Under His Hand

Q&A- the ex edition

clf asks: first of all, how did you become involved in the lifestyle and at what age did you know that vanilla was not for you? second, any news on the ex husband? is he is contact with y’all regularly or off living his life? I am curious to know how you became involved with him and why it didn’t work out.

I’m going to keep these two questions together because one answers the other.

My ex and I met when we were 15 years old at the birthday party of a mutual friend. He didn’t go to my school, he lived in the neighboring town so I didn’t know him at all. What drew me to him at the party was that he possessed a natural aloofness and just seemed to… lord over the party, almost.

We began dating and continued to date on and off throughout high school, though we had a very tumultuous relationship, even then. He’s very controlling. He’s very violent. Hindsight is 20/20 and looking back I have no doubt that I was attracted to the control and the violence- just neither of us knew how to properly channel it. I had other relationships, nicer ones, calmer ones (normal ones lol) but I’d always end up back with him.

I finally learned what it was I seeking. Violence, sure, of a fashion- but not the kind that included drunken fist fights, jealous rages, or broken toes. And control, yes, but not the kind that involved blocking me in my own driveway when I needed to go to work or abandoning me and the kids for days with no money or food, leaving me to call my parents begging for help.

He never learned what he was looking for. He still thinks kink is “sick”. He’s still controlling and violent- but not to me. In fact, it wasn’t until I met Master at the ripe old age of 34, that I was able to get out from under his control and stop being victimized by his violent outburts.

He and I (years after our split) once had a very pleasant few instances of communication wherein we delved into the failure of our relationship and discussed kink in honest, frank terms. He, in his very very expert manner of manipulation, pulled information out of me about my private life. He commiserated with me, told me he’d “found kink” (like he’d “found God”) and I (over)shared.

He then proceeded to call my mother and out me to her, probably in an attempt to convince her to take my kids away from me because he knew he couldn’t do it himself. He is an alcoholic with a long(-ish) arrest record for domestic assault, orders of protection, DUI charges, drunk and disorderly, bar fighting, leaving the scene of an accident, contempt of court for not paying child support/court fees/other fines… so his chance of stealing custody was slim to not a snowballs chance in hell.

But that was the one instance where his history of lying and being a first class dickhead worked in my favor. I simply told my mother he was full of shit and trying to start trouble and she dismissed his claims.

But where are we know? Well! Let me tell you. B-man’s 18th birthday was the happiest day of my freakin’ life. B-man’s graduation party was the very last “event” where I felt obligated to include him in the festivities.

He’s still, at 44, living the bar scene. He’s become the creepy old dude at the bar touching on the young hot chicks. He’s single, lives alone. He gets in bar fights. When Jes and her husband visited with him he got drunk and started a fight with her husband so he is still an asshole. He got fat. And, judging by how he looked the last time I saw him, if he’s not in the beginning stages of liver failure, I’d be surprised.

He is now trying to get me to wave the over 100 grand in arrears (back child support) he owes me. I guess the state has told him that if I’ll forgive the debt, he doesn’t have to pay it. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to do that. :)

He did pay child support for a few years. Long after I desperately needed it, but for the last 3 or 4 years of the kids’ teen years I got a regular check. I guess the judges were tired of seeing him and tossing him in for his 30 day contempt charge and he’d gotten threatened with a longer stint. That didn’t sound so fun so he toed the line. That stopped on B-man’s 18th birthday. But I guess now the state is still hassling him about the arrears. I’m not inclined to do him any favors, to be honest. I don’t feel like I owe him any.

Just the other day Am called me and told me that he’d called her and was bitching at her because I won’t sign off on this and I told her the next time he tries to talk to her about an issue with me to hang up on him. Not her circus, not her monkeys.

So as far as contact goes, he doesn’t have a way to contact me directly. He doesn’t know my address or my email or my phone number. I have him blocked on facebook. I have no reason to be in touch with him anymore and good riddance. His contact with the kids is intermittent. He tends to make drunken middle of the night phone calls to them now and then telling them how much he loves them but otherwise, I don’t think they talk to him very often at all. He likes to plaster pictures of the granddaughters on his facebook profile like he’s some super grandpa but the girls don’t even know who he is.

I love that as far as the grandkids are concerned, Grandpa is the guy sitting right here next to me. :)

All three of the kids have said that they only remain cordial with him because he will sometimes send them money. And honestly, he owes them that much at the very least. I don’t blame them at all for it.

