Sir left me last night with the instruction that there would be additional strokes for every minute after 10 P.M. that I procrastinated coming upstairs. He really should know better by now. C called me on it at about 10:30 and I slunk upstairs. Then I realized that Sir never told me exactly how MANY additional strokes it would be for every minute (I was going on the assumption that it would be two… possibly five, but I rationalized that if it was five, that would be way too many for me being 30 minutes late, so Sir wouldn’t be able to make it five… Logic and a lack of…

Things haven’t been going very well. Last night I spun out completely and C caught the brunt of it at a bad time for them and without preparation. I have since been able to dissociate from my feelings enough to postmortem my past five days and I have a fairly solid picture of how and why things went sideways. I also have an almost unbearable feeling of shame and guilt over losing control that way. And it is always compounded by well-meaning suggestions that all seem to involve… not losing control. Yes, if I had control of myself, I would have stepped away/out of the room, I would have taken…

I stayed up too late last night and Sir had to step in. I got about twenty swats with the light paddle, which… is generally not a very severe punishment. But that doesn’t stop it from hurting like fuck. Adding the fact that I was over tired (and haven’t slept well for two weeks), and my ADHD meds had worn off completely, I didn’t respond well to being punished, or being told to get in bed (reasonably because it was late). I toed VERY close to the line in being defiant to Sir (not quite over the line, but as close as I come without jumping it with both feet…)…

My friend C is a writer. They post on Facebook and recently lamented the fact that high exposure online has led to a dynamic of many people asking of their time, yet when they complain of this, the people they actually want to have take up their time actually back off to give them more space. I wrote a comment that I wasn’t sure which group I belonged to (give more space or give less space). I tend to give less space to everyone – operating on the default assumption that I am an imposition upon everyone at all times and they only tolerate me in small amounts. But, I…

I feel rusty. I haven’t written here for so long, it’s like I’ve forgotten my voice. Though my voice was so broken for so long, maybe I don’t need to recapture it. I think I started this blog during the M and R era. It saw me through the death of T. Through the renewal of my trauma and my PTSD. Then four years of Trump, which I don’t think I even had the capacity to recognize how deeply traumatic that was until it ended only a few weeks ago. It’s been a long string of really brutal life events. Maybe being able to write out all of my pain…

I’m sore today and maybe that’s making me a little sad. I avoided writing so long that I wound up having to find things to do around the house all day (my computer was confiscated until I wrote a blog post today). Now, it’s 7 o’clock and I’ve finally surrendered for the sake of getting my computer back for at least part of the evening. A friend of mine posted something on Facebook about a follower of his having a particularly racy Tumblr in a vein which was particularly appealing to my friend. He didn’t share the name of the Tumblr so I went hunting on my phone to see…

I feel like that is what this blog is. An endless soap opera that is my melodramatic life. It’s probably one of those guilty pleasures that some people come here and think, “Oh, hell no, I’m not into soap operas,” but then they start reading and they get hooked. Except it’s a shitty soap opera because it goes off the air for months on end and then picks up in the middle of nowhere… so… really… I don’t know what kind of masochism it must take to actually follow my shit. Today… was… better. Objectively. I guess. I underslept and underate. But I worked out and took a shower. I…