Today kind of sucks and I’ve been completely down on myself and I have been doubting just about everything.

I just feel like I’m an impostor and I can’t live up to people’s expectations of me and I won’t actualize soon enough.

And I’m worried that I can’t sustain what I want to do as a career and I’ve been feeling just generally useless. Some doctor was hitting on me on the bus and what bothered me most was I was like bagh society will always have a use for you.

I just wish I felt certain of myself and my future and everything else.

Thoughts (Not Sexy Ones)

So, I had a good cry today.

I’m not really much of a crier. It takes a hell of a lot to get tears out of me. Sometimes, I actually want the relief of crying and the tears just don’t come.

But, I cried today – a real, heavy, fully realized cry – for the first time since I moved here.

It was brought on by the fact that the bus that I was trying to take to the gym wound up taking me five miles away from my place and nowhere even close to my gym. By the time I realized that this bus had taken the wonkiest route ever, completely ignoring the schedule listed on the transit website, I was somewhere fairly foreign. Right after I was able to vaguely figure out how to get home on my phone, my cell promptly died.

The walk was long and, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t seem to find a bus headed in the opposite direction. Everything is so spread out here and I’m not used to that yet. Being without a car here, while at first glance seemed manageable, makes stuff difficult.

When I got in the door, I started crying. Not because of the silly erratic bus schedule, that has already let me down twice since Monday. For the first time, I acknowledged how far away from home I am. I’ve never lived this far from everything I’ve known. Before this, almost my entire life could be contained in a two and a half hour radius, give or take.

Now, I’m out here. And I’m happy to be here, I’m having an amazing time. But, I’m far away from my family, my friends, my boyfriend, a public transit system I knew like the back of my hand. For as much as I’m enjoying myself, I haven’t really stopped to take my entire situation in and acknowledge that this has been a big change and I am allowed to have feelings about it.

So, I let it out of my system today and I’m proud of myself. I’m usually one to say I’m not allowed to feel like A because B is going so well.

Afterwards, I washed off the mascara from my face and gave myself a brutal workout at home, which helped blow off the rest of the steam (and got even more makeup running down my face – yuck).

I’ve mentioned this blog is my only journal. So, consider this one of those lame diary entries you have to sift through to find the good stuff. But, it was good stuff for me.

Here’s to acknowledging change.

“I do miss you; I think of you: I have a million things, not so much to say, as to sink into you,” – Virginia Woolf.

I didn’t expect it to bother me so much, but I guess it does.

At kickboxing today, they played this particular song. And I found myself thinking about the stupid message Craftsmate sent and getting massively pissed. I don’t feel like it was some grand betrayal or anything, but it was more the degree to which my place in the entire equation felt threatened.

One of my followers told me that putting Craftsmate in a situation where there was that kind of ideal painslut fucktoy whatever whatever could be massively bad. Which, ugh, gosh, why do I have to be concerned about this shit? I’ve never been part of the whole “make sure my man doesn’t stray” camp because I’ve found the entire notion of that ridiculous.

But then I find myself punching some imaginary girl on tumblr in a kickboxing class to a goddamn Beyonce song because I can’t seriously refer to myself in the third person, I’ve got a terrible pain tolerance and I feel small and awful when I’m degraded. And here I am thinking how profoundly awful it is that anyone is actually capable of it because I’m not.

Which is, you know, nasty and unfair to everybody involved. Because I know my relationship is stronger than random sexual details but then the pot gets a little bit stirred, I get a little bit anxious and suddenly I’m kicking the idea of a person.

Nice.

In which I air the concerns that keep me from working on my thesis:

Craftsmate and I got in an argument yesterday. For, I don’t know, a number of reasons but it seems in many ways to derive from the problem at what we “want” and “look for” doesn’t always match up.

He is more of a sadist and I am more of a submissive. I can’t be his ideal masochist and he can’t be the ideal dominant figure that we sort of envision when we enter into the kooky stuff we like to do in and outside of the bedroom.

We run into this constant issue of just not quite meeting each other in the middle in terms of what we want. I’m a few degrees in one direction, he is a few degrees in another.