So- when did I know vanilla wasn’t for me? When I was 15 lol. I just didn’t know it had a name, I didn’t know there was a good or bad way to get it. I didn’t know other people did it. I spent a lot of years trying to scratch that itch in the wrong way.

I did my fair share of provoking and antagonizing the ex into violence. I own that. I didn’t know it then, wasn’t fully aware of what I was doing or why, but I know I did.

I “formally” got into BDSM when I was first connected to the World Wide Web. I was 29, and I’d just discovered porn. BDSM porn, that is. It was like someone had turned the lights on.

Then I found chat rooms, message boards, communities, blogs, pictures. I learned and experimented and read and watched and talked. I kissed a few frogs along the way, trying to figure myself out. I even tried topping (puke).

And then I met Master. The rest, as they say, is history. :)

I’ll get to the other questions later today or tomorrow. Thank you!

(March is not over yet. Leave any further questions as a comment down below or use the Contact tab at the top! Thank you for playing along!)


March question

Rye’s question for Master: In reference to ‘the experiment’, I’m not sure what to call it; the events of last year that led Kaya to believe that you were no longer interested in a BDSM relationship. Your explanation after everything came to light was much appreciated and I fully understand that you owe her readers nothing. But I will admit a curiosity as to how she should have responded. When you set the scene of this test (if you will), what would have been the most favorable response for you? Was the intention for it to go on as long as it did, and was that the point? Or, if she had come to you within a week or so and begged and had the endgame epiphany you were looking for, would that have been it?

The favored response would have been to have not needed to do it at all. It wasn’t a test, it wasn’t an experiment, it was a necessary course. kaya needed to internalize a lesson and to accept some truths. That wasn’t going to happen by writing lines or beating her ass. Her failure to get on board and for her to believe that I had wronged her with my expectations was disappointing to me. That was my failure as much as hers but correcting it wasn’t her job, it was mine. She’s a much different cunt these days than she was 4 months ago. Much more pleasant and pleasing.

She responded as I thought she would. Sometimes you can’t force a person to a conclusion or make them see things that are right in front of their face. You have to give them the space to wallow in their own thoughts and come to the conclusion themselves. Yes it was trying, yes I was lacking in some areas , yes it took a long time, but in the end, she came to the conclusion that I knew she would, with a few subtle hints with a 2×4 here and there to adjust her mindset.

She came to me several times, begging and upset. But what she was upset about wasn’t the right thing, and what she was begging for wasn’t the right thing. Had she gotten there in a week though…. probably not, honestly. She needed to come full circle. I’d have been suspicious of the lesson making a full impact in just a week. She still needs some tweaking and polishing but I don’t expect to ever have to do that again. The impact has been pretty significant.

Thank you for your question.


(March is not over yet. Leave any further questions as a comment down below or use the Contact tab at the top! Thank you for playing along!)


His Reputation

I am supposed to let everyone know that Master is a kind and caring dom who is soo concerned about my well being that he cured me from being constipated.

(I didn’t know I was constipated (because I wasn’t) but that’s beside the point, apparently.)

He also wants it known that, because he loves and cares for me, he made sure I stayed hydrated by making me drink the remainder of the urine in the enema bucket after my colon was full.

(I also wasn’t thirsty)

Master is sweetness and light.

(Master is full of crap)

Master is also reminding me that yes, he slapped me across the face a few (hundred) times but he took my glasses off first. Because that’s just practical. He is smart and wise.


And yes, he brought home a beautiful box of European chocolate just to taunt me with, and will probably eat it in front of me while I sit at his feet and watch, because he only wants me to stay healthy and well and not consume unnecessary sugars.


Master is reminding me that his reputation lies in my hands, in how I present him. I am to present truth and accuracy and not skim over the true intention behind his actions.

(His intention is to make his dick hard.)

Which is that everything he does, he does with my best interests in mind.

(wait, wut?)

He is not an Abusive Bag of Dicks.


So when he ambushed me as I was leaving the bathroom, having just brushed my teeth and washed my face, and proceeded to smack me around, throw me on the bed, spit in my face, assault me with a dildo until I cried, punch me in the tits, tried to rip off my vagina, choked me with his cock, throatfucked me with his fingers, smothered me, strangled me, fucked me, and pissed in my mouth… having a boner was merely a coincidence.

