Sometimes I wish my bed wasn't so comfortable.
It sucks me in, holds me there, refuses to let me get up.
Back when I had a regular mattress that was full of lumps and resembled a burrito when one would lay in the middle it was IMPERATIVE that I get up in the morning, prompted by the searing back pain said mattress would inflict.
Now, that is a thing of the past.
I set my alarm early this morning so I would get up and get some chores done before work. And what did I do instead? I reveled in the comfortability of my bed. The silky feel of the sheets against my skin, the luxurious coolness of the far reaches, the sound of Tristan breathing calmly beside me. I love to day dream, some might call me a day dream-a-holic.
As I lay there I took in every sensation, the firmness of the mattress, the plush softness of the sheets, the cool crispness of the down comforter and the sounds it makes when I move it, I watched the one tiny stream of sunlight that escaped the curtain move across the room, counted the breaths Tristan took, wondered what my cat was into out in the living room, running my hands over my breasts and stomach I appreciated the immeasurable softness of my skin and the weight of my breasts, the silky roundness of my stomach......
And then the phone rang.
Time to face the day.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Monday, February 26, 2007
I was going to....
I was going to write a nice long blog this morning but I've got this adorable kitten sleeping in my lap. Every time I attempt to type over the top of her she burrows into my arms deeper and sighs the most delicate cat sighs and I'm rendered useless.
I'll get back to you....
I'll get back to you....
Saturday, February 24, 2007
I Can't Get No.....
Yeah, you know how the song goes, I can't get no satisfaction (hum along if you please....)
This is a tale of woe, a tale of one woman's search for a vibrator compatible with her body.
Recently my most favorite vibrator quit. No two weeks notice, no explanation, no weepy good bye's, it just up and quit on me. I tried to tell myself that I didn't need him, that I was fine all by myself, but I knew even as I said those words that I was lying.
And so the search began. I tried to find the exact same model only to be told time and time again that it was no longer available- the manufacturer had discontinued the item. Well, I believed I could dig deep enough as to uncover a hidden stash of my beloved friend. I found a place online who assured me that they had 6 in stock. I immediately ordered one and waited. And waited, and waited, I'll spare you anymore suspense and cut to the part where I finally receive a package and........ it's the wrong one. I got ahold of the company to demand an explanation only to be told "well, we've been trying to contact you (yeah right) to tell you that we were mistaken, that product is no longer available." Crap. And so the search resumed, I find another place who tells me with brazen confidence that they currently have 60 in stock. The cost is higher than any of the other places but I am after all desperate and so I order two. After a couple of days my package arrives, with fresh batteries in hand I rip open the box to find.................two vibrators..............that are the same as the other one I was erroneously sent before from the first company. So now I have three of the same wrong vibrator. The conclusion to this story of the pile of unloved vibrators is that the one that I had become so dependant upon is not manufactured any longer and that they are producing another vibrator with the exact same item number.
Give up?
No way.
So, I decided I need to be open minded and find a new partner. After much deliberation and reading of product reviews I find what I am to understand is the Cadillac of vibrators and I think to myself that it better be for the $$$ they want for this thing. But it's non toxic (which is a big concern, most vibrators are made of some pretty scary stuff- you'd be surprised, do some reading you'll see what I mean) and it boasted a need for four batteries which tells me that it's got some power. Well, I resign myself to forking over money that I can't really, shouldn't really be spending on a device whose only function is to provide me with sweet sweet orgasms and order the Cadillac.
Flash forward to yesterday when I could really use some private time with just such a device to find that it's arrived, it's here!!! Oh joy! I'm ready to be wowed. And for it's first run? Not impressed. For one thing I thought the dick part (or shaft if you are going to be mature about it) would be bigger. The clit vibrator part is in the wrong spot in relation to my personal physique. But, I am going to try, try again. I'm not giving up. Maybe it's merely a issue of re-training my body to respond to a different stimulus. One thing this experience taught me is that a girl mustn't get too attached to a specific vibrator. I might be monogamous in my love life but the vibrator will be a revolving cast (hopefully) in the future. I'll keep you up to date on any further developments....
This is a tale of woe, a tale of one woman's search for a vibrator compatible with her body.
Recently my most favorite vibrator quit. No two weeks notice, no explanation, no weepy good bye's, it just up and quit on me. I tried to tell myself that I didn't need him, that I was fine all by myself, but I knew even as I said those words that I was lying.