The other night things sort of got awkward when Craftsmate was cropping me. He would ideally prefer a submissive with a higher pain tolerance who is more of a masochist, so I was pretty proud of how much I was taking. But I started crying because it really hurt and my head got to this space where I accidentally called him “Daddy.” Twice.

But the issue is he finds me being “little” cute, just as long as he doesn’t have to be “Daddy.” And I didn’t realize how much I wanted that kind of figure until after he had finished I started freaking out and being like, “no, no, you have to hold me.” And so he did but not the exact nurturing way I wanted him to and so I felt myself actually get a little upset.

And it’s not that we can blame each other. We’re just looking for different things and while most of the time we’re pretty satisfied, there are little things like that which don’t quite tessellate together so smoothly.

Craftsmate wants a painslut masochist type willing to completely degrade themselves. I want someone a little more nurturing who can embarrass me a little but still makes me feel special.

And so I got a little upset when I saw on his tumblr that he had sent a flirty message to someone who fit that bill. It’s fine, I flirt with people, too, and we’re “allowed” to do that. But it hit this nerve where I was like this girl embodies everything he actually wants on the kinky side, even if she isn’t his “ideal” vanilla girlfriend. It was still massively intimidating.

Last night, we concluded we’re pretty much set on the vanilla aspects of our relationship and the chocolate is where the issues are coming in. Until we have time and are under less stress, we’re pushing the kinky back into the bedroom and staying a mostly vanilla couple.

So, ah, there’s my feelings.

Ugh.

So, someone spent a good fifteen pages of their tumblr calling me all varieties of insults and clarifying why *exactly* I’m a disingenuous cunt.

Craftsmate tells me not to touch it, but I always have this knee-jerk reaction that I need to set things right always. And so I drafted an apology, read it a bunch, sent it off.

After repeated posts demanding an apology, I make one. I was sincere, but I’m met with the statement that – after this person demanded I apologize – they didn’t want to receive a message from me.

There was also an assumption that I already knew their condition, which, ugh, I didn’t. And, oh, you know, that I’m only concerned with my image. Which, meh, I am really only to the extent that I don’t lose a job in the future because my butt’s all over the Internet or that I don’t somehow disgrace my parents doing whatever.

Ever since I was younger, I’ve never wanted anyone to be angry with me. The notion of a person being upset with me, regardless of how close they are to me, to this day, makes me physically nauseous. Like horribly, terribly sick.

But I’m throwing in the towel on this one, asking everyone not to harass the person in question and realizing sometimes things cannot reach clean conclusions.

Deep breath.

You can feel awful small over on this end.

A while ago, Craftsmate and I were in bed together, spooning, when the topic of the whole Daddy/little dynamic came up. He’s not into it at all. While he respects the fact that I like it, he just doesn’t understand it.

“I spoke to Penthouse about it,” he said, “and he said it kind of added a dimension of guidance to the normal dynamic. Like a protection thing. And it makes me think that you feel like I can’t protect you.”

I felt my stomach turn over. It’s not like that at all, it’s a classic case of the way we sometimes interpret things in wildly different ways. We joke that we’re the same Myers-Briggs type, but there are some moments where we don’t connect and some signals get crossed.

And while Craftsmate told me the other day that he is completely at peace with the whole thing now and is totally fine with it, it still stings that he thought I felt that way.

See, I’d want to be something like this for you.

But I’d need the reassurance that you would stroke my hair every so often after you put your drink down.

I don’t want to just be a table. I want to be your table. The best fucking table you could have. Even if and when I mess up.

nanking-decade:

“Honey, look what turned up when I was looking for Noboru Wataya.”

Ugh the damn cat.

That book gave me so much grief because I was like oh God but what about the cat these sideplots are overwhelming because I am already worried about this damn cat.

Seriously, his wife was not worth finding. Just find your freaking cat, go home and make some more pasta, Toru. And don’t answer the damn phone. There’s only uncomfortable phone sex on the other end of that thing.

And then that little crazy locked him in the well. And I was like oh come on puberty’s hard but we all handled it so get over yourself and let the poor guy out.

And there’s that awful thing with the skin God no stop it’s such a good book but ugh.

I can’t. I just can’t. The book is fabulous, but it’s just all anxiety for me.

Ivy

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feelings

Thoughts (Not Sexy Ones)

Ugh.