(oh, the lies! they burn!)

He did all that because he loves me.


The End.



It Could Be You


Beautiful people that we’ve met at kink events. She’s gorgeous, sexy, devoted, happy, outgoing. She is the writer of a blog on my blogroll called Kink and Poly (currently closed) and the creater of Kink of the Week, which many of you have used as a catalyst to conversation on your blogs.

And he.. he is gregarious, joyful, perverted, and a master of woodwork. The connection they have is palpable. When they play, it’s electric.

This is what a puritan society can do to you, to the ones you love. This is heartbreaking. Soulless, selfish people ruin other people.

If you can give, great. If you can’t, then share. Please.


Welcome Home Favorite Part

Shhh. Master’s sleeping. I’m typing vewy vewy quietly.

My favorite part of his coming home happened almost right away, when we got into the elevator at the airport. I did not notice how he’d steered us into an empty one because I hadn’t stopped chattering since he swooped me up in baggage claim. I didn’t notice the empty elevator car until the doors slid shut and my nonstop yammering was cut off by his hand on my throat as I was being slammed against the back wall. His other hand dug brutally into a nipple, and he stopped my squeals by kissing me so passionately that I felt it in my stomach.

No, seriously, I think he was trying to taste what I ate for lunch.

For 6 floors, his lips crushed mine while one hand crushed my breast and the other hand crushed my windpipe, until a second before the elevator doors slid open, he stepped away, turning to face the doors, face composed, arms loose, a polite smile on his face and me, left in the corner, disheveled and a little stunned.

Then he said “Where’s the car parked?” all normal-like, like “Have you seen my pen?” or “Do you have the time?” and I answered “My legs are shaky.”

And then he laughed. So yes, that was my favorite part so far.

Or maybe it was when we were about halfway home, and he was behaving himself because I was driving and it was rush hour and Houston traffic is legendary so I was concentrating and we’d made simple small talk and he was ever so sleepy and quiet and then he suddenly turned to look at me.

“So! Are you still feeling cocky? Feeling mouthy? Have anything more you want to say to my face now that I can reach you?”

and I choked a little on a spurt of fear

The cockiest thing I managed to say was “No, Master.” In my peripheral vision I saw him nod and lean his head back against the seat, closing his eyes.

Then, quietly, “We’ll finish that later.”

That spurt of fear came out of my cunt.

No, that was definitely not my favorite part.

Perhaps then it was when we got in the house and there was luggage to bring in and the dog to greet- the cats, of course, gave him a look and then showed him their assholes as they trotted away up the stairs because cats- and he went in to use the bathroom while I was letting the dog out, then he slams open the bathroom door, pants down around his ankles, pinching the end of his dripping cock and says “cunt! drop down on your fucking knees and suck the piss out of my cock.” and so I did, and it wasn’t much, just enough so the essence hangs around in the back of your throat for awhile.


For a long while.

And though I’d only been sucking the tip like living toilet paper is supposed to do, he grabbed the back of my head and slammed me all the way down until my nose met his pelvis and rocked me there for a little bit, then he pushed me away onto the floor and said “Enough, you greedy whore. I’m tired.”

Yes, that might have been my favorite.

He headed up the stairs with me on his heels like a good dog, although I was still yapping so maybe not such a good dog but I haven’t seen him in a month and I just wanted to soak him in and soak him up, his smell, his voice, his eyes, his chest…

He closed the bedroom door behind me and cut me off mid-sentence by once again slamming me against the wall, pinning me there by the throat, my last word coming out a strangled “erk!” and his knee forcing between my legs. “Spread ‘em, bitch” came the warning through the muffled roar in my ears as I struggled to inhale but spreading meant moving and I was pinned like a bug to the wall and I could not move and I couldn’t tell him I couldn’t move because I also couldn’t talk so I just stood there, strangling, arms loose at my sides, waiting for things to compute.

What computed was his knee against my cunt, at first just grinding oh so pleasantly, so hard, smashing against the bone and my legs seem to spread of their own accord and he grunted something but I don’t know what it was and then his knee was bashing up into my cunt, whooshing the air out of me where it whistled through my narrowed windpipe. Once, twice, five, eight, who’s counting times.

That was for sure my favorite part.

