Goddammit.

I am not, in the strictest sense of the word, a writer.

Oh, I'm perfectly capable of using words to express myself - sometimes. An ongoing theme I've noticed in my life is that the English language (or any other, really) doesn't always have enough words to accurately describe my feelings or anything else. There are close approximations, but often, nothing exact. It's one of the reasons I didn't have many friends in grade school and high school. I did have one, and the reason he and I stayed friends was because we both came to that same realization, and also realized that when we were talking, it didn't matter, because we got a lot of the same non-verbal cues.

So he made me a little bit lazy with expressing myself. Why bother going through the effort when he was going to get it anyway? And he made me reluctant to ever try to be different.

The written word is still easier than the spoken word. Spoken word requires me to think on my feet, and come up with things quickly. Writing allows me to let it sit for as long as it needs to before coming out. Doesn't stop me from speaking so quickly I stumble over my words - then again, I don't usually talk about heady things like emotions.

Jay's continued to call me at night, and while I love the feeling of connectedness these calls give me, I hate the actual work of communicating and connecting they require. He's turning the tables and trying to pick my brain apart - I've been trying to pick his for years. It's not that I don't know the answers; I spend hours upon hours picking my own brain and putting everything into its place. It's that I can't figure out a way that I like to tell him the answers.

Some of it is fear that he won't like what he hears. Some of it is perfectionism rearing its ugly head. Some of it is a lack of vocabulary and a tired head.

Some of it us me putting off what I really want to do, by talking about why I don't want to do what I want to do. Hopefully, at some point, that sentence will make sense, because I'll get around to doing what it is I want to do.

Time to take her home

It used to be, when I was younger, that I could simply drive my problems away. If I was having a particularly rough night, and needed out, I could hop in the car, put it on the highway, and peg the fucking thing and be done with it. I'd return home refreshed, relaxed, and able to re-tackle my life. Gas was cheap and plentiful, the car was made for cruising, and my parents didn't pay that much attention to when I got home from work.

The last time I updated was one of those nights where I needed desperately to escape, so since I have a car again (for the first time in like, eight years), I decided to see if it still worked. I got myself on the highway and just drove.

I wound up in the next state over. The radio was playing shit, there were too many cars out to really speed a lot, and all the time, I realized that I couldn't just drive away from my problems. Growing up truly is a bitch and a half.

I also realized I forgotten the $10 I'd just taken out of the ATM at home. Worse, my debit card was at home, which was now about an hour and a half away, and therefore useless. I did the entirely classy thing of paying for a large fries and small Coke at McDonald's entirely in change. I have a change purse. It's pretty empty right now.

Still, when I got home, I did feel better about life. There's still a lot of shit, but I at least escaped the same four walls for a while, and that can't be discounted. And since then, I've made some strides towards fixing what's wrong, instead of just running from it or hiding. Hopefully I can make it a habit. It's a lot harder to speak the truth than to soft-pedal someone with a glib lie. And lying is always so easy; it always has been.

Tomorrow is a bonus day off of work (the only reason I'm awake right now is because I was in the emergency room with one of my kids until nearly two). I believe I will get up, work on my chairs, clean my room a bit, and blog about Jay, because clearly I am far below quota on mentions of him these past weeks. But first, I sleep. Lots.

Monsters

With working all weekend, the start of the official week being as lousy as it was, and things as they are with Jay, I've been in some very strange headspace lately. It's not quite melancholy, but it's certainly living in the same neighborhood, although there is some introspection, heartache, and yearning in there as well.

I'm unsettled, and I'm not quite sure why. My parents still love me, Jay is stupid for me, I won't be losing my job any time soon (although I do desperately want to quit), I have enough money, my house is relatively clean... all the sorts of things that usually upset me or make me anxious are in their assigned places.

One thing is for sure, I need to stop listening to "Cities in Dust" by Siouxsie and the Banshees, because while it is a wonderful song and it was great to hear it on the radio again this past weekend, even I am getting sick of it.

Not that Matchbook Romance is really all that much better.

Bah. I can't even blog right. Suffice it to say that overall, Jay and I had a lovely weekend, and one of these days, I'll get around to telling about the new toys. I think I am going to go curl up and read somewhere, and maybe find something to eat, because eating makes things better, right?

Remind me not to get up tomorrow

My week so far, by french, age 25.

