'm really mentally exhausted. I know it sounds stupid. But ugh.

The good news is, I'm doing the Cinco de Mayo thing with my friends tomorrow. Then, on Wednesday, one of those subbies I mentioned in a previous blog is taking me to lunch. That'll be some much-needed time away.

The subbie might turn out to be more or less what I'm looking for as long as a.) he doesn't turn totally insane once we actually meet, and b.) he actually is what he claims to be. We shall see. He's one of those fetishy dudes who's into foot worship and wearing panties (*yawn*), which doesn't interest me in the least. But on the other hand, he likes the idea of cuckolding (which IS fun), he claims that he'll clean house, and supposedly can build bondage furniture.

I can tolerate a few totally pointless and idiotic fetishes for someone relatively local I can beat semi-regularly and who'll clean and build me kinky stuff for cheap.

Me = totally not a fetishist

I admit it, though. What I really, really want is a female painslut. They can almost always take more.

I've been this nasty sadistic mood lately. I'm not sure why.

Bad slave-girl. I don't feel submissive at all. I'm in a weird mood. Really weird. *Sigh*

Saturday, May 2, 2009

I Miss Them

I have been so crazy busy for work today. I need the money, but I'm TIRED. I stayed logged in all night last night, and, I swear to God, every time I drifted off to sleep for more than 30 minutes or so, the phone would ring. And, no, it couldn't be random 10ers. Long calls, extend-a-calls, ugh. It was probably 10 this morning before I got to sleep peacefully without any more interruption. I slept until L. sent me a text and woke me up at 4:30.

I was logged in that whole time, too, but no calls, oddly enough. I worked for awhile and went to eat with my crazy kinfolks. THAT was an ordeal. Then, I logged back in when I got home and took a bunch of calls. This pay period just started 4 hours ago, and I've already got $100. (And I've not been logged in the whole 4 hours. I'm not working right this second.)

I'm debating now if I want to work all night again. I need the money, but I'm already sleep-deprived from last night, and the last damn thing I want is some cokehead binger, which is very likely on a Friday night. I may try to actually get some sleep tonight. And I may not. I dunno. I need several more good paychecks to claw my way back out of the hole. I gotta stop slacking.

Ok, I didn't write this blog solely to complain about work. I'm just all bleary-eyed and exhausted because of work. All my friends are asleep, and I'm bored. And I have girl time again, and I'm cramping like a bitch. It's hard to lie down comfortably.

And I miss my favoritest Master and Mistress in the whole world. *Pouts* I need a heating pad (mine is over at L.'s, and I don't feel like going over there and getting it) and a massage and snuggles and a very long night's sleep. I sincerely doubt I'll get any of those tonight, though. :(

I can't wait to see them again.

In other news, I changed my CM profile to say I'm vaguely looking for a subbie boy (or girl) to amuse myself with earlier in the week, and I already have two possible candidates. That didn't take long. They just messaged me out of the blue. The initial evaluations look promising, but who knows if they might turn into total nutjobs? We shall see.

But, yeah, I have to work a LOT this month. L. and I are going to the 3 Doors Down concert on Friday, then I'm going home for Mother's Day. No work that weekend. The next weekend, L. and I are going to the horse show in Columbiana. I'm not riding, but L. wants to try her hand at photographing horses, and I'm one of those losers who thinks a horse show is a good waste of a Saturday night. We invited Mattress, too. I hope she can come (and won't be bored out of her skull.)

Then, I'm going to Tennessee the next weekend, Memorial Day weekend, for the Spring Fun Show in Shelbyville. Of course, I'm going with my mother and "brother" (who isn't really my brother or even kin to me--long story). But, yay, horsies! And possibly new tack or riding clothes. I need a new saddlesuit coat, for sure. Mine won't even freaking button anymore, damn my fat ass.

So no work for several weekends, which means I have to work my ass off during the week and stay logged in overnights and stuff. Ugh. I will be needing a vacation like whoa by the end of the month.

All right, I think I'm about to go wash my face and take out my contacts and (begrudgingly) log in for the night. I still miss Master and Mistress, though. :(

Thursday, April 30, 2009


I've been blogging all this will most likely be short and sweet. Possibly disgustingly so. I feel sappy again, so this post might induce diabetic coma. You have been warned.

It's silly, but I think about how much I love J. and B. a lot. Because I am a dork, mostly. But I was thinking about it earlier today, actually.