After that though, when he’d dropped me from the wall and extracted his knee from my crotch, and walked sleepily toward the bed, I followed like I was being drawn, like he was leading me on a leash, like a moth to the flame, I followed, and he climbed on the bed and I followed, and he spread his legs and I followed

“Suck my dick,” and I followed directions.

I did. I sucked. Or… I tried. But I was soon competing with my hair, in my face, up my nose, in my mouth, no matter how many times I pushed it back it fell right down again, and the whole time I’m peeking up at him, thinking “you have one job…” and I say “Can I go get a hair tie, please?” and he thinks about it like I asked if I could have an affair, or if I could drop 20 grand on a new car until he finally sighs and says “well hurry the fuck up then” and I do.

I get my hair situated and his dick back in my mouth and I’m really not entirely sure he’s going to stay awake to the finish line because he’d been awake already for 26 or 27 hours, but instead of snores I hear “Face down, ass up” and I do, only not face-downy enough as he grabs the back of my head and smashes my face down into the mattress and says “THIS is face down”, then he pulls my arms behind me and uses my wrists as handles to hold onto while he fucks the ever loving shit right out of me.

He fucks me so hard, he shoves the njoy all the way into my ass and has to go rooting around for the handle.

He fucks me so hard, my throat hurts. I think he was tapping it from behind. Or maybe it hurts from the strangling. Or maybe from the orgasms that I screamed my way through.

Or maybe all of the above.

He fucks me like a man who hasn’t fucked in a month. Like a man who has just been told he will never fuck again. He fucks me with his balls slapping so hard up against my clit that it stings a little. He fucks me so hard that involuntary grunts are pushed out of my stomach, keeping time with his thrusts.

He fucks me. And I can’t hear through the pleasure coursing through my body, the pain in my shoulders as he yanks my arms back, trying to breathe against the mattress, the hurt-so-good sharp jabbing of his cock against my post-hysterectomy, nothing-is-in-the-same-place-anymore insides. He might have been stabbing my liver with his dick, who knows, it hurt like it could be true.

I can’t hear except this: “You better fucking beg me, bitch.”

And I did. Like a begging beggar. Like I needed that orgasm to save my life… and my dog’s life… and my Master’s life. To end world hunger. To save the whales. To stop the melting polar ice caps. I begged.

Maybe I squirted, maybe I peed, maybe I’m just a juicy bitch, I don’t really care, it was the best orgasm in all of Fetville.

Best. Orgasm. EVAR.

That was, for sure, without a doubt, my favorite part.

I cleaned him off and tucked him into bed. He told me to make him some chicken tetrazzini. He told me to leave him so he could sleep. He told me I better thank him.

I did all three.

My legs are rubbery. My arms are rubbery. And apparently my down there downstairs bits are rubbery because the njoy keeps slipping out of my ass and plopping onto the floor. (not my favorite part.)

I’ll be cracking tiles at this rate.

If this is how the rest of his time at home is going to be, it’s going to be my favorite month. :))))))))



Regretsies. I have a serious case of them.

Why why why am I so stupid???

Neither of us can just be happy he’s coming home. I mean, we are, of course, but now there’s a cloud hanging over it. Blah!

I thought maybe if I wore this shirt, he’ll just laugh it off-


But no. Probably not, huh? No points for honesty?

The thing is, if I’d have just kept my mouth shut (or kept my fingers still), he’d probably have apologized for getting on me about the phone. Everything I had said about it was true, and he even said that before he leaves again, he’ll sit down with me and make sure his expectations are crystal clear because obviously they were not (to me).

But then I had to go and get all bitchy about it. He has no tolerance for disrespect, which is surprising to most people because he’s so very informal and I’m such a snarky bitch that things appear disrespectful to most observers.

The intent behind it is everything, though. To him, anyway.

I can joke. I can tease. I can make him laugh with my antics. I can smile and say ‘fuck you, Sir’- as long as I’m obeying when I say it, haha.

And I can be angry and dissatisfied and upset. I can even express those emotions. He doesn’t fault me for feeling what I feel.

Cripes, I was dissatisfied for 3 months straight last year and I still managed to not be disrespectful. So why do I gotta fuck it up now, huh? Shit balls.

I really do understand that it needs to be dealt with, that he’s not going to let it slide and it would be damaging if he did, especially for us, especially now. I understand the necessity for there being a line that I’m not to cross. I’ll be grateful afterwards.

