Mental Masochism, or I Know Why I Have Carpal Tunnel

During this past semester's course, I had a number of writing assignments. Obviously, I like writing...it's my major, it's what I do for work (to some degree), and it's what I do for pleasure.

But research papers are tedious. All those sources to be cited.

So I procrastinate. I know this is one of my worst faults. But without someone (literally) keeping a fire beneath my arse, I just rarely work ahead of schedule.

Part of this might be a bit of arrogance. It's just writing, right? I could do it in my sleep. Who needs a month, or a week, I can crank it out in a day.

But this is where my tendency to procrastinate crashes head-on with my need to please.

This very quandary led me to argue that a paper did NOT deserve the grade my professor so kindly bestowed, and to his response that he would lower the grade and allow me the chance to revise it.

Groan. What an idiot I am.

But all is well that ends well, considering the message I received..."All of your work has been received. The [last paper] was a particularly thorough and interesting analysis of the Internet's effect on literacy. Despite your own misgivings you excelled in the course and your submissions, including the final exam, were among the best of the semester."

I think my favorite part is that he referred to my SUBMISSIONS.

I'm going to do some Professor/slutty student roleplaying now.

Fuck Jazz, Moving on to the Blues

Of one thing about myself, I am sure. If there is mental chemistry, there is bound to be physical chemisty. And without mental chemistry, there cannot be more than a fleeting physical chemistry.

Oh, I've met smart men. Witty men. Men with humor dryer than an Egyptian tomb. Men who self-deprecate their fetishes until my ribs ache from laughing.

But not many of them put me in my place. I don't mean to connote discipline, but headspace. There is a miniscule portion of the male population that has the right combination of all of those virtues (vices?) who actually instill in me a DESIRE to submit. Not just the simple urge that we submissives get, in general terms. But to...YOU. I will submit, can submit, in fact, cannot avoid submitting to you.

But what if this is not what they want? What if their plates are so full that they can not accept you?

Does the need for humiliation at the hands of another extend this far - to self-inflict rejection by submission with no hope of domination?

Is that the definition of devotion, or an exercise in futility?

These are not rhetorical questions, folks...I would appreciate some advice.

Walls

I dreamed that I was in a small room with no doors. Just ceiling, floor, and four concrete walls.

And there was no one to save me. No. One.

This dream requires no deep introspective analysis.

I need a fucking jackhammer.

More on that

I always pretended to be an Indian. Native American. Displaced natives. Whatever the correct term is nowadays. The where and how of my growing up included lots of time near or in forests. I tried to school myself to walk through the wilderness with no sound. No broken twigs, no crackled leaves. Cooper's Hawkeye, only with tube socks and pink plastic eyeglass frames.

I have a photo, myself squinty-eyed with laughter, jumping on the bed with said tube socks and wild hair. Thin as a rail. Fast as a snake, racing all the boys. I remember. A boy named Marshall who tried to catch and kiss me - not quite fast enough. Eating honeysuckle blooms to make those unkissed lips sweet.

Sometimes I still see that girl in the mirror. I'm not fast enough to catch her, either. I've given up trying. Now it seems I came from the womb in sensible shoes and a permanent scowl, the very picture of that german hausfrau. On my better days, I think of the line in the movie version of that Forster-esque story The Enchanted April - "a woman with the face of a disappointed Madonna." Aside - I still like to say the name Arbuthnot, it rolls off the tongue so unusually.

The rubbing of elbows with the some precocious, some annoying youths in class will surely stave off the advancing middle-agedness. I hope.

The Bride Abridged

Why am I always a bundle of nerves on the first day of class? Am I frightened of youngsters?

I'm convinced I have a german hausfrau air.

Gray and cold. It's beautiful.

Frankenstein's Bride

Dazzled and bedraggled. A few of the things milling around...

I ordered a toy camera. If you have a recollection, it's one of the diana-ish plastic-lensed cameras from the 50s on. The novelty is that the body and lens, being cheaply made, allow tiny bits of light in, which gives an unique and unpredictable quality to the end result. It'll be a nice departure from digital perfection and convenience. I'm even thinking of getting a film changing bag and processing my own black & white.