And so the search began. I tried to find the exact same model only to be told time and time again that it was no longer available- the manufacturer had discontinued the item. Well, I believed I could dig deep enough as to uncover a hidden stash of my beloved friend. I found a place online who assured me that they had 6 in stock. I immediately ordered one and waited. And waited, and waited, I'll spare you anymore suspense and cut to the part where I finally receive a package and........ it's the wrong one. I got ahold of the company to demand an explanation only to be told "well, we've been trying to contact you (yeah right) to tell you that we were mistaken, that product is no longer available." Crap. And so the search resumed, I find another place who tells me with brazen confidence that they currently have 60 in stock. The cost is higher than any of the other places but I am after all desperate and so I order two. After a couple of days my package arrives, with fresh batteries in hand I rip open the box to find.................two vibrators..............that are the same as the other one I was erroneously sent before from the first company. So now I have three of the same wrong vibrator. The conclusion to this story of the pile of unloved vibrators is that the one that I had become so dependant upon is not manufactured any longer and that they are producing another vibrator with the exact same item number.
Give up?
No way.
So, I decided I need to be open minded and find a new partner. After much deliberation and reading of product reviews I find what I am to understand is the Cadillac of vibrators and I think to myself that it better be for the $$$ they want for this thing. But it's non toxic (which is a big concern, most vibrators are made of some pretty scary stuff- you'd be surprised, do some reading you'll see what I mean) and it boasted a need for four batteries which tells me that it's got some power. Well, I resign myself to forking over money that I can't really, shouldn't really be spending on a device whose only function is to provide me with sweet sweet orgasms and order the Cadillac.
Flash forward to yesterday when I could really use some private time with just such a device to find that it's arrived, it's here!!! Oh joy! I'm ready to be wowed. And for it's first run? Not impressed. For one thing I thought the dick part (or shaft if you are going to be mature about it) would be bigger. The clit vibrator part is in the wrong spot in relation to my personal physique. But, I am going to try, try again. I'm not giving up. Maybe it's merely a issue of re-training my body to respond to a different stimulus. One thing this experience taught me is that a girl mustn't get too attached to a specific vibrator. I might be monogamous in my love life but the vibrator will be a revolving cast (hopefully) in the future. I'll keep you up to date on any further developments....
Monday, February 19, 2007
Thank you Anthony
I've recently gobbled up the autobiography of the Red Hot Chili Pepper's lead singer Anthony Kiedis titled 'Scar Tissue.'
This book has come at a timely point in my life where hard drugs have come back into my sphere of existence. For a very very long it wasn't a problem that I had to deal with as I haven't had any sort of a real steady drug connection since high school. If something were to come available I would always catch wind of it but it was the random bag of mushrooms or a friend that wanted to split a couple hits of acid, now and again there would be a couple tabs of ecstasy that were for sale at an exorbitant price. None of those drugs have ever really scared me though, never really got my pulse racing quite as much as painkillers and coke.
Only one other time since I was in high school have I truly questioned my lust for intoxication, for drugs. My grandmother passed away and there were a lot of painkillers and a bottle of liquid morphine left in her room, as I had been staying there, I knew this and jumped on it right away. The painkillers were an old friend and I was ecstatic that I had so many that were so strong, they wouldn't last long.
The morphine, now that was something different. Something to be approached with caution. I had never done it before, didn't know how strong it was or really what to do with it. I wanted it to be like the movies, where when you take it you are immediately transformed, turned and turned, floating on that opiate sea. It was morphine that was flavored like cough syrup, orange flavor. The bottle was new, seal had never even been cracked. I was nervous, on the tale of losing someone I felt I should be more cautious than I usually am not to get all fucked up and cause a scene that might involve o.d'ing or passing out for some amazing amount of time.
Having the bottle around it was a constant temptation to just sip it, check it out. I remember being impressed with myself that I was able to wait so long to try it, but I wanted the perfect chance. It came when everyone decided to take off for the day, I stayed behind, feeling 'ill' sweating and shifty at the prospect of trying out a new drug. Nothing ever moves as quickly as you want it to when your waiting to get fucked up.
When everyone finally drove off and I was safely assured that they were on their way I began the walk down that long hallway- both literally and figuratively. The hallway to the room I was staying in ran nearly the entire length of the house and with each step I felt myself reaching elevating levels of anticipation. All of those emotions were old familiars, it felt like I was dusting an ancient part of myself off. I've always loved trying something new. If I feel like it is potentially a seriously dangerous risk I'd go ahead and do it, but only do a little bit at first. I wouldn't dive right in, and I did stop to consider things before leaping in, but in the end I would take the plunge regardless.