I’m just going out of my mind stressing over it. ~breathe breathe breathe~ I hate not knowing what’s coming.

Plus, he’s had several days to think about it. That’s never to my benefit. He’s delving into the why’s of it all and what the deeper issues might be and I doubt he’s going to come to a very pleasant conclusion. Nor do I think he’s going to choose a very pleasant path to fix it.

It is true when they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. It is also true that absence makes the sadism run deeper because if even half of the stuff he’s been thinking about gets put into practice, it’s going to be a pretty intense next few weeks. I won’t have much to complain about, probs. Except for maybe how sore I am.

We’re ready, though. Everything else seems to have calmed down, especially now that Jes and co. are settled in Germany. They’re there, they have housing, Babygirl has started school… it happened. They’re gone. The other two kids are doing well, Am has just signed a lease on a new apartment for another year so it’s unlikely that she’s heading this way anytime soon. B-man has also renewed his lease for the year. I had it in the back of my head that one or both of them would follow us down here, or that something would cancel the Germany move, and…. none of that happened.

We’ve made our choices, all of that angst has dissipated. He’s gone above and beyond(!!) to show me how unhappy I am without BDSM and how much I don’t want an egalitarian relationship. While it was a hard choice to make, I did make it. I left them, I want this. So here we are. I’m back to smiling. I’m done being angry. I’m done being sad. I have no resentment left. I’m ready to get back on my knees.

But all he’s going to do today is sleep, lol. Probably tomorrow will be sleeping, too. Though he tends to recover pretty quickly from jet lag, that doesn’t mean he’s back at 100%. By the time he gets home today, he’ll have been awake and traveling for 24 hours straight. He has a long layover in Atlanta so maybe he can snooze a bit while he’s waiting.

The jury is still out on what I think about how easy or hard it’s going to be to maintain TTWD if his work schedule stays as it is with the 30 on/30 off. The first month he was gone was all sorts of fucked up because of the Great Lesson Learned of 2014, and this month has been weird because the kids were here for most of it.

I oddly don’t feel like I’m in an LDR or that the separation is taking a toll. He holds me to the same tasks and chores, the same expectations. We’re in contact often enough that I’m not relieved of asking for permission to do things. I certainly do get a break on service and that really sucks. I miss sex, and his directives to stick things in my holes aren’t even nearly the same as when he’s doing it. I just can’t be mean enough to myself like he can. :)

Skype helps. Lots. He watches. He notices. I was talking with him one time and he all of sudden leaned up to the monitor and all angry-like said “Pull the collar of your fucking shirt down right now, cunt.” which I did and he sat back and said “You’re lucky. I couldn’t see your collar. Don’t even think about taking that off.” I wasn’t, of course, and I wouldn’t. But knowing that he can, and has, gotten me on cam out of the blue and will demand to see the njoy, for instance, or want to see a picture of my step count on the fitbit, or check the collar, or see if the house is clean… He just doesn’t seem that far away.

He still tells me when to go to bed and when to get up. I don’t chain myself into bed at night though, that’d be just silly. But I miss it. I also don’t have to ask for the bathroom, unless I happen to be talking to him at the time. He’s too busy for that, and we’re pretty much on opposite schedules anyway.

Though I don’t know why I don’t change myself around to his time schedule when he’s gone. Wouldn’t that make sense? I’ma ask him.

I am babbling. I’m full of nervous energy. I miss his presence, his energy. He has big energy. It’s a noticeable difference in the house. Everything is more vibrant when he’s here.

I think I’m just gonna glom onto him and not let go.


Gonna dick it

My facebook status this morning. Heh, my phone is learning me so fast!


Also, my nipples feel like they’ve been run over by a truck.

My cunt feels like it’s been through a cheese grater.

He comes home tomorrow.

I am soo on to his evil plan. ~narrows eyes~

Okay bye. I got some dicking to do at the dog park.


Well.. ow.

One pound each labia..
Snapshot 3 (3-21-2015 10-09 PM)

Snapshot 4 (3-21-2015 10-10 PM)

One pound each nipple..
Snapshot 6 (3-21-2015 10-12 PM)

Snapshot 8 (3-21-2015 10-14 PM)

One mile on the treadmill with that dumb thing stuffed in there. (that was a long ass fucking painful mile)

Walk a mile in my cunt? lulz

There’s your damn banana.