I am absolutely disinterested in sex. I haven't touched myself in months, much less been touched by another. I don't say this to elicit pity (or offers). It's just a statement...the last thing on my mind is sexual physicality. Mental chastity. I just really considered this while reading a post about the test of submission yesterday. The winning test was this:

Comply with this command:
From this moment forth, live a chaste life. Never let another person touch your body. Never touch another's body. Never touch yourself for pleasure. Avoid pornography, erotica, titillation. Dress modestly and conservatively. Have your hair styled in an unflattering way. Eschew cosmetics, jewelry and pampering. Avoid thinking, talking, reading about sex. Eliminate all contemplation of dominance and submission, and all other psychological and physical forms of sexual expression. Become asexual in all ways you can think of. Do this, to honour my domination.

I will gladly attribute this asexuality to a rather selfless dedication to submission.

I have the distinct and unsettling feeling that I've forgotten something very important. I keep finding myself walking into a room and standing there for a moment, lost in trying to remember that thing that is just at the edge. My dreams are this way, too.

Why don't dogs have visible navels? You can feel them, but you can't see them. Both humans and dogs are attached to the uterus by umbilical cords, so why do ours turn into bellybuttons while dog versions are only a weird little bit of scar tissue just under the skin?

Today we have naming of the parts

At times, during my normal everyday existence, a snippet of past poetry or lyric, or line a from a novel or play will stick in my head. I've been on a cleaning tear, something that I often do to restore balance and structure to any part of my world that is controllable. And while cleaning, the words to a poem have been circling around my skull...

Today we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And tomorrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But today,
Today we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens,
And today we have naming of parts.

This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
Which in our case we have not got.

This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easily
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.

And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
They call it easing the Spring.

They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For today we have naming of parts.
-Henry Reed

I like the dichotomy, the oiled brutish mechanical instruction against the pastel grace of the gardens. Perhaps this is my cleansing cleaning, the ordinariness of household chores against the fluttery abstractness of everything else. Easing the Spring, indeed.

Peace in the stillness

take me away to a different place
to the ocean or to outer space
and all of these complications disappear
and all that is left
oh all that is left is the peace that i hold here

so please, would you please let me close
oh let me close my eyes
'cause all I need at this moment, hey, is a lullaby
ooh is a lullaby
ooh is a lullaby

and the ocean is where i need to be
and i hope that this song can carry me
and if you like, well, you could come with me
and i will show, i will show you everything that you need to see

-lullaby lyrics, trevor hall

It's been a long couple of months, full of alternating moments of great sadness and irrepressible joy. I hit the off switch on my libido, and the freedom I feel is indescribable. And necessary.

This is a surprise?

I took one of those silly little quizzes. Who Were You in Your Past Life? Turns out I was Pablo Picasso. The 10-second write-up goes something like this...

In your past life you were Pablo Picasso. In this life you continue to be revolutionary, stubborn, an active lover, enjoy breaking the rules and react poorly to heartbreak.

React poorly to heartbreak. As if I didn't fucking know that already, asshole.

Sigh.

Back to my cave.

Open up and say ahhhh

I spent the night in the bed of a man I didn't necessarily expect to see again, not so soon. A careful night, a put aside all my ploys and tricks night. Not that I intended that, not at all. I fully intended a launch of every weapon at my disposal. It all fell away as soon as I crossed the threshold. I just wanted to talk and touch and be wrapped in the intellectual kindness that is Him. With no expectation, with no plan, just to enjoy.

I'm finding deeper manifestations of my submission, every day. I am becoming so compliant. Not eager, yet not unwilling. Just at their disposal. There is a comfort in this state of mind that is extremely addictive. I can't even sleep eye-to-eye, my place is face-to-cock with your hand in my hair.

My sore throat, which must have felt so deliciously swollen from the inside, is no worse for wear. Perhaps the exercise did it some good.

On the other hand...

is another fist. ahem.

I have a new fetish. Cock-nursing. And don't make that ewww face at me. Picture it...

Me on my side, between your legs, with my head on your thigh and your soft cock in my mouth. Not sucking, but suckling. It is one of the most intimate acts I've ever experienced...innocent when typically that would be much less so. It was deeply satisfying as the giver, and just as satisfying for the recipient.