I'm a weird soul. I don't think I think about things like normal people do, LOL. Or maybe I just think things to death or something. But sometimes, sometimes, I get overwhelmed by my feelings about things.

Like, for example, I can just look up and watch B. walk across the room, him completely not even noticing that I'm watching, and feel my eyes well up with tears. Every time J. kisses me, my heart leaps to my throat, and I stop breathing.

Yes, it's crazy. Yes, I'm crazy. We've already covered this before.

I'm totally self-conscious about stupid things, I know. I have a hard time with small gestures of love and affection. I always feel like I'm either being too awkward or being too clingy, so I tend to just eschew them altogether. I'm much more comfortable with grand, swooping gestures that happen once in a blue moon.

So I often don't know how to act when I just look at my Mistress and Master sometimes and am moved to tears. Or when I just casually touch them and feel that my heart is so full of love for these people that I'm afraid it might burst.

I try not to make them uncomfortable with my weirdness. There's nothing worse than having THAT guy or girl follow you around with the "OMGZZZZ, I love you SOOOOO much!!!!!!!" bullshit. AWK. WARD. I don't want to do that to them, LOL.

But I really do love them both so much that it hurts sometimes. Believe it or not, I'm hardly ever seized by this much emotion about PEOPLE. It's usually animals or something that I feel is greater than me, like the ocean or the sky or when I'm pondering the nature of God. (I once had a friend tell me that while I have the heart of a redneck, I also have the soul of a poet. It makes for some interesting times, that's for sure.)

I can catch them looking at me sometimes and feel my heart stop for about half a second. Yes, that makes me sound like a teenager with a crush, but it's something different than that, I promise. The last time I got so overwhelmed with emotion like that was last Labor Day weekend when L. and I went to Florida, and I was lying on the beach at night, staring up at the vast blackness of the sky and listening to the waves crash on the shore.

Since I don't think I have a crush on the Gulf of Mexico, I'm thinking that the way I feel when I'm around B. and J. is a bit more complex than adolescent puppy love. ;)

Sunday, April 26, 2009

I've Been A Lazy Blogger Again

Yep, I've been lazy, which means I have several things to catch up on right now.

Ok, first of all, I had a minor meltdown at J. and B.'s house last week. I didn't know why then, but I know now. (Or at least I think I know.)

One thing you should probably know about me is that I am a huge baby when I'm sick. I'm not sure why it makes me feel so icky and hopeless (and helpless), but it does. Maybe it's got something to do with my screwy immune system. Who knows?

So what does that have to do with the price of eggs in China, you might ask?

Well, I've been having problems with my allergies the past couple of weeks. You know, just general ickiness--itchy throat, sneezing, coughing, stuffy nose, and ears full of fluid. Just the "ew" stuff. But that's not the problem in and of itself.

Last summer, I had a whole bunch of shit going on: tons of classes, working three jobs, the ever-present needy friends. I got so run down that I got sick. It wasn't, like, the flu or anything. But I went for weeks being dizzy and lightheaded, on the verge of passing out, for what seemed to me to be no apparent reason. I felt so bad and couldn't figure out why. I didn't even want to get out of bed; all I wanted to do was lie around and cry.

Now, you're probably thinking it was some horrible sickness, but no. I finally scrounged up some extra money and went to the doctor. I had a freaking EAR INFECTION. Yeah, I know, not too dramatic, huh? But, in my defense, it was a really BAD ear infection. I was kind of astounded because all the ear infections I remember from childhood (and I had one every other week, it seemed) were painful as hell. But the one I had last summer didn't hurt at all. The doctor told me that, apparently, sometimes, ear infections can get really bad without hurting at all. And if they don't make you feel horrible and dizzy, that the first indication for some folks that anything is wrong is when their eardrums burst from the pressure.

Ew. What a mental image.

But after I got home on Friday, I was plagued with these bouts of dizziness. Over and over, bad enough that I had to sit down a few times to keep from falling over. Then, when I got to thinking about it, I realized that I'd gotten them a few times at B. and J.'s. Like the night B. got me all tied up, and I started seeing black spots and was dangerously close to passing out. He had to untie me before I hit the floor.