Video: Ain’t no hollaback girl

A few more days and he’ll be home and then I suspect this might look like child’s play. ~cry~



This shit is bananas


This is why you don’t offer a sadist an “instead” option. They turn it into an “and”.




I can’t sleep. I started getting a baby migraine yesterday evening so I immediately started popping Excedrin Migraine. Usually if I can get them on board quick enough, I can keep the baby migraine in its infant stage. However, that also means I’m then hopped up on caffeine. Sooo… here it is 4am and I’ve dozed for probably 30 minutes all night.

Plus, I’m upset about having made Master angry yesterday and I’m super nervous about the coming consequences. The part I didn’t include in yesterday’s post was how, after I’d stewed about it all morning, I did something even stupider because, you know, I’m me and me is a dumbass.

I was stewing because I didn’t think he was being fair (I swear to all that is holy, “fair” is going to get me skinned alive someday. When does THAT little nugget get erased, huh?).

I wanted to plead my case… because I keep thinking I have a right to plead my case to him. And maybe he would have let me, had I not been such a shit about it later on. See: dumbass.

My case is this: Okay, yes, technically I missed a call. A few of them. And some texts. BUT. I’d told him that I’d been turning my phone down at night (my night) because we have set times that we communicate due to the time differences and his work schedule. We skype twice a day, once at my 7am which is about his 9pm, and then again at my 4pm which is his 6am. It’s very very rare that he calls me because he’s in fucking Korea, not right down the road, you know? It’s expensive. We can text all we want but not call. So I turn my phone down to vibrate so that I’m not getting woken up by anyone else texting me, like, oh say, one of the kids who want to tell me what they ate for supper. He knew that and he never told me not to do that.

Anyway, that 7am (his 9pm) skype time is sometimes cancelled because he goes out with his co-workers for dinner or drinks or whatever and he doesn’t get home until later, and then he’s tired and needs to go to bed because he gets up at 5:30 in the morning. So it’s just not unusual for me to get up at 7 and see a text from him saying “I’m going out. Won’t be on.” in which case I roll over go the fuck back to sleep because I’m a lazy bitch.

ALSO.. what has happened more than once, is that a text is delayed or never even arrives because.. you know.. Korea to Texas. So what had happened was I got up at 7 like I’m supposed to, and he wasn’t on. I sent him a text asking if he was out, he replied that he was and I replied back saying okay, I’m going back to sleep.

And then I promptly rolled over and went right the fuck back to sleep.

He said he texted me right back and said not to go to back to sleep, that he’d be on shortly. But I never got that text. I’m not saying he didn’t send it, I’m just saying I never got it. He’s blowing up my phone and I’m not hearing any of it- until I did, and then you read the rest of that part.

So I think he was being unfair! But I couldn’t talk to him about it because he’d gone to bed. It was… I don’t know.. 11pm or so his time so I couldn’t call or text.

I stewed instead. For a few hours.

And then I sent him a nastygram on facebook.

See: Dumbass.

I said: You might want to rethink exactly what it is you’re pissed off about and why you’re taking it out on me. You also might want to consider telling me what the expectations are because I left my mind reading skills in my other pants, sorry-not-sorry.

This was a lovely way to start my day. Thanks for that! Very motivating.

And yes, I am being disrespectful. You don’t inspire respect when you’re being dumb. Bye.

Did I mention dumbass? :-(

Maybe about 15 seconds later I started wishing that facebook had a ‘take back’ button. It was hours and hours before he got up and read his facebook so I had lots of time to get nervous about it. And lots of time to tell myself how stupid I am.

Then he got up. And he read it.

Well after that he was *really* pissed.

Inorite? I was shocked, too.

I have no idea where I was going with this. Other than to make sure everyone knows that when he comes down on me, which he will (is, already), and when it’s really bad, which it will be, I will deserve every bit of it and not just because I missed a phone call.

I fucked up.

And I feel really guilty because, besides the obvious slave fail, he doesn’t have time to deal with this, with me. Awhile back someone asked how it was that he got 30 days off, like what kind of job is that, right? Well… the last two weeks? He’s worked 172 hours.


He does that the whole month he’s gone. 80 to 90 hours a week. Why does he get 30 days off? To recover. Because he put two months of work into one.

And can I hold it together while he’s working like that, while he’s busy and stressed and tired?

Apparently not.

I told you. Dumbass.