Sunday: Reluctantly got up for day three of five for work, leaving Jay curled up in bed. Go outside to get in the car. Turn the key. Get a mere series of clicks. Run inside to get Jay's keys from him, so that I can drive his car to work. On the way to work, call Dad and determine that, as I suspected, my battery is dead. Jay thinks it is the starter, but then actually checks it out, and agrees.

Monday: Get up ass-early with Jay, so that he can jump me (and my car, ha ha) before work, and early enough that I can get the battery replaced before volunteering at nine. Car will not jump-start. Lose my shit completely, as it is 8:00 in the morning, I have only gotten four hours of really crappy sleep, and I do not want my car dead because starters are really fucking expensive.

Call Dad again, who tells me to take off the battery terminals and clean under them, which I should know to do myself, but am being a girl, so don't. Fail at this, but do clean the outsides, which miraculously enables my car to start. Get new battery, also find out that one of the terminals was cracked. Volunteer, then go to work, and deal with completely incompetent new supervisor, and want to cry.

Tuesday: Get up butt-early to go to day of meetings at work. Discover shower is filled with five inches of scuzzy standing water, and bathtub is in similar state. Want to go back to bed. Go to work, have donut for breakfast because stress-eating is awesome, and deal with both incompetent new supervisor and incompetent old boss. Drop off car on way home to investigate mysterious clunking from under my left foot, and finish homework for grad school. Also discover that shower is still filled with water. Drink.

She was a sour girl

I did not in fact go to fucking sleep after that post last night; instead my body and mind sort of went on auto-pilot and I stayed awake... doing nothing, really. Nothing of consequence, anyway. I had an extremely healthy and nutritious dinner of two bowls of Lucky Charms (hey now, I used low-fat milk), after Jay had prompted me over IM that I really should eat something. I wasn't really in the mood or head-space to truly do anything though. Cooking was something far beyond me, as was just about everything else.

When I get in that space - unmotivated, distractable, tired and cranky but not sleepy, whiny, and almost feeling a little sorry for myself, what I really need is a hug. I am not sure how this cure was discovered, but I am sure that it was with Jay, since he is the only person outside of my family that I allow to hug me with any regularity.

But there were no hugs to be found, because that's not exactly what you ask of your roommates, especially when one of them annoys the piss out of you on a daily - sometimes hourly - basis (did I mention that it only took ten hours for him to dirty up the cleaned counters again? AGAIN?). I had resigned myself to just going to goddamn sleep already just before midnight, and dutifully put on my pjs and turned off the light, and brought my laptop to bed with me.

Jay's been calling me as he goes to bed lately, which is usually just after midnight. I for one am quite pleased with this development. One of my cheif complaints very early on in our relationship was that he never. fucking. called me, and he appears to have learned that calling me is in fact a way to make me happy. I always approve when people learn their lessons. Plus, I love having that connection with him, even if I don't get to see him. I love hearing his voice, and knowing that he's laying there in the dark, thinking of me, just as I am thinking of him.

He has called me, and we have fallen asleep on the phone together, often enough that I immediately got sleepy, so I put the computer down and curled up with my phone tucked beneath my ear. Jay was already somewhat aware of what my mental state was, since he'd been infrequently chatting with me online. I wasn't much better on the phone. I was whiny, and I could tell that I was just mentally overtired, because my brain started messing with my perceptions of size again. I felt exponentially large and expansive - my phone felt like it was six inches wide in my hand - and that I was somewhat floating above my bed. That's always a fun experience, and it usually only happens when my mind is just all set with being active and having to work, thank you very much.

I had been talking a bit about what was going on for me, and finally just whined "I need a hug." Jay got silent for a few moments then did possibly the best thing ever.

"Hold on just a minute. I'm going to hug the phone, because I can't hug you."

And he proceeded to hug the phone.

And you know what? It was nearly as good as the real thing. Maybe it was a trick of my idiotic brain, but I could nearly feel his arms around me, holding me tight. And it brought the same silly smile to my face as it would as if he'd physically been there.

Better yet, it made everything alright. I happily nuzzled down into my pillows and could feel myself getting more relaxed and calm. We talked each other to the point of sleep, and hung up. And I slept much better than I would have otherwise.

I am God's personal source of entertainment

I was tired when I got home from work today, so I was going to take a nap. I went and took out my contacts and grabbed a book, so that I could read until I fell asleep.