A Blues in Bronze

I have bruises from bite marks. My cunt is sore from stretching around a fist. I was blindfolded for hours. I passed a test, and failed another. I am sick of trying, sick of working at it, sick of looking, sick of disappointing or being disappointed.

I can't integrate this into all the other parts of my life, I'm sorry for that. My work, my family, they wouldn't understand, and I wouldn't expect it. I would be summarily passed over or treated like a mental patient. That's an unhappy truth, but it is what it is. I don't try to change the thoughts of others, it's not my responsibility to explain or justify.

And when did flaunting your personal identity, your sexual self, your fetishes...when did that become what it is that we do? I don't expect anyone to carry an outward sign of their sexuality in any circumstance, why is it so important here? A collar is symbolic, a gesture, not a weapon to use to frighten people with a commitment to your fetishes.

My apologies to anyone who wears their collar publicly. Great for you. I just needed a moment to rant.

Polyanais Dance

It's the last big hurdle. The one that makes my teeth clench and my belly boil. And I am trying so hard to understand my gut reaction and eroticize that feeling instead of let my insecurities undermine me. But there it is, the topic that never lets me get clear of my fears.

The evolution isn't so different from anyone. There is infidelity in every person's background. Both as do-er and do-ee. I'm no different. It's never pretty, it's just always a risk.

But walking into it knowing that it isn't a risk but a certainty...that takes courage. And I know, if it's truly polyamory, then it isn't infidelity. Theoretically I understand that. But when you are watching those bodies slap together, is it enough to understand? And how do you get to the point where you embrace it?

This is where I am starting to challenge myself. I need to find a way to push past whatever barrier it is in my head that gets so discombobulated by the thought of poly. I have a physical reaction. Just writing this, my feet are tapping, my brow is wrinkled, and I have this ball of icky in my stomach. However, my pussy is throbbing. This is the same reaction I have had with other concepts that I eventually accepted, mind you.

I've gathered or formed a few distinct opinions about poly over the past year which may or may not be true, or may not be true for long anyway.

For instance, poly works best if there is a hierarchy among the submissives. A top girl. When I put myself in a poly situation in my mind, I'm always the top girl. However, I can see myself not being the top girl, but if I am not, then my allegiance is to the actual top girl, not the Dominant. I'm not sure if that is how it would play out, or if that is the only way my mind can accept it at this stage.

Also, I think I still carry a stigma - that poly is just a way of letting a man have multiple sexual relationships without having to commit to any one person. And I know this is not the case, that the responsibility and consideration in a successful poly family does NOT equal a selfish man. But it IS hard to let go of that social conditioning, to not look at it and think of Warren Jeffs.

I've been going around and around about this for some time, trying to get my finger on the spot. I need to be enlightened, to not be so frightened of this. It's a loose tooth that I can't help but wiggle.

Uncomfortably Numb

On another site recently there was thread about how we develop and refine our taste for pain, and it got me thinking not just about pain, but about what I fetish-ize in general. The following (in italics) is the response that I wrote, and I feel like it needs a little more exploration.

I think what I struggle the most with is my internal perception that the numbness and subsequent growth is down a path of depravity I never intended. And before that is taken too far out of context, let me explain.

Shame and guilt have always been the primary driver for any fetish of mine. When I was younger, more innocent, the mere thought of being tied down and spanked was enough to send me into a paralysis of lustful guilt.

Now it is thoughts of being used publicly and humiliated.

And sometimes I don't know where that line is, the one that I won't ever cross, because I've crossed it again and again. Evidence as to why shame and guilt work so well with me, but also enough to worry me that my flexible line in the sand will take me to a place that I really don't want to go. How far is enough?

What I like to think, instead, is that the path isn't so much constantly forward as it is a cycle. I can travel it alone and rediscover submissiveness after pauses back in vanilla-land. Or I can find someone to travel with me, who pushes me into taking the party boats and excursions at each scheduled stop. And each successive trip around that cycle is different, sometimes better, sometimes less.

Pardon the cruise-ship jargon, but I thought maybe it worked better with an analogy.

In the end, what I have to believe is that I can have my limits pushed, my experiences widened, without giving in to those limits that would make me feel less human, that would cripple me with guilt. Just skirting on the edges is plenty, if you ask me.

