Perspective seems to be a reoccurring theme for me. Maybe it is for everybody, though.
So things have been a little angsty here for me. Okay, they’ve been a lot angsty. And it’s all about perspective. Not only needing to switch mine about my own life- which I do (am? trying?)- but also for all of you to see me. Obviously the onus is on me to communicate clearly so that your perspective of me, or of what I’m saying, is accurate. That’s not always easy to do, though, because a lot of times I’m still figuring things out and if they aren’t clear to me there is no possible way to make them clear to anyone else.
Not to you, and, especially, not to Master.
I am not nearly as bright as people say I am, lol. It really does take me time to arrange what I feel into something I can say. I might know I’m not happy, and the reason why I’m not happy might be dancing around the fringes of my brain, but “just because!” isn’t effective communication by any means.
A lot of times, then, I come here. This is my safe place- to write, to fumble around, to put things in order and make sense of them.
Which is not to say that I’m dissatisfied with any feedback you all give me as I fumble and stare at my navel for days on end. Nothing could be further from the truth, actually. In fact, it is often times the comments and emails that come in here, from the supportive to the insulting, that guide me to clarity. For that I thank you. Sincerely.
And so, for the sake of clarity, this has been my perspective and the changes I’m working on.
Master has been home a lot. Not just “a lot more than he was before”, but A LOT. This new job of his affords him a lot of time off, with pay. A lot of time to be at home, doing whatever he wants to.
His old job was pretty much the exact opposite of that. He averaged 12 to 14 hour days, 5 to 7 days a week. He was on call all the time, constantly answering phone calls, troubleshooting, and always on edge, waiting for the “we need you back here right now” and never able to just relax. Not to mention the travel he did, which was frequent, though not constant. Enough though, that him calling me as he was driving home from work and saying “cunt, pack my suitcase. I have to leave as soon as I get home.” was not uncommon. When he was home, he was either sleeping or trying to unwind.
It was hard to make plans. It became impossible to look forward to things. Inevitably, he’d get called into work and plans would get cancelled. All. The. Time.
And then, of course, there were the kids still at home. There was Jes and the baby situation.
Long story short, there were a million reasons why kinky fun times weren’t a daily event. Or even a weekly event. It happened when it happened. But regardless of the activities, we kept things as constant as we could in the M/s department, and given that I absolutely understood the reasons why things were what they were, I feel like I kept the angst to a minimum.
(Shh. I did, too.)
Things couldn’t be all fantasy land bdsm then. Because reasons.
Reasons that we talked about, frequently. Reasons that we assured each other wouldn’t be there forever, that we just had to be patient, that this was life, and it was a GOOD life even though [...] because we kept our perspective.
Kind of out of the blue, he takes this new job. And he’s home. Like I said, a lot. This week, for example, he worked a half day on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday and didn’t have to go in at all on Thursday or today. And he’ll be home all weekend, too. He’s not on call, either. At all.
That’s been typical of his schedule since he started this job. Since I got here.
The perk- he’s getting paid, either way. Hard to argue with that.
The trade off is that he WILL be travelling and when he travels it will be for longer amounts of time than the previous job. It’ll be anywhere from a week to a month at a time that he’ll be gone.
And the trade off for THAT is that when he gets home from his travel, he’ll be home (literally at home not having to go anywhere, even into the office at all) for equal the time he was in the field.
If he’s gone for 30 days straight on a job, then he sits home for 30 days straight.
*And he gets paid to sit home.
I mean, it’s pretty simple to see why he wanted to switch jobs, right?
The move, as you know, wasn’t quite as simple for me. Understanding why he wanted to change jobs didn’t magically erase the awful realities of what it meant to move away from my kids, to rehome my pets, to tell my friends goodbye, to put my (“my”, haha) house up for sale…
For example- it’s coming up on the holiday season. Thanksgiving, Christmas. I cannot bring Am or B-man here for both, or probably even for one of those holidays. Not only can they not get time off on those holidays, but even if they could, ticket prices are cuh-razy high around the holidays (the difference between booking Am’s ticket here in early November vs over Christmas? One thousand dollars. It is one thousand dollars more expensive to fly her here anytime between Dec. 10 and Jan. 10.)
We’re just not made of money. We still have bills, a mortgage on a house that hasn’t sold and rent here. Double utilities now, too. I mean, you know… we just can’t swing that expense and even if we could, they can’t come anyway. I could fly there- maybe- if we can swing the ticket, but then that leaves Master here alone for one or both holidays because we cannot afford 2 tickets, and neither can he, probably, take a holiday so soon at this new job- as lenient as they are on work hours, they still expect him to be here and not jetsetting across the country.
So what I know is that it’s very very likely that on Christmas and Thanksgiving, Am and B-man will up there in Michigan (where there is also no OTHER family of ours because when we moved there we left family behind) all alone.
Which only breaks my heart into a million billion thousand pieces. Because I’m a mom. They didn’t choose to leave me, I left them. Which is entirely different and sad and makes me feel guilty and awful and and and…
So, no. It wasn’t an easy move for me. But you know all that because I’ve detailed it. Multiple times. Poor poor me, right?
