'Mere-bot

As I sit here in this messy house... and seriously, my dear, I seriously don't seem to care... and thank gawd... neither does he.  I remember reading recently in someone else's blog that if you get told to go wash the dishes and you do, you are submissive... because if you were a slave he would not have to tell you... or something like that.  Anyway... I have let the service part of this deal go down the pooper. 

Work has been taking a lot of my energy... and more than energy... it leaves me unambitious.  I just can't care enough to keep ahead of it... dishes... Hah!  They can pile up... and up... and up. 

And this last weekend, when he ordered me to come climb up in his lap... a short bark of 'mere'!  I crawled up and mumbled in his neck... "I don't think I am really a slave."

He asked me why.

And I said... "I just don't do all those slave things... I don't do a good job of keeping this house.  I am not a slave."

And he said... "If you are not a slave what are you?"

And I sat up and looked him in the eye... "I am a 'mere-bot."  A snuggle on demand lazy ass bitch.

Back to work.

Spring break is over… two weeks of relaxation… I did not have a very long list of things I wanted to accomplish and I got most of them done.  I went to Kinkfest.  I got my taxes done.  I read some books.  I planted some tomatoes and strawberries.  I cooked breakfast for Master every morning.  I did some spring cleaning.  I think the only thing on my list that really did not happen to my satisfaction was to focus on my submission, to strive to be a better slave for my Master.

But then, maybe that is not quite accurate.  Perhaps I was a perfect slave for my Master.  I strongly suspect his taste in slaves tends toward the spicy and snarky… he gets a sexy thrill from taking a snarky bitch and slamming her against the wall and pinning her there until she melts under the heat of his gaze like a chocolate bar left on the dash of the car in midsummer, all dark and warm and sticky sweet.  And I give that to him every day.

I do remember one conversation, where Master was talking about remodeling the house.  Always before, when he began threaten to tear the whole place down I would panic and argue.  This time I gave him complete cart blanch to do whatever he wanted.  I told him I would sleep outside or live in the car… I told him not to worry about me… that I could wash my hair at work.  He blinked.  I doubt he is going to tear the whole thing down… but I did beg that if we became homeless that he make sure I have access to the internet.  (I mean a slave has to have some priorities.) 

Not looking forward to going back to work.   Wish I felt better about that. 

Not much...

The fact that I have not posted in a while has been nagging and nagging at me. But it seems like not a lot has been standing out from the chaos.

This weekend was kind of a bust... Master did not deliberately wake me when he woke up and got out of bed, but those little invisible bonds are well forged and I did my usual roll over into the warm place he left behind and stretched and snuggled it luxuriously and then slipped from the bed and did all my morning things... peed, made the bed, straightened up a little in his room and gathered my yesterday clothing and wandered up stairs. He was nowhere to be seen, in the bathroom or out smoking, but the coffee was about halfway done making.

I went to my room and got dressed and it was only about when I was pulling on my slippers that I noticed that it was 2 fucking thirty in the morning. FUCCCKKKK!!!!! Fail, total fail. I was up. My head and body said "morning"... grrrr... Master wandered in and gave me a double take. Apologized for waking me up. Then the fucker went back to sleep. I ended up taking two naps during the day and getting nothing done. I did not even make his breakfast.

No spankings beyond a swat here and there, no bondage, the weekly sex has been routine, predictable and satisfying if somewhat uninspiring. He has been fighting a cold and hasn't been very energetic.

The weather has been gray and wet and the shorter days have sapped even more of my energy.

Yesterday at work I made a stupid mistake, a big kid, autistic with severe self harm behavior patterns was violently banging his head on the floor and I moved to put my hand on him... to stop him before the skin on his forehead splits open once again and he lunged up and grabbed me and head butted me right in the face. It HURT. BAD. I am totally pissed at myself. I should not have tried to do that alone. I knew he does that sometimes. I should have been more careful. Now my nose is swollen and has a bruise right on the top. It hurts like a fucker.

Master has been sympathetic. Though he keeps telling me that I am damaged goods now. But the irritation at making a such a noob mistake and the pain have combined to make me even less ambitious.

