I have things that I want to say and I can’t. Not that I’m not allowed to, I just can’t bring myself to say it. It’s all rolling around up there and I want to sit down here and type it out and I just…. can’t.
Things get “straight” for me when it’s in black and white. (Or blue and white, red and black, whatever color your monitor shows you.) My thoughts are like wisps of smoke, I reach for them and get handfuls of air, but I write it down and it stays. It’s stays right there and I can read it. I can read one sentence and from there I can grab another sentence, pretty soon I have a paragraph and soon after that, I have a whole thought, a theory, something that makes sense, even if it’s only me that it makes sense to.
But that all takes time and I keep telling myself I don’t have that kind of time to sit down here and do that. Nor can my ass handle it, because let’s face it, I can’t think sitting on this bench anyway. So I pop out these quick nonsense posts to appease the urge, the need, to write and it’s not enough. It’s not working. It’s like giving a crack addict a puff of a joint.
I haven’t posted to the training journal for, shit, two weeks now? Maybe longer. I don’t know. I haven’t even looked at it.
I looked. 3 weeks. I’m supposed to make 3 posts a week. I hadn’t thought it had been that long. I’ve thought about it several times, told myself I needed to do that. Then I told myself I needed to catch up. Then I said, ffs kaya, at least make a god damn effort with it. Post *something*. But I posted nothing.
Because what I want to post is stuff in here. I don’t want to waste any time on the training journal. I don’t want to spend time looking things up on the internet. I want to write what I want to fucking write. And I can’t.
There have been a few days here that I posted five different posts. FIVE posts in one day. Who does that? I know *why*. I’m puffing that joint to feed the crack habit, that’s why. And they were fluff posts. Fillers. The things that roll around on top of and around the meaty stuff. It’s easy to slough that stuff off. A bit harder to dig into the substance.
I still don’t know the details of Master’s flight home. In fact, I still don’t know for *sure* that He’s coming home. Plans change on a dime. The last I talked to Him He said that things looked “very good” for Him to be heading home Friday. Fingers crossed and all of that but if He’s delayed again… I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing. Painting or trying to fix this or that, rearrange furniture, walk the dog. Same shit different day.
He’s been gone since July 27th. A month, or will be a month by the time He gets home. The ‘experts’ say it takes 21 days to change/break/make a new habit. While slavery isn’t a habit for me, a whole lot of day to day life *is* habitual. And it’s not a far jump from habit to routine. I’ve had 30 days of myself bossing me around. I happen to be a whole lot gentler on myself than other people who shall remain nameless Master.
It’s been a month and I’m ecstatically happy that He’s coming home but there is that tiny tiny part of me that’s already resenting the upset in routine. That’s already foreseeing the difficulties of my habits being broken. I haven’t even been given a bedtime or a wake up time yet but I know it’s coming. I know He’ll just stand up and announce ‘bedtime, cunt’ and I’ll be expected to follow blithely behind Him, do the whole bedtime routine (His routine, not mine. My routine consists of teeth brushing, climb in bed, sleep. His routine is much more involved than that. Foot massages, corner, blow jobs, beg for collar and chain, and don’t forget the flippin-flappin glass of water that I always forget.) Of course I miss serving Him, and servicing Him. That’s all one of the very big attractions to slavery for me. But just because I like it and want it doesn’t make it any easier to flip gears like that.
He says its not easy for Him to switch gears either but, really, I don’t know if I buy that. I mean, in some regard, perhaps it is… but there isn’t a whole lot of mental anguish to saying “Would you get me a glass of water and then I want a blow job” is there?
I’m stewing more about the routine/habit disruption than I am worried about the whole electric bill fiasco. I don’t even know if He will do or say anything about that. I suspect that He won’t. The blown speaker and the electric bill both, I think, will be shrugged off. I don’t dare say that I’m positive He won’t do anything because I know better than to try and predict Him. And I do think He will be angry/disappointed a little… but thats probably all.
He tends to make excuses for me. A lot. The punishments that I get are for things, rules, that have been in place for ages. There’s no leniency for breaking those rules. I can’t plead ignorance or “I forgot”. I can’t pretend I didn’t understand it. It’s an expected, and deserved correction when I break an old rule. But new stuff? Or something that’s not really specifically been written down or discussed, He’s much more lenient.
I don’t know if that helps or hinders. Maybe it doesn’t matter if it helps or hinders. Maybe it just has to be. If He gives me one more rule to follow, thats one more rule He has to enforce. More work for Him.
I don’t even know what I’m talking about. Just babbling and not really even thinking. I’m trying to convince myself that I’m not going to be punished because if He does gloss over it, then it won’t hurt that it was glossed over. Or if He lets me off with a smack or two, I won’t be surprised or disappointed. Because no matter how much I don’t want to be punished and I don’t want to face His anger or disappointment, when things do get glossed over, the message it sends me is that I’m not worth correcting. That hurts inside.
Christ. It’s 2am and once again time is working against me. And I haven’t said what I need to say! I don’t even know what I need to say.
My ass hurts.
I hope He comes home. I miss Him more than I can express.
I’m sorry for this jumbled mess of a post.
I guess that’s all.
~cunt
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Uncategorized | kaya | 
Thursday August 24th, 2006 12:48pm | 
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