This was three hours ago.

Instead of sleeping, I have been reading. But I haven't been reading the book, I've been reading blogs. And trying to desperately remember the password to my online banking, because they changed how I have to log in and I only did it once and goddammit I really need to get in there because apparently my electric bill is still fucked to high heaven.

But I can't, so I have to wait until the helpful IT people reset my account. And now that I've outblogged myself, I am hungry.

And maybe I should read that book. Or do my homework. Or finish painting my new chairs. Or start the sewing project I have to have done for Christmas. Or clean my house. Or finish painting the boxes I bought for my supplies in occasional Pagan leanings.

Or fucking go to sleep already.

Trip report

Thought that ran through french's head over the immediately past weekend, #693: My god, he's turning into a total Dom; this is fucking awesome.

Jay pretty much never needs a real excuse to come over to my house, I've found, although I like to provide him with them anyway. It sort of makes me feel better about my life in a strange way. So he came over this weekend with the express intent of tying me up. In fact, he was actually at my house before I was even off of work, which was astounding. My roommate Chris, that I hate, let him in. I think Jay's been over a little on the excessive side, maybe, since my roommates let him in when I'm not here. Hmmm.

Anyway, so he's over here, and it's pretty much immediately "no clothes for you, french" time. He was all set and ready to go. Now, I would not exactly consider myself a pain slut. Sure, I love a good beating here and there, but that's not really pain - well, okay, it is, but I really hate sharp, stingy, pinchy pain. Thud and slaps and other sorts are fine. So yeah, not a pain slut, by any stretch of the imagination. Things like nipple clamps and I usually don't get along very well, because they really are more into the pain side of things. But, but! This weekend I managed to have the tweezer clamps on for a good half hour, which is the longest I've ever gone. Usually after about two minutes I'm whining and asking for them to be taken off, but no, not this time. In fact, I pretty much enjoyed having them on. I am awesome sub, hear me roar or something like that.

I also got to wear lots of rope, because we did buy more from instant-gratification central. Well, that, and dammit, I like twisted nylon. If I'm ever doing a suspension, I'll invest in some hemp, but that has to wait until I have a suspension point, and I think putting one in my ceiling would more or less completely void my security deposit, which is a highly unfortunate situation.

But I love being tied up. No, you don't understand, go read that again - I love being tied up. Being wrapped up in rope, whether I am immobilized or not, regardless of which body parts are involved, is a blissfully happy experience for me, and I am perfectly content to aid the roper in roping me up, and then to lie back and bliss out, feeling the rope against my body. I'm not one of those rope bottoms that struggles, and I never was. For me, it's like, why the hell would I want to try to get out of this? I'm trying to stay in this as long as humanly possible here. I might stretch around a bit, quietly flexing legs or back, getting the rope to rub certain places, but certainly not try in any way to get out of it.

So I got to do a lot of blissing out in rope this weekend, which I really haven't gotten to do in a good long while. Luckily for me, Jay is perfectly okay with the fact that I get stupid-happy and pliable while in rope, because apparently he likes to see me in it - even without doing anything else (although the stupid-happy-pliability does aid him in doing those other things). And he did do some of those other things, and he did have me sleeping in a collar, and he did even drag me into the shower with the waterproof cuffs on (which was super-awesome, actually), and all in all it was a fantastic weekend - which ended with Jay saying "I have got to get into the habit of doing this more often again," which I am 100% okay with.

I knew it all along

I went back to work on Tuesday, and was figuring on working all of this week. With the schedule working out the way it has, I've had the past two days off, and I'll have this Saturday and Sunday off as well - sort of another vacation, if you will. Overall, I think I have put the past two days to very good use - although I didn't think so at the time.

Wednesday, I didn't even get dressed until about 4:30 that afternoon. I spent the day lazing around in bed, reading, watching porn, coming up with new and creative ways of using rope and breasts, masturbating. It was actually quite fun - although I did feel a bit guilty, seeing as how I wasn't really "productive". To ameliorate this feeling, I cooked myself a healthy dinner, and engaged in a little bit of painting - one of my hobbies that's sort of fallen by the wayside recently. Jay called me as he was getting read for bed, which made me positively gleeful. I also managed to come right out and say "You know what? You should come over this weekend and tie me up," which he agreed to (not that I didn't think he would, but I can still be shy about saying these things to him). He gave me a list of things to do to prepare - mostly which toys I should have ready by the time he gets here tonight. I adore when he gives me things to do like this. I am wholeheartedly participating in my own corruption.