And I have ton of stuff to do. My parents are coming to visit next week and I have long list of things to get done before they get here.

I have not been writing much. But I am almost done with a rewrite and edit of my last novel. Then I think I will go back to the "The Vanishing." I have some good ideas for where I want to go with that. If I can remember all the delicious stuff I think about as I drive to work.

So there it is... blah... uninspired... tired... sleepy... with a big sore nose. (It was big before... I hate to think how much bigger it looks now.)

Good Gravy

It had been a lazy, slow, uninspired weekend and one of the results was that I did not write a menu, did not buy all the fixins for making any kind of planned meals. Yes, there was the usual steaks and pork chops in the freezer, the proverbial bag of taters in the cupboard, we weren't gonna starve, but without a battle plan, the idea of making dinner gets increasingly anxiety provoking as I am driving home.

So on Monday, it had been another cold, windy, wet and dark day and I needed something warm, filling and comforting and I decided I wanted meatloaf and mashed potatoes with gravy. So I swung by the local Safeway to grab the few things I did not have. Primarily the meat and the gravy mix. Now, I am normally not the kind of person to use premade anything, but meatloaf is a tricky thing. There ain't no drippins, nothing to use to make the tasty base of gravy so I tend grab a package of Lipton beef and onion soup and use that with some beef broth to make gravy.

But, typical for any last minute plan and very typical for my dysfunctional relationship with the local Safeway... the place on the shelf that holds the Lipton soup was empty, zip, blank, nada... shit. Right next, just two steps down I see shiny jars of "GRAVY". I glare at them, I can already hear Master's criticism of many of my attempts at homemade gravy. And the seductive, (lazy) voice in my head is whispering... "Somebody made this gravy and thought it was sooo good they bottled it and are trying to sell it. How bad can it be?" I should have not listened to that little voice.

The meatloaf was good, the mashed taters were awesome... the gravy was horrid. Master bitched me out... as usual. I get stubborn. I remember all the times my homemade gravy got analyzed and found lacking (conveniently 'forgetting' the dozens of times he mmm'd and snarfed up the good gravy). I pout and whine that he never likes my gravy anyway so I might as well just buy the crappy kind. (This is totally inaccurate. I have a bad habit of forgetting compliments and carefully archiving away each and every criticism.) He got really mad. And I got snarky.

We spent the evening giving each other the piss eye. All over gravy.

In the end he made me come into the kitchen and "helped" me clean up. (Translate help into micromanage and pinch and spank and harp and bitch). I remember one time grabbing two clean plastic butter tubs and trying to stuff them under my bra. I mean I was needing some protective equipment. It didn't help much. But by the time we were done, we were both laughing. I mean it was just gravy after all.

Back on track, lazy bitch

Okay... this is how it is... I am a lazy bitch. I have all this stuff to do, chores, duties, paying attention to my Master, house, yard, family... and that is not even addressing my writing.

You see I am a writer. I write fucking amazing stories. My favorite books to read in the whole world are the ones I have written, they can still make me laugh and cry and get wildly turned on. Every time I read something I wrote, I am surprised I actually said that. ... and to may absolute disgust I have not been writing for weeks and weeks. I can make up all kinds of excuses... but bottom line... I have been spending wayyyy tooo much time playing with this computer and not working with this computer...

I joined Fetlife to expand my network and get more contacts to sell my books. And instead I get all involved in silly conversations about limbs being amputated or when my bedtime is. I started this blog to expand my network... blah... blah... blah... and I find myself obsessively reading about other peoples lives... and trying to think of new interesting things to write about.

I have lots of mostly finished stories... people write me all the time begging me to finish them. I have this one thing I was rewriting for my publisher... the only other person in the universe with more procrastination issues than I do. I do love writing... and it makes me mad to realize I have been letting it get away from me.

So as usual... long story, long... I have decided to recommit myself to my writing. I am going to put it first... no more Fet... and blogging comes second... okay fourth or fifth... we have to stick Master in there somewhere too. I will keep you guys updated and most likely will put up some more fiction... chapters and short stories as I get back in the groove again.