Wednesday, January 6, 2010

New Year, New Blog

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yay, Southern Gothic!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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