Thursday started off much the same, with the notable exceptions of no porn, being in the shower by 2:30 (and having a lovely orgasm in there, thankyouverymuch), finishing Jay's tasks and being out of the house by 3:30. I'd had some errands that I'd been putting off for quite a while that really just needed to get done, so I packed up my car and went. While out, I seriously toyed with the idea of stopping at the local Home Depot to pick up some more rope. It's been a long time since we bought any, and given that I'd just asked Jay to come over and use it all on me, I thought it might be a good idea to have more. More is better, right? I put it off though, figuring Jay and I could both go this weekend.

After I got home, I spent some quality time shopping for kinky stuff. It's easier to do that online - no one looking over your shoulder wondering just why it is you're so damn interested in whatever it is you're interested in. Plus it's really easy to say "Oh I'll just bookmark that and buy it later", so that one does not blow one's budget. One did stretch one's budget though, in buying one's self a new waterproof vibrator. I have apparently decided that waterproof vibrators are the best thing ever (okay, definitely not ever, but up there) and that I needed a new one. In my defense, it's rather unique and inexpensive, to boot. So that gets here next week, which makes me an excited person.

QUITE independently of me, Jay too decided to go shopping, and told me about what he had found and was tempted by. Being me, I did nothing to discourage him, and in fact sent him to other pages I thought he might find of interest. Rather quickly, I was told that I should expect a box within the next week or so. I asked if I got to know what was in it, and was told no, so I reciprocated - he wouldn't get to know what was in my box. He was, as they say, all agog.

For some reason Jay likes it when I do things like buy sex toys and masturbate. Who knew?

He called me again as he was going to bed, all of his own volition, which made me a very happy, gleeful, downright giggly person again. He informed me that with all of the excitement of new toys, and coming over this weekend and shopping with me for rope on Saturday, and then getting to use the rope on me, he was going to jack off before going to bed. I let him get started, then decided to deliver the killing blow -

"By the way? I've 'borrowed' it every single day this week."

It took a moment for it to sink in, but once it did, I was rewarded with a very audible, distinct sigh - that one that's a bit more of a forceful exhalation, that usually means "ohmygodthatisunbelievablyhotandorpleasurablewhateveritisyouaredoingdon'tstop". That sigh. That one that means that I win (and I totally won last night).

I'm pretty sure I'm going to win this weekend, too - albeit in a totally different, much more, ah, restrained fashion. I can't bloody wait.

Trust

Hey babe - can I come over tonight and pick up my pda? I think I left it at your place.

He did, of course. I saw it immediately upon waking up yesterday morning. I only vaguely remembered him leaving.

Being three glasses into the wine Rabbit and I had bought earlier that night, I gleefully agreed.

He came over, saying that he was going home at a reasonable hour, but that he could stay a while. I'm not sure why he ever says that; "reasonable hour" usually means "six-thirty so I can stop home and shower before going in to work tomorrow morning".

I had brought home furniture from my parents'. I'd been planning on rearranging and cleaning a few things, so that I could put it in my room, instead of leaving it in the hall, and saw no reason to change my plans because he was there. Eventually, he grew tired of watching me throw things away and wipe up layers of dust, so he said "There is too much crap on this bed, and not enough naked french."

"Just a few more minutes. I'll be done by midnight." I'd continued to imbibe - again, seeing no reason to change my plans on his account.

I joined him on my bed, curling up, but having to move quickly, as he'd already tired of seeing me in a t-shirt.

"Oooh. What is this?"

A free day and nearly two weeks of nothing sexual had led me to experiment earlier that afternoon. The experiment included ropes and breasts, and was a resounding success. My skin was marked afterwards.

I suddenly became shy; caught out at being sexual without Jay.

"I was... experimenting."

"Oh? Do tell."

"Well, obviously with rope."

"I know; that's why I want you to tell."

"I'll tell you later," being unable to tell him exactly what I had done to myself.

"The idea of you experimenting, especially with rope, makes me very, very excited." He took off my bra, and his shirt, and my pants and panties - to see if I'd been experimenting anywhere else - and sat with his back against the wall, pulling me to sit between his legs, my back to his chest.