I'm trying to understand this sudden shift in my psychology. Why I was NO NO NO to a sudden YES YES YES. And, granted, some of these things that I have fetish-ized are only compelling if they are forced on me, I won't do it voluntarily, without coercion.

But why am I not only saying yes in my mind, but saying yes more publicly? Part of what holds a edgy fetish as taboo for most people is that it is difficult to admit publicly. But if I am able to admit to something publicly, does that mean it is losing the taboo nature, or am I becoming desensitized?

Evasion

I can't think into the heat of what I've been feeling, so I'm giving you different words today. I've got two days to prepare myself and of course I'm a bit paralyzed.

The photo is of a bit of mixed media art I purchased from etsy, something inspired by one of my own favorite poems, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (Eliot).

I haven't hung it yet. I like to touch this painting, it is full of texture. It's not grand, and wasn't meant to be. Like Prufrock. Like me.

Girl with Curls

Not 10 minutes from where I live is the Dali museum. I've been there once. I admit that I'm not a huge fan of museums, simply because I like to ponder and digest, not cruise. Museums overwhelm me. It probably seems just the opposite, since I often will go from room to room at a rapid clip, unless something stops me in my tracks.

The painting from the photo is a Dali, one of his earlier works. All of those eye-tricking complexities that he painted didn't capture me nearly like this one. I liked the perspective, this simple girl a giant against the landscape, and the earthy seduction of the curves of her.

I bought a print of it, it hangs in my living room.

Spread Open and Pinned Against a Wall

It was explained to me this way, my moment of not doing as asked...

I deliberately chose that which would bring me to immediate submission, without the prettiness and niceties and how do you do's.

That is a startling revelation, and the truth of it gave me a release that the disobedience did not provide.

I have never felt so fileted, so skinless.

It's this - so many years of treating a brain anomaly with a mallet, when that troublesome spot needed instead the sharp and insistent focus of a laser.

Those earlier strides forward, so confident and self-assured, have changed into a cringing belly crawl. Still the right direction, but with deference and awareness.

I have no way of exiting, not now. I will be dealt with. There are no more buts, what ifs, my endless list of conditions and qualifications. I must accept that, I must keep myself from a wrong step while letting my fear catch up to acceptance.

Gray Matters

I did something I was asked not to do. I say asked, because it's not to the point of being told. But that line is very fine. I confessed, not in my former "aren't I a naughty girl" laughingly unaware way. Just a confession. I did this. With the full knowledge that it will somehow be dealt with. And that dealing with it will undoubtedly be quite unpleasant.

I'm not writing this down to bring attention to the disobedience, or to show how careless I am with your attention. I'm trying to dig into the meat of why I deliberately chose to disobey when I actually did not want to, what little wiggly bit in my brain is suddenly acting out of turn, and why?

Really, I Can't Resist...

I think it must be vanity, wanting to share little pieces of my flesh with you.

1. Do you like bleu cheese?
Does anyone not get that the BLEU part is MOLD?

2. Have you ever smoked heroin?
Nope, and not interested.

3. Do you own a gun?
Is THAT what's in your pocket, Mister?

4. What flavor do you add to your drink at Sonic?
I can't remember the last time I went to Sonic, so let's change that to Starbucks. And the answer is a shot of espresso and sometimes a bit of hazelnut.

5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments?
Not in the least. I find doctors to be calming, reassuring, authoritative and...oh no. Another fetish.

6. What do you think of hot dogs?
Anything that is a byproduct shouldn't go in your body. (But I love 'em, dang it, specially the ones at baseball parks).

7. Favorite Christmas Song?
Baby, It's Cold Outside, but I'm not sure how much that is about Christmas.

8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
Coffee, and lots of it.

9. Can you do push ups?
Probably not.

10. What was the name of your first girlfriend/boyfriend?
It was 5th grade. I remember he gave me a ring from Avon. I don't remember his name now...

11. What’s your favorite piece of jewelry?
My commit to me band, with the words 'to thine own self be true' engraved on the inside.

12. Favorite hobby?
Reading. Unless masturbation counts.

13. Do you work with people who idolize you?
I hope not.

14. Do you have A.D.D.?
I'm not sure I underst...hey, look at the birdy. (No, I don't. I'm actually very focused).

15. What’s one trait that you hate about yourself?
Procrastination.

16. Middle name?
Something very country.

17. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment.
a)Who gets adult acne, really? this is so big I'm giving it a name. Esther. I hope it's gone by Wednesday.
b)I still haven't gone shopping.
c)Isn't there any chocoloate in the house?