Because, bottom line, I *did* choose to move.
And we can go into all manner of discussion on ‘him Master, me slave’, so how much choice was there really, and while that is certainly a factor (A huge factor), someone will just back it up to ‘but you chose to be his slave so you still chose’ so let’s just skip that whole mess.
I chose to leave them. And while that doesn’t make things any easier to deal with (might even make it worse, honestly) it does seem to mean that I don’t have the “right” to whine about it.
I’ll leave that alone for now.
Instead let’s examine some of the other things that made me “choose” to move.
If I can quote myself (and I can because it’s my blog): there were a million reasons why kinky fun times weren’t a daily event. Or even a weekly event. It happened when it happened. Things couldn’t be all fantasy land bdsm then. Because reasons. Reasons that we talked about, frequently. Reasons that we assured each other wouldn’t be there forever, that we just had to be patient, that this was life…
THAT had been my reality for years. Waiting.
Waiting, waiting, waiting. It was the kids, it was time, it was energy, it was work, it was this and that and blah blah blah.
THIS… this “just me and you baby, and all the time in the world” was the carrot he dangled under my nose when I got all angsty about moving.
And this post . Those messages, the implied “yes, cunt, get your hopes up because finally..”
This thing we’d been waiting for. The fantasy life.
Or, at least, the thing I’d been waiting for. MY fantasy life.
What HAS he been doing?
lol. That’s the best way to put it. Basking in all the time he has to do whatever the fuck he wants.
He’s relaxed. He’s happy. He’s chill.
Chiller than I’ve seen him in a long time.
It’s just that… doing whatever the fuck he wants doesn’t include me very often.
Relaxing gets boring.
I’m not happy.
There’s nothing kinky about being chill.
He’s all about the service. He’s a service loving motherfucker. I can cook and clean and give him massages and wash his back and trim his toenails. I can fetch beer and water and refill drinks and get up to get the remote that is 3 inches out of his reach.
Um… that’s really REALLY not my fantasy kink life. Mmkay?
God knows I have been trying to keep my perspective right and proper and focused. If I got 5 minutes of kink out of a 24 hour period, I lapped that up and soaked it in and blogged about that instead of the 23 hours and 55 minutes where I didn’t.
And I tried to be HAPPY with it.
I’m still trying to be happy with it.
Because maybe it’s not even 5 minutes. Maybe it’s zero minutes. Maybe it’s 3 days and I don’t think he’s noticed I’m alive. Maybe it’s 6 days since i’ve followed the rules and he’s still happily ‘living his dream’.
Maybe it’s a whole fucking lot like what it was before we moved when I still had my kids and my pets and my house and my friends and no guilt only instead of there being a seemingly legitimate reason why I can’t have it all, there is no reason that makes sense to me.
And maybe I can’t remember quite why I “chose” to move.
And maybe then.. I start to get resentful and sad and irritable.
Of course then I feel guilty. Because I am a slave, and at heart I’m a mostly good one (with a few hiccups here and there lol) and I really do want him to be happy above all else and I am– really — trying here.
Because I am also still a human being, with my own wants and needs and my own emotions, as rational (or not) that they may be.
I am not a martyr. I am not selfless. And above all, I am not not NOT a service oriented slave. That has never ever been my currency and it never will be. I can very quickly start to feel like a free maid service if, along the way, I’m not getting something else. And that makes me go all hulk-smash. Because I’m HUMAN.
I am also NOT trying to rain on his parade. Which I know doesn’t seem to come across here very well, but I’m sincerely not. When I’m not whining about things here, I’m cooking and cleaning and serving- and trying to figure things out.
But this is my life, too. My future, my happiness. I need some things from him. I can, and have been, the world’s happiest free maid service if there is some control and pain and wickedness sprinkled on top. I don’t think I’m asking for that much- considering what I’ve sacrificed to try and get it.
And I still think that’s his JOB. He has a part in this, too. Give me all the lectures you want but I don’t agree that just because he’s the Boss, he doesn’t have a responsibility here, the same as I do.
So that’s kind of where things are right now.
He’s not omnipotent. Sometimes he just doesn’t realize. He doesn’t see.
He’s also not opposed to making me happy. Lucky for me.
He’s not even afraid to admit that he might have fucked up.
And.. even more lucky for me.. he’s not opposed to taking steps to correct it.
Being facefucked hard enough to give me a bloody nose is a good start. :)
So this probably reads like a long ranty diatribe, and in a way I suppose it is, but that’s not my intention.
It’s actually about finding clarity, about realizing why I was disgruntled here even though on the surface I should have been ecstatic.
It’s about honesty. It’s about reality. It’s about making it work. It’s about both of us wanting the other to be happy, even at great personal sacrifice. It’s about love.
And.. it’s about perspective.
Can I be a good slave without that sprinkle of control and pain? I can.
Do I want to be? Not if I get a say in it, no.