I hissed as he grabbed at my breasts; they were already sore, and my earlier activities had done nothing to improve this condition. I could feel his grin as he continued to caress and fondle them, pinching here, soothing there, the occasional slap.

He slid my glasses off as my eyes glazed over, then reached up with his hand upon my throat, raising my head up and back, exposing my neck, putting the slightest amount of pressure on it. Enough to make sure I knew exactly what he could do, exactly how powerless I would be to stop him.

He continued to hold my head back as he intensified his attention to my poor breasts, slapping them more firmly, tracing the rope lines upon them, kneading and squeezing, making me moan and gasp and writhe in his embrace. "Mine," he growled into my ear as he pulled my head a little tighter, a little farther. His fingers slid into my pussy easily. The bed already had a damp spot.

"Are you trying to make me cum?"

"Maybe. I'll have to think about it." His hand on my pussy moved up to my clit, gently sliding over it, rubbing, pinching, pulling.

I bucked my hips, making him smack my legs and breasts to keep me in line. "If you aren't good, and hold still, you won't get to cum." I whimpered, legs shaking as I tried to keep them perfectly still, to control the spasms.

He pulled the hood of my clit back and touched it directly, making me whine in pleasure and pain. "Good girl... don't move." He rubbed my clit faster, and more firmly, making my mouth fall open and my breath come in gasps which quickly turned to cries as he slapped at my pussy and breasts, his hand on my throat and jaw keeping me still.

My body was stiff and still, muscles straining. "I suppose you still want to cum?" I gave a barely perceptible nod, as he continued to manipulate my pussy and clit.

What felt like hours later, he gave his answer. "I suppose that's alright." I moaned in relief, relaxing my legs, feeling the beginnings of an orgasm already sweeping over me. He held me tightly against him as I came, quieting my moans with his mouth upon mine, getting his hand even more wet.

He wrapped his arms around me as my head lolled back, biting my ear.

"Mine." I couldn't have disagreed if I'd wanted to.

War on estrogen

I got back into town on Sunday night, and wound up crying. I was immediately overwhelmed by a huge wave of homesickness. I wanted to go back outside, pack up the rest of my stuff in my car, and start driving for home again.

I've never been one for homesickness. We never moved when I was a child, so the house I grew up in is still there, is still the home I go back to. I moved a thousand miles away, and never even really batted an eye. Sure, there were times when I got all wistful, and missed things about home, but never outright homesickness.

This was serious though. I wound up in tears over it. I never cry; I decided a long time ago that I was all set with crying, and I wasn't going to do it anymore, thank you kindly. The crying was what made me sit down and think about what the hell was going on, because jesus, breaking out in tears is seriously not okay. I am not that at-one with my femininity and emotions, okay?

Part of it is that I'm getting older (yeah, I'm so damn ancient at 25, woo), and want babies. My mother had two kids by my age, so I'm feeling a little behind. Part of it was that I really, really hate my job - or rather, some of the people I work with, who unfortunately are the ones who can really affect my position. Part of it was just that it's time to go home. I get along quite well in my current city, and it's great and all, but there truly is no place like home.

And part of it was because I spent an entire week at my parents' house, following my dad around, messing with power tools, sleeping in, playing video games, and eating out almost every night.

Oh, and hormones. Did I mention hormones? 'cause I think I'm getting hormonal.

For now I've contented myself with moving back when I'm done with grad school (although I'm less than impressed with them; don't be surprised if I withdraw and start over somewhere else), which is in three years. It's a long time, but by that point, some of the other details (like marriage, kids, house-buying, etc.) should be falling in to place, I hope.

I realize that this will narrow down which half of the country I live in, but that's okay. It is stupid fucking hot outside. We are officially into "hell's asshole" territory for the temperature, people, and my house is not air-conditioned.

Thankfully, I'm staying with my parents for this week, and their house is. I'd have come out to visit anyway, but the climate over here just makes it that much better. Plus, my dad and I are going to work on my car, and I'm helping out with their current remodeling project here at the house. Being at home gives me access to all the fun power tools and shit that I love, and have no reason to buy for myself (right now). It's pretty fucking awesome. I am completely not willing to go home or back to work at this time. Vacation rules, and shit.