18. Name 3 things you bought yesterday.
a) paper
c) lunch
d) coffee

19. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink.
a) coffee
b) water
c) sprite

20. Current worry right now?
Nothing. I'm on a two-week vacation.

21. Current hate right now?
Hate is such a strong word...oh yeah. Sarah Palin.

22. Favorite place to be?
A log cabin during winter, with a fireplace, in the mountains of East Tennessee.

23. How did you bring in the New Year?
Watching the ball drop. Alone. Sniff.

24. Where would you like to go?
Iceland. Ireland. Other places spelled like Iceland and Ireland.

25. Name three people who will complete this?
Luna already did. Hmm. Probably no one else, they don't share our love of being tagged.

26. Whose answer would you want to read the most?
Tomstumblinthru.

27. What color shirt are you wearing?
Smoky blue.

28. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets?
No, I prefer high thread count cotton. I almost typed tread, which would have made that a much different answer.

29. Can you whistle?
Only while sucking air in, isn't that weird?

30. Favorite color(s)?
Blue.

31. Would you be a pirate?
Absofuckinglutely!

32. What songs do you sing in the shower?
Anything to make my dogs laugh.

33. Favorite girl’s name?
Oddly enough, the same name that Luna picked, but with a different spelling. Madeleine.

34. Favorite boy’s name?
I've always been partial to Ian, though I'm not sure why.

35. What’s in your pocket right now?
$27 and some lint.

36. Last thing that made you laugh?
Making fun of one of my male friends for being attracted to an admittedly crazy chick (not crazy sexy, but crazy get the lithium).

37. Best bed sheets as a child?
Flannel!

38. Worst injury you’ve ever had?
I've never broken a bone, can you imagine? And yet, I fall down a lot.

39. Do you love where you live?
Right now I do.

40. How many TVs do you have in your house?
Two.

41. Who is your loudest friend?
I don't really gravitate toward loud people. Which means...it's probably me.

42. How many dogs do you have?
Two. Wanna see pictures?

43. Does someone have a crush on you?
I don't know, but I have a crush on YOU.

44. Who is your favorite president?
Abraham Lincoln.

45. What is your favorite book?
The Robber Bride. Or anything by Madeleine L'Engle.

46. What is your favorite candy?
Mmmm. Toblerone.

47. What is your favorite sports team?
I LOVE minor league baseball. (Remember the hot dogs?)

48. What song do you want played at your funeral?
Hmm. I'm going to have to do a new playlist just in case. I know Rusted Root's Send Me On My Way will be at the top of the list (chew-tube it).

49. What were you doing 12 AM last night?
On the couch after falling asleep while watching the Presidential Debate. Just saying that made me yawn.

50. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up?
Shut UP, CNN.

Zen and the Art of Submissive Maintenance

Since the gas prices started climbing, I've been practicing more efficient driving. This includes making fewer trips (which certainly dovetails into my hermit nature quite nicely) and driving more smartly. No A/C if I don't absolutely need it, no driving over the speed limit (actually, I CAN drive 55, Mr. Hagar), coasting to stops, gradual acceleration. I've gotten accustomed to the right lane. And surprisingly, no one seems to care. A year ago, a slow driver on the U.S. interstate system would have been abused by others, but not these days.

And it's amazing what you notice when suddenly the focus isn't to beat your best time, or pass that car, or block that guy from changing lanes...I get to see dolphins, if I'm lucky. I get to watch the ospreys catching fish with those horrible claws.

But it's not just about what you get to see when you slow down, it's the slight zen transcendence you achieve when you do it. My drives to work (to anywhere) are relaxing, meditative.

There is a correlation here that I can't quite put my finger on. My submissiveness, too, has turned all zen-like. Neither fast nor slow, though...more like a lever has been flipped. Someone pressed my easy button.

"when are we going to get going?" Chris says.
"what's your hurry?" I ask.
"I just want to get going."
"There's nothing up ahead that's any better than it is right here."

-Robert Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance