Rough
It’s been a rough couple of days, let me tell you.
Master is (was) in a bad mood. I’m in (was in) a bad mood.
The day I posted that last entry, Master had to go out of town for work. And at first it was okay because we got a chance to have a good long talk while he was driving.
Communication is a funny thing. It doesn’t seem to matter how good we are at it or how much we do it, a lack of communication seems to creep on us and bite us both in the ass now and then.
So we talked (are still talking). The bottom line is he was still waiting for me to “get better”. I was feeling a lot better and hadn’t communicated that to him.
Except sometimes I don’t feel all that better so probably, more than likely, subconsciously I was a little afraid to tell him anyway. That seems to be the norm with hysterectomy recovery. Good days, bad days, you get tired out quickly, yadda yadda yadda.
He’s an all or nothing kind of guy. And how exactly do I complain about too much leniency while at the same time know that occasionally I’m going to need some leniency still?
And yet… the all-the-time leniency is quietly making me fucking crazy. In that same writing I linked in the post there was this line “Sure she may feel relieved and glad for it in the short term, but over time it erodes her sense of place.” That’s how I feel. Eroded.
As Master and I were talking, just to illustrate how far I’d drifted, I had said that I’d been considering applying for a job and I hadn’t planned to discuss it with him first, but to tell him after. I also said that it didn’t worry me a bit to blow off an order he’d given me. For instance, if he tells me to go to the gym tomorrow and if tomorrow I don’t feel like it, then tomorrow I just don’t go.
Everything in my life was beginning to feel optional. That’s a crappy place for someone like me to be.
He was surprised. Shocked, really. He didn’t know I’d gone so far away in my head. He’s not a mind reader and while I may think my defiance is obvious and telling and noticeable, the fact is I’m a snarky bitch at heart, he knows this, I’m always responding with a snappy comeback and how is he to know that the meaning behind my snark has changed if I don’t tell him?
On the surface nothing felt too different to him. I was still obeying- mostly. Except when I was physically unable to (or so he thought). I was still asking permission for things (mostly, except when I didn’t and he didn’t know).
2 months ago when I was still seriously unable to do things if he came home from work and the house was not up to standards, and if he asked me why the house wasn’t spotless and if I said because I didn’t feel like it, that was a legitimate need for leniency. He knew it. I knew it.
2 weeks ago, same scenario, only my “I didn’t feel like it” has changed meaning *for me*. It hadn’t for him. For him it was still “she didn’t feel like it because she’s still physically struggling” but for me it had become “I didn’t feel like it and what are you going to do about it?”
What he did was nothing. Because.. d’uh… he’s on one planet, I’m on another.
And you know.. spare me the lectures on doing it just because I should. For one thing, I can do that. I have done that. But at some point doing it just for me ceases doing it for him. That’s just going to spiral me back into the question of what makes an M/s relationship different from a vanilla relationship. Of course I was cleaning the house because I’m just not a dirty person. I do the dishes and I clean up the pet hair and I cook meals and keep up with the laundry. Etc., etc.
I was cleaning it to MY standards, not to his. And that’s just… everything. Don’t you think? If you’re in this style of relationship it *matters* if he doesn’t notice. Or seem to care. Because if he doesn’t, I don’t.
Or ….something. Whatever. I’m not the slave whisperer. I don’t have this all figured out.
Anyway, as I was saying, he was still waiting for me to recover so he could crack the fucking whip. I was recovered (mostly) and waiting for him to notice. I thought it was obvious. He didn’t.
So. We have this nice long talk as he’s driving. A lot of things get aired out. There’s no fighting or finger pointing, we’re being lovely mature adults having a conversation.
The next day, he turns back into the meanie he used to be. The “stfu, no excuses or else” guy that I used to know.
Naturally, I dig in my heels. LOL. Because he’s being mean!
I am nothing if not consistent, right? Or is that inconsistent. Ha.
Here’s how I see it (as if it matters how I see it but it’s my blog so there):
It’s just like with the njoy- which, coincidentally, was the very first thing he told me to do but was absolutely NOT at the top of my list. Or on the list at all. But whatever. He heard “healed”, he went straight to the ass. Typical. Hmmph.
Where was I?
So he tells me I have to put it in. Okay fine. It’s been 8 months since my ass has been touched. 8 MONTHS. 8 months since a surgeon was back in there with a scalpel and some stitches. Point is, there is no way-NO WAY- I’m going to go from 8 months of butt-surgery-recovery to 24/7 trailer hitch lodged in there *just because he said so*.
Ain’t gonna happen.
It took me FOREVER to get it in. And it wasn’t pleasant. It hurt a fair amount. I kept telling him the surgeon sewed me up too tight but he wasn’t buying that. Meh. And then, once it was in, I could only wear it for about 2 hours.
He was fine with that. He knows I’m going to have to adjust to long term wear. I had the same adjustment when I first got it.
I kind of feel the same about the rest of it, too.
It’s been 8 months for a lot of things. There’s going to be an adjustment period.
Plus, it just kind of irks me that anytime I complain about a lack of control, the first place he goes is pain.
Pain =/= control. Not to me.
So yes, I’ll shove the fucking thing up my ass and I’ll put on the fucking tack bra… and I’m STILL not going to feel controlled.
So I’m irritated at the predictable path he’s taking. I’m digging in my heels. I’m balking because I don’t feel like he’s getting me.
He says it’s gotta start somewhere and he gets to pick where so shut the fuck up and do what you’re told.
So we’re already irritated with each other a little bit.
And then.. THEN.. for a little whipped topping on the sundae of suck, this bit of joy happens. He’s particularly obsessed with my cell phone and with answering it promptly when he calls or texts. Yesterday, for reasons I cannot guess at, I missed several texts in a row.
I don’t have a god damn explanation. My phone was right next to me where it always is. The only time I was away from it was a quick trip to the potty. I didn’t hear it. It wasn’t turned off or on vibrate or on silent. I had done nothing wrong. At least not on purpose.
He finally calls.. I answer.. and he’s LIVID.
L I V I D.
I get defensive.
Because… here’s the thing that gets me every single time this happens… what he’s accusing me of is purposely ignoring him. Like, I see my phone, I see it’s from him, I shrug, put it down and go on about my day. That’s the scenario in his head.
Which means that I would be purposely setting myself up for the Wrath of the Wronged Dominant because that’s what I get every single time. Because that’s a pleasant experience, right?
And THAT, my friends, pisses me off to no fucking end. Nobody, not even glutton-for-drama me, likes the Wrath of the Wronged Dom. It sucks.
So yes, somehow I missed some texts. I can’t say how because it was literally 3 inches from my hand and I did hear it when he called because I fucking answered it, didn’t I?
Blame the phone, blame the cell towers, blame the universe if it makes you happy… but don’t blame me when I haven’t deliberately done something wrong. Don’t yell at me, accuse me, lecture me, and for fucks sake don’t punish me when I haven’t done anything to deserve it. Do NOT suspect my motives. Give me the benefit of the doubt because I’ve fucking earned that much.
Seriously pisses me the fuck OFF.
You see what I mean? The ‘stfu, no-excuses, mean guy’.
I’m not sure I missed THAT guy actually.
….
….
Maybe I did though, because after-the-fact, I got a little fuzzy over the unfairness of it all.
….
Yeah… yeah I missed “that” guy. Shit.
Anyway. We’re talking. I guess that’s all.














