Sooo Sleepy

Dunno what it is. It ain't stress. I've been staying home all week. I am not tired from working, Master has been way easy on me. The lists have been short and manageable. Some days he has not given me anything to do at all. And yet I can't seem to keep my eyes open.

I was supposed to make enchiladas for dinner last night and I forced myself to get up off the couch and go to the store but when I got home it was everything I could do to just put the stuff in the fridge. I was sound sound asleep when Master came home and rather than chastise me he decided it looked so good he sat down and went to sleep too.

He finally woke up around 8:00 pm and called to me. When I woke I was in a panic. I couldn't figure out what day it was, what time it was and when I realized it was so late I was freaked out. It was way to late to start the enchiladas. I was still half zonked, my body felt all weird and wooden with strange hot and cold tingles that come when I am woken from a deep deep sleep.

I sort of was babbling in broken curses and apologies and he told me to stop and come crawl into his lap and snuggle while I woke up. He held me and rubbed my back and told me to stop worrying about the food. And I fell back asleep.

He had to keep nudging me back awake. Finally, all in very good humor, he put on a very "mock" mean Master voice and shoved me off his lap and tried applying a cane (very very lightly) to my ass. It sort of worked. We went into the kitchen and found a little steak in the back of the freezer and I made rice and a salad to go with it.

But I was sleep walking and I was back asleep by 10:00 and this morning I slept through his alarm clock. I NEVER sleep through an alarm clock.

Dunno what it is. Maybe the shorter days. And we have not been getting much exercise. I really am resolved to not waste all this day, but that I had begun yesterday with the same resolution and it was the worst ever.

Well speaking of cheese...

I went to a small gathering of erotica writers on Tuesday. The leader talked about writing goals. And I once again put into voice the wish to finish my projects in a more timely manner.

I really want to finish Demon Child. But the more I write, the closer I get to the end the more things seem to demand to be said. And it has become the "never ending" story, which makes me discouraged about ever finishing. Upside. I have been enjoying the writing... Aylanna has really been coming into her own...

But.... full speed ahead... going a million miles an hour... and SCREEEECH!!!!! take an abrupt left turn and this thing, this thing that had been lurking about in my head involving nonconsent, extreme rape and the risk of death and torture kept surfacing at the oddest times, as I drove, as I sat at work between crises, as I lay underneath Master. It was becoming more and more intrusive and I had this idea, this image of an empty porch swing, swinging back and forth, back and forth, on a still night like a person had just been there, a pink flip flop left on the decking like it had fallen off and no other clues. Just vanished.

This is what I wrote:

The porch swing was still moving back and forth, swinging in the still night air. One pink flip flop lay on the decking. The front door stood half open, her car keys were in her purse sitting on the kitchen counter. A television droned unwatched in the front room. The police report did not say a lot about possible reasons for her disappearance, too many women had vanished that night, over a hundred in this town alone, a hundred in a city of just over 100,000, almost 1000 total across the state of Washington. All of them gone without witnesses, without any signs of a struggle, gone in a single night. All of them young, ranging from teens to mid-twenties.

The government had no answers. The news services were filled with wild speculations ranging from terrorists, to cults, to government conspiracies to aliens abductions but no one had any evidence. In one city, there was even a riot when a number of family members were prevented from searching a local army base. For years afterward there were annual observances across the country, the names and pictures displayed, night long candle light vigils held at sites. Generations later, the August night was still remembered, a night of fear and mystery. The incident became known as “The Vanishing”.

And like a projectile shot from a cannon I was off. I wrote 6000 words in just a few hours and I am still furiously typing away. Demon Child sits languishing. Master shakes his head and gives me "are you fucking serious" looks when I guiltily confess starting something new, a dark and horror filled alien abduction story.

I get so fucking turned on that I am masturbating a couple times a day. (mayyyybe that is why I am so fucking sleepy. snicker... double snicker... usually masturbation orgasms do not make me sleepy. I grab the vibrator and bust one out in a just a few minutes and hop right up and get back to what ever I am doing. Master has never set any limit to that little self indulgence... bless his heart.)

So I am obsessively writing... on something new... rather than finishing all the other things I am supposed to be working on. As usual.

At the writing group I readily admitted that never have trouble writing. I just have trouble writing on the things I am supposed to.

Arghhhh... Master just walked into the room with "a new idea of a story"... the story of a rock star who pre-celebrity was a bit of a loser, could not get laid, then over indulged as he became more popular and then as he became a superstar felt pressured by the sheer numbers of women who threw themselves at him. He grew cynical and jaded, started becoming increasingly misogynistic and abusive.

Meh... I wonder where that came from. I sure as hell don't need any more story ideas and I sure as hell have not been "throwing myself at him" lately. Actually I have had to work at not rolling my eyes and acting bored during the weekly formulaic fucks, but that is a different post and this one has gotten pretty long.

So today's resolution. To be awake when Master gets home. To write at least a thousand words on Demon Child before going back to the alien rape scenes... and get dinner made. Not too hard you think? Well I failed miserably yesterday.