So then it dawned on me. I felt as horrible last week as felt last year when I got the ear infection, dizzy and weepy. (I get irrational when I'm sick.) And since I'd had so much head congestion in the previous weeks, it probably set up the perfect environment to spawn another nasty ear infection. So I broke out the bottle of amoxicillin I always keep on hand for my recurring UTIs and set about dosing myself up. (Oddly enough, I'm allergic to ACTUAL penicillin, but not amoxicillin. I am a strange creature.)

I figure even if it ISN'T an ear infection, maybe the placebo effect will make me feel better, if nothing else. I started taking them yesterday afternoon, and I feel tons better already. So yay for cheap antibiotics! It makes me feel better to know it's probably a physical problem and not me finally going off the deep end.

The next thing is something I'm not going to get into much here because B. and J. (who are the people I write this blog for, after all) already know what happened, and it's an ASSLOAD of stuff to write. But some crazy shit went down last night and made me realize I'm absolutely sick of the way I let people walk all over me.

I was raised that you should always put other people before yourself, that you should always do all you can to help other folks out if there's any way possible. Nobody in my family knows how to tell anyone "no." And, yes, some of them have developed some extreme martyr complexes because of it.

But I've realized that my desire to help people and to do always do what I think in my mind is the "right" thing has led to me being taken advantage of so much by people who prey on that kind of thing, people who have no sense of boundaries, people who feel they are somehow entitled to things, people who love to manipulate my better nature.

I'm thoroughly sick of it. It comes to a screeching halt TODAY.

Also, I'm not going to be ashamed of me and who I am anymore. Yes, it sucks that I only need 9 hours worth of classes (3 classes) to have my master's, and I'm a phone sex operator. But you know what? It beats the shit out of what most people where I'm from have ever done.

I graduated in a class of 50...and that's in a public school. Of those 50, I think maybe 5 of us actually completed college. You know how many of those 5 went on to graduate school? Yep, just me.

Yes, my job is not a resume builder. Yes, I'm constantly broke. Yes, I have a Mensa IQ. But you know what? I DON'T still live at home with my parents. I DON'T have to depend on some lame-ass man to take care of me. I DON'T really have nice things, but, by God, everything I've got (with the exception of that big-ass truck I'm driving), I got my damn self. I DON'T have to stay in some shitty marriage to some guy I don't give a rat's ass about because I'm either too lazy or too stupid to work and support myself.

That's a hell of a lot more than I can say about any of the assholes who want to talk shit about me.

My mother, while she has her flaws, taught me not to depend on anybody to take care of me. I depend on me, and that's all I need. My daddy taught me not to wait on some man to rescue me because he knew his daughter was smarter and more resourceful than 99% of the men in this world. If the Apocalypse started tomorrow, I'd be better equipped to take care of myself than people like the bitches (and that term includes the males) who started all the bullshit drama last night.

Also, I'm asking L., who has a degree in accounting and is working on another one in economics, to help me figure out how to get my ass out of debt. (I figure who better to ask about that than my own personal accountant? LOL.) I sort of inherited my mama's propensity to spend money like it's going out of style and my daddy's laissez faire attitude toward budgeting. Yeah, the worst of both worlds there. My whole "I'ma work and try to make enough money to pay the bills and use the prayer method if all else fails" idea has not been working out so well for me. I mean, they're not about to cart me off to debtor's prison or anything, but I'd like to be able to get out of debt sometimes in the next five years.

I have all these fabulous ideas about various business ventures I would love to get into, but that requires money. And in order to have money, you can't have tons of debt. So, yeah. I'm hoping I can defer my student loans long enough that I can pay off my credit card debt, or at least get it down to a manageable level, then start on the student loans. Then, maybe, I'll be able to be a writer/tack store owner/horse farm owner/owner of horse rescue facility and have nice things. Maybe.

Ok, and for the last part of the blog, something I've been wanting to say for awhile and haven't figured out how to put into words without sounding sappy. But I figure with all the drama lately, something sappy might be ok for now. :)

I once had a plan for my life. No, really, I did. I've always pushed myself SO hard to get what it was I thought I wanted. It's only been recently that I started floundering and questioning myself. If I'm honest, I know now that what I thought I wanted would never have really made me happy.

One of my personal mantras is "If you're headed in one direction, and it seems that no matter what you do, there's always another obstacle in your path, then that's the Good Lord trying to tell you, 'You're going the wrong way, dumbass!'" Unfortunately, it took me forever to listen to my own advice.

I was headed the wrong way for a long time, and it's took me quite some time to get pointed back in the right direction. And I've apparently gotten lost several times in my attempted shortcut through the woods back to the right path.

One of the biggest things for me to overcome was my fear of ever not being in perfect control of everything around me 100% of the time. I know it sounds crazy, given my current situation, but it's the truth. I literally feared B. for YEARS, not because I thought he might harm me or anything like that, but because he triggered some instinctual reaction inside me that scared the living fuck out of me.

He did NOT fit into my life plan. So I spent time alternately trying to push him away and pull him back in because, while he didn't fit into my plan, I also couldn't stand the way I felt without him, either. I don't know how to explain it. I get these feelings sometimes (which are never wrong). And I knew I was supposed to follow him for the rest of my life, but I could never figure out how to make it work, with what I thought I wanted for myself. Also, it's scary to realize that you've met the love of your life at 22. That is not supposed to happen, at least not in my world.

So the Universe spent quite some time systematically destroying everything I ever believed about myself. That was the most painful process in the entire world, and I hope I never go through anything like that ever again. All my previous hopes and dreams were shown to me to be false, things that would never really make me happy.

In short, it was hell.

Then, after I saw the truth, I spent a good six months fighting it because I'm me, and I'm nothing if not stubborn and dogged in the face of adversity. Then, I accepted what I'd known all along....

I am supposed to follow this man for the rest of my life. And, luckily enough, following his silly ass led me right to J. I must've done something really phenomenal in my previous lives to deserve this. ;) I mean, I've literally jumped up two levels on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs pyramid in two months. That's the most rare thing ever. (Ignore how geeky that reference was, please.)

I love my Master and Mistress.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

The Ever-Popular Pervasive Sexual Fantasy Of The Week

Yes, yes, the pervasive sexual fantasy of the week, back by not-so-popular demand.

This one actually extends over a period of a couple of days. (What? Me? A whore? Absolutely not!) And, as always, I don't really have any good details to share, just some general fuzzy thoughts.

Ok, day one involves me tied in some suitably strict but not-too-uncomfortable position, so I can stay that way awhile. Blindfolded or hooded and possibly gagged in some way that doesn't make ME gag. No real requests on the torturing part, just building me up long and slow, so I can take lots. And lots of teasing, not letting me cum. (I like whining for it....) And heavy on the verbal humiliation. Really heavy. *Blush*

And then that particular scene ends with a whole lot of pussy torture--clamps, being beaten, really big insertions, etc. Lots of large things inside me to insure that I'm really painfully swollen the next day....

Which brings me to day two.

Little girl gets tied up and played with and tortured, though probably not as hard as the night before. Lots of being talked to like I'm little. Of course, because I'm so swollen from the previous day's fun, it's going to be damned agonizing to put anything inside me.

Which means the finale probably involves J. holding me down and talking to me and possibly hurting me herself while B. fucks me mercilessly. *Blushes more* Yeah, 'cause that would really, REALLY feel like the first time. *Tries to look innocent*

Ok, I'm a perv. But I keep getting these ideas. *Giggles* And tomorrow, I get to go see them, yay! :)


I can't sleep right now, so I'm screwing around on Facebook. One of my friends took a quiz called "Which Crazy Bitch Are You?" Now, naturally, something with that title just screams to me, so I had to take it, LOL.

The results may astound you....

I scored Sylvia Plath, who, for those of you keeping score at home, is my most favoritest writer in the world, as I've mentioned before. Interesting coincidence there. The description, however, was downright freaky, LOL.

You are one intense bitch. You are almost abnormally introspective but this is where your abundant creativity flows from. You love handsome, brilliant, creative genius types but you pay the price when their egos and lustful ways cause them to betray you. You are a very intelligent, classy lady with a black streak and can be very emotional at times. You do have a bit of a morbid side but your words often lead you to be misunderstood as a dark figure but that is just how you protect your soft mushy insides.

Err. Guilty as charged. And, no, I have no idea why I'm posting this here, other than I'm bored, and I love flattering myself by thinking for 2.5 seconds that I might be even one-hundredth as awesome as Sylvia Plath. But, le sigh, I'm not that brilliant and talented, unfortunately. 'Twas a pretty accurate description of me, though.

Ok, I'm going to see if I can find a bedtime snack, then I'm going to read more cheesy romance until I fall asleep. Night!

I Am Doing Marginally Better

I don't feel icky anymore. My brain chemistry has leveled out again. So yay!

L. came home today, and we went and ate lunch for cheap. No, I didn't really have the money to do it, but a girl has to get out of the house occasionally. And, really, it's not like lunch at Cici's is really going make or break me one way or the other, LOL.

It's nice having company again. I love my alone time, but I really did not need it this weekend.

And I've been working. Not getting many calls, but I have been blogging and newsgrouping and hanging out in the chatroom and stuff. Got it completely done for one character for the week. I got my NF listings redone. I'll probably log into those tonight. So I've done a little bit of what I'm supposed to do. It helps that I don't feel like I've been hit by a bus today. Gives me a bit more motivation.

Yay for less moody slave-girl!

Unfortunately, I have nothing truly interesting to report. My life is comparatively dull. But I do feel better, AND I'm getting shit done, which is better than nothing, right?

Perhaps I shall do the "Pervasive Sexual Fantasy Of The Week" post tomorrow. :)

Monday, April 20, 2009


Ok, everything is sucking again.

I hate this. I hate it so much. The drawback to being the--well, I hesitate to use "painslut" because I'm not entirely sure it's accurate, at least not in the context of this sentence--whatever that I am is however good I feel immediately after all the fun play is over is inversely proportional to how perfectly fucking shitty I feel a couple of days later.

In my previous post, I mentioned the way hot time we had Thursday night. (The reason I hesitated to use the word "painslut" in the preceding paragraph is that that scene was not particularly painful in any way, just kind of intense.) So, unfortunately, I'm really, really miserable at the moment.

I also hate to bother B. and J. with my whining.

I've been stuck here alone all weekend. I haven't gotten a thing done. I literally do not feel like getting out of bed.

God, I hate this. It sounds so pathetic and so self-pitying.

I just don't like being alone when I feel this way, but L.'s not in town, and all my attempts at trying to get together with any of my other friends have been rebuffed. Not that I actually told them what the problem was, mind you. It's a little embarrassing to say, "Please hang out with me because I don't want to be alone because I feel like shit."

Then, there's talking to my friend K. who hates everyone and everything, especially men and relationships. I'm trying to be supportive, but she is doing an incredible job of projecting all her problems and insecurities on to me and keeps warning me that nothing is ever as it seems, blah, blah, blah. I appreciate her concern, of course, but I think it's more irrational bitterness on her part than anything. Though it does nothing to help keep my old demons at bay.

I need them, and I detest my neediness. I try not to bug them because I just know one day they're going to get sick of me clinging and scream, "Go AWAY already!"

I do not know why I'm suffering so much with it right now.

I just...I need snuggles. Not from one of them, from both of them. I want to lie between them while they look down and smile at me and hold me close. I want to feel the overwhelming sense of RIGHTNESS when B. calls me "pet." ('Cause, let's face it, as cute as the moniker is, I'm about the farthest thing from an actual slave-girl that you can imagine, what, with my neediness and my demanding-ness [technical term] and my blatant attention whoring.) I want to feel the stupid grin creep over my face when J. says, "Good girl," to me in the exact same tone she uses with the dogs. I want to kiss them both. I want to feel the sense of happy security I get when I'm in their arms or, by extension, their bonds.

And now I'm teary-eyed. Jesus Christ, what have you people done to me?

I know I'm going back Tuesday. But Tuesday seems forever away right now, for some reason. I hate to be That Girl, but it's like nothing seems quite right when I'm not with the only man I've ever called and will ever call Master and the only woman I've ever called and will ever call Mistress. Or Mattress, depending on what kind of mood we're in.

Screw this, I'm going to lie down and read cheesy romance novels until I fall asleep. Maybe it'll make the time pass faster, if nothing else.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

I Feel Better...And A Request For Help

I've been slacking on blogging again. Actually, I've been slacking on everything. But that will be the second part of this blog.

As for the first part...I feel considerably better than I did the last time I blogged. I'm one of those people who is fairly easily overwhelmed by her emotions, but slow to trust. It makes for weird times, I think.

I spent some time with B. and J. this past week. Just a couple of days, but it still made me feel better. It wasn't even anything they did in particular that helped. Just things I noticed, things they probably weren't even doing to "make" me feel better. (I'm way more perceptive than I allow myself to appear to the folks around me.)