I was shaking as I was cracking the seal on the bottle, I savored the smell, looked at the syrupy concoction in the sunlight, tasted a little on my tongue, knowing and committing to memory that this would be the first time I would drink liquid morphine. I drank a large gulp. Waited. And waited. I felt pleasant but I could feel that way with a couple hits of weed. So I drank another gulp. Waited. I was so excited my pulse must have been through the roof, maybe if I hadn't drank it at such an elevated level of being I would have felt the effects quicker but as it was that stuff had a long ways to go to take me from a hysterical teen at a rock concert to a lullaby sweet opium high. So another big swig down the hatch. Ahhhhhh, here it comes, what I paid admission to see, I was decently fucked up now and it was nice, very nice. But I was a bit disappointed as it was just that. Nice. I thought it would be amazing. I walked around, reveling in the sensations my body was receiving, I liked the way my limbs felt, the way my eyes moved slowly.
What I really wanted I decided was for a legion of people to massage me all at once. My hands felt amazing on my skin, I was loving the sensation of being the kitten getting petted and being the one petting the kitten all at once. Soon I had taken off my clothes and crawled on the bed. Laying in a patch of summer sun streaming in through the window, naked, I listened to the birds chirping, felt the breeze coming in through the window billowing in the white lace curtains like ship sails, I felt I was on a voyage. I felt delicious, like I was made of velvet desert.
I missed Tristan who was thousands of miles away. Thinking about him made me feel guilty and sneaky for what I was doing and the fact that I had kept it from him so I tried not to think about him.
Instead I thought about what an orgasm would feel like while high on this delicious sauce. Touching myself I would come closer and closer to the brink but I just couldn't crest that final wave, I worked hard & fast, slow & sensuous, it wasn't happening. Soon I just wore myself out, I was tired out from all the hard work and that pesky orgasm was slipping further and further out of my reach. So, I decided not to make the trip all about the destination and stopped to enjoy the rest of the ride on coast.
I got a pen and paper and wrote a couple of poems, they are unfinished to this day but I like the quality they posses, they are in themselves a very inspired moment in time. Deciding that I wanted to see what dreaming would be like on this I got out my dream journal and laid down to take a nap. Sleep was thick, like a deep hot descent, dreamless and heavy. When I woke up everyone was home, I looked around scared that some sort of wacky evidence might have been left in the open but found everything to be in place, that bottle called out to me, just take another drink and go back to that sleep, it might be better with more. But I didn't, and I knew that taunting would not go away unless I did go back to sleep, so I did.
The next day I called up my good friend and offered to trade the rest of the bottle for a bag of weed. Of course she readily agreed and I was glad to be rid of it. That siren hadn't stopped singing my name since she came into my possession, I was scared of her song.
After that experience I was open to suggestion. My self imposed exile from hard narcotics had been lifted, I was now officially looking for that good time. I filled that slot with painkillers and weed, soon I would have as much drugs as I could muster up the money for. Once your looking your bound to find it. It was a slow and gracious descent into drug lust, the very same lust that haunts me today. I know that I would have a far less cavalier approach to drugs if anything truly bad had ever happened to me as a result of drugs. As of today, that hasn't happened and so the lust smolders.
This book has come at a timely point in my life where hard drugs have come back into my sphere of existence. For a very very long it wasn't a problem that I had to deal with as I haven't had any sort of a real steady drug connection since high school. If something were to come available I would always catch wind of it but it was the random bag of mushrooms or a friend that wanted to split a couple hits of acid, now and again there would be a couple tabs of ecstasy that were for sale at an exorbitant price. None of those drugs have ever really scared me though, never really got my pulse racing quite as much as painkillers and coke.
Only one other time since I was in high school have I truly questioned my lust for intoxication, for drugs. My grandmother passed away and there were a lot of painkillers and a bottle of liquid morphine left in her room, as I had been staying there, I knew this and jumped on it right away. The painkillers were an old friend and I was ecstatic that I had so many that were so strong, they wouldn't last long.
The morphine, now that was something different. Something to be approached with caution. I had never done it before, didn't know how strong it was or really what to do with it. I wanted it to be like the movies, where when you take it you are immediately transformed, turned and turned, floating on that opiate sea. It was morphine that was flavored like cough syrup, orange flavor. The bottle was new, seal had never even been cracked. I was nervous, on the tale of losing someone I felt I should be more cautious than I usually am not to get all fucked up and cause a scene that might involve o.d'ing or passing out for some amazing amount of time.
Having the bottle around it was a constant temptation to just sip it, check it out. I remember being impressed with myself that I was able to wait so long to try it, but I wanted the perfect chance. It came when everyone decided to take off for the day, I stayed behind, feeling 'ill' sweating and shifty at the prospect of trying out a new drug. Nothing ever moves as quickly as you want it to when your waiting to get fucked up.
