A whole new year...

I woke this morning, snuggled up warm and close to my sleeping Master and thought to myself, 1-1-11, the first day of 2011.  I don't have a whole lot of New Years Resolutions... just the old ones from last year that need a fresh shot of energy.  (1) cut down the bad fat (2) keep walking and bike riding (3) Quit bitching about what is wrong with my Master and celebrate the fact I have him and that for every wrong thing, there are ten right things.  I did pretty good last year, but #1 sort of got compromised this holiday season and #2 just fell apart in the face of one of the nastiest rainiest years on record.  #3 has been much, much better... but there is still room for improvement.   

New years eve was pretty much the same as always.  Nada, nothing, bleh, boring, disappointing.  I know if I had pushed, and begged, and whined and... and... I could probably have gotten him to go out.  A new acquaintance and potential friend had done the cajoling and gotten her Master to agree to take her out to a NYE party at a bar that kinky people hang out at.  She was trying and trying to talk me into joining them.  But the idea of live music, loud partying people and all that did not seem very interesting.  My hearing is bad, I can't hear or talk in places like that.  Master does not drink or dance.  I had this image of sitting there, watching other people's lips move and not knowing what they were saying.

I had this half formed thought of staying home, putting on the crotchless fishnet body stocking and drinking a whole bottle of champagne?  Doing something, anything out of character, memorable... But in the end, I just fell asleep on the couch in baggy sweats around 9:30.  Master was already asleep in his chair by then.  He woke me up at 11:58, gave me a hug, a kiss and a "Happy New Year" and sent my sleepy ass directly to bed.

And now, now looking at the evening, perhaps it would have been better if I had been braver.  I think I would have regretted a noisy, tiring night out less than I regret this lack of motivation and sense that my life is passing me by.

Meh... forget that...

It is past, there is no changing it now.

...so speaking of cheese...

Two more days until time to go back to work... and you know, I am better when  I am working.  I don't do unstructured time all that well... I tend to become even less motivated.  The only thing that improves when I sit around for hours on end is I do write more.  Everything else goes all to hell.  The house isn't any cleaner, the dinners not more imaginative... somehow the getting up and dressed, talking with other people, solving problems and meeting challenges gets my blood flowing, energizes me and ultimately makes me a happier, better person.

There has to be a name for that kind of masochist... someone that gets off on working the "dirty job".

...and speaking of cheese...

The storm of angry that came when Master so thoroughly mind fucked me Thursday night, took nearly twenty-four hours to fade away.  Nearly a whole day of clenched teeth and narrowed eyes.  A whole night and day of seething, boiling, simmering... every time he would look at me I could feel the muscles in my body tighten and prepare for some other assault calculated to irritate and provoke. 

And each time he would sense that sea of bitter acid lava bubbling inside me, he would stir it up again.  Taunting, teasing, poking and stirring it... and laughing with infuriating sadistic delight as I would lose it and lash out, calling him names, trying to argue with sharp and angry words that he was just a monster, an awful mean mind fucking monster, the kind of monster that tickles children til the cry and pinches kittens to see them hiss and try to scratch.  I would call him a fucker and then threaten that if he kept poking me he could end up laughing all the way to the hospital. And of course he would just laugh some more and poke at me again.

It is his favorite game.  But it is dangerous.  It tears away at my trust.  It breeds disrespect.  It not only makes me angry, it makes me sad and afraid.  And to give Master credit, he does not want sad or afraid.  He just likes to play rough.  He will push and needle and laugh, and when through the tears and rage, he can provoke a hysterical giggle he will argue... "see you are laughing too" and refuse to accept that even if I am laughing, I am hurting too.  It was a pattern we played out over and over and over before I asked him to be my Master and committed to obedience and acceptance.

Finally on Friday, I said to him, through the tears and laughter.  "All you have to do is say 'Stop'."

He paused and said ruefully, "I had forgotten that."

So it finally stopped.  And looking back, I know I started it.  I got pissed when he hurt me too hard and too fast when he got home on Thursday.  And he reacted to my tantrum with old stuff rather than remembering to just say 'Stop'.  I know that if I give into temper, it triggers his mental and emotional sadism.  I also know if I am calm, accepting and in control of my temper, he hardly ever takes it too far.

So there it is, that is what is different this year than a year ago.  I would not have remembered that simple fact, because he is my Master, he can just say 'Stop'.

....Oh and speaking of cheese.

Happy New Years