Because of these things, I feel less like slave-like playtoy and more like occasionally submissive girlfriend or some shit like that. (Don't get me wrong. Objectification is way fun on occasion. The other night was probably one of the hottest scenes I've ever been a part of. *Blush* B.'s cock down my throat, and J.'s hand in my cunt...uh, yeah, there's something to be said for being used like that. *Grin*)

Anyway, so, yeah. I do feel better.

Because I feel better, and because they both keep telling me to come to them when I have problems, I feel emboldened enough to come to part two of this blog.

I do have a problem. And it doesn't have anything to do with them. But if they wanna help me...I'd appreciate it. (No, the problem isn't my sudden overuse of ellipses, though I can imagine why someone would think so.)

I know I've mentioned before that I. Have. A. Problem. With. Getting. Shit. Done.

But I've possibly neglected to mention how bad it is. It is honestly a tribute to my boss's tolerance that she hasn't already fired me on several different occasions. Either that, or the fact that I rarely bother her with bullshit makes up for the fact that I have a hard time doing ANYTHING productive.

I'm not sure why, but I am so easily distracted. I suck at prioritizing. I can't multi-task to save my life. I have an overwhelming amount of stuff to do, but I still manage to lose large chunks of time just fucking around (case in point, posting this blog) because I simply don't know where to start. Then, I have no idea where the time's gone, and I still haven't accomplished anything.

My brain stays foggy; I can't focus on anything for any length of time, and I am the queen of the scatter-brained. I can't remember SHIT, and, dear God, I lose things left and right. Any distraction, however small, turns into something that interrupts my train of thought so severely that it takes forever to get back on track. I can't make decisions about what to do, where to go, what needs taking care of first, etc. Wash, rinse, repeat, every day of my life. I've always been this way, but it appears to be getting worse as I get older instead of better as I'd hoped.

I've been trying to combat it by making lists, so I don't forget things. But then I can't decide where to start on my List O' Shit To Do, and I don't do anything. Or else I spend all day trying to get one thing done. It's ridiculous, and I hate myself for my laziness and lack of self-discipline.

Part of it is, no doubt, that I'm stuck in a rut at work. I actually do like my job. The good part about being an independent contractor is that you can decide what to do and when to do it. The bad part about being an independent contractor is, well, that you can decide what to do and when to do it. The sheer amount of work I have to do just to make the bare minimum I need to pay bills is astounding. It's even MORE astounding when I fuck around and don't do it for awhile. Then, I have so much to do that I look at my daunting pile of tasks and go, "No. Hell no. I'm not even going to bother."

Like, even being at B. and J.'s makes it hard for me to work. It's partly because they're inherently distracting by being so cute. ;) It's also partly because any little deviation from my normal routine pretty much ruins any hope of my accomplishing anything. This is not their fault, by the way. It's my own personal character flaw.

See, the bad part about it is, I have a degree in psychology. I know what I need to do to fix this. Unfortunately, I also know how to outsmart my own tricks. (Kinda like my friend L. taking my credit cards away so I wouldn't use them. It didn't really matter because I'd memorized the card numbers and expiration dates and security codes on the back, so I could still buy shit online to my heart's content, even if I didn't have them physically in my hands to go out and shop.)

It's really embarrassing to admit. I'm 25 years old, and this is kid's shit. I'm ashamed of letting it get this bad, honestly. But I know I'm not making it any better by trying to hide how perfectly bad I am at doing things. I'd also be lying if I said I wasn't at least somewhat burnt out on the whole work deal, anyhow.

So in the interest of me NOT getting fired and of me actually making enough money to pay bills, I am going to attempt to solicit help from the distractingly adorable couple I belong to. I figure doing ANYTHING at this point is better than doing nothing. This is not me going, "Please beat me when I screw up." That's none of our styles and, as I learned a long time ago from living with my mother, completely counterproductive to getting me to do anything because my "fuck this shit and fuck you" response kicks in.

This is me going, "Please help me learn how to cope with shit in a more efficient manner."

Yes, I should probably be medicated. However, with the whole lack of health insurance problem, I'm going to need money for a doctor's visit and money for the actual meds (which I do not have right now). So if they feel like taking on this particular problem as a temporary stop-gap measure to keep me from fucking my life up further, I'd well and truly appreciate it.