When everyone finally drove off and I was safely assured that they were on their way I began the walk down that long hallway- both literally and figuratively. The hallway to the room I was staying in ran nearly the entire length of the house and with each step I felt myself reaching elevating levels of anticipation. All of those emotions were old familiars, it felt like I was dusting an ancient part of myself off. I've always loved trying something new. If I feel like it is potentially a seriously dangerous risk I'd go ahead and do it, but only do a little bit at first. I wouldn't dive right in, and I did stop to consider things before leaping in, but in the end I would take the plunge regardless.
I was shaking as I was cracking the seal on the bottle, I savored the smell, looked at the syrupy concoction in the sunlight, tasted a little on my tongue, knowing and committing to memory that this would be the first time I would drink liquid morphine. I drank a large gulp. Waited. And waited. I felt pleasant but I could feel that way with a couple hits of weed. So I drank another gulp. Waited. I was so excited my pulse must have been through the roof, maybe if I hadn't drank it at such an elevated level of being I would have felt the effects quicker but as it was that stuff had a long ways to go to take me from a hysterical teen at a rock concert to a lullaby sweet opium high. So another big swig down the hatch. Ahhhhhh, here it comes, what I paid admission to see, I was decently fucked up now and it was nice, very nice. But I was a bit disappointed as it was just that. Nice. I thought it would be amazing. I walked around, reveling in the sensations my body was receiving, I liked the way my limbs felt, the way my eyes moved slowly.
What I really wanted I decided was for a legion of people to massage me all at once. My hands felt amazing on my skin, I was loving the sensation of being the kitten getting petted and being the one petting the kitten all at once. Soon I had taken off my clothes and crawled on the bed. Laying in a patch of summer sun streaming in through the window, naked, I listened to the birds chirping, felt the breeze coming in through the window billowing in the white lace curtains like ship sails, I felt I was on a voyage. I felt delicious, like I was made of velvet desert.
I missed Tristan who was thousands of miles away. Thinking about him made me feel guilty and sneaky for what I was doing and the fact that I had kept it from him so I tried not to think about him.
Instead I thought about what an orgasm would feel like while high on this delicious sauce. Touching myself I would come closer and closer to the brink but I just couldn't crest that final wave, I worked hard & fast, slow & sensuous, it wasn't happening. Soon I just wore myself out, I was tired out from all the hard work and that pesky orgasm was slipping further and further out of my reach. So, I decided not to make the trip all about the destination and stopped to enjoy the rest of the ride on coast.
I got a pen and paper and wrote a couple of poems, they are unfinished to this day but I like the quality they posses, they are in themselves a very inspired moment in time. Deciding that I wanted to see what dreaming would be like on this I got out my dream journal and laid down to take a nap. Sleep was thick, like a deep hot descent, dreamless and heavy. When I woke up everyone was home, I looked around scared that some sort of wacky evidence might have been left in the open but found everything to be in place, that bottle called out to me, just take another drink and go back to that sleep, it might be better with more. But I didn't, and I knew that taunting would not go away unless I did go back to sleep, so I did.
The next day I called up my good friend and offered to trade the rest of the bottle for a bag of weed. Of course she readily agreed and I was glad to be rid of it. That siren hadn't stopped singing my name since she came into my possession, I was scared of her song.
After that experience I was open to suggestion. My self imposed exile from hard narcotics had been lifted, I was now officially looking for that good time. I filled that slot with painkillers and weed, soon I would have as much drugs as I could muster up the money for. Once your looking your bound to find it. It was a slow and gracious descent into drug lust, the very same lust that haunts me today. I know that I would have a far less cavalier approach to drugs if anything truly bad had ever happened to me as a result of drugs. As of today, that hasn't happened and so the lust smolders.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Who wants to have sex when you can fight instead?
Hello,
I'm back. I can't seem to wrap my mind around where to take this blog. Where to pick up, where to go, what to say. It's all very crafty and dubious when you are attempting to write a blog secretly while living with other people and using a shared computer. I feel the need to share, to reach out to this community that I am (sort of) a part of, it feels important to me to have this feedback and this anonymous place to clear out the stuff that can't go in the journals.
There has been an alarming lack of sex in my life lately. And just as alarming is the frequency with with Tristan and I have been fighting. I feel anything from raging blinding anger to sad indifference tinged with annoyance towards him lately. I know this cycle and I've seen it before- it's time for us to spend some time apart. We are nearly inseparable most all of the time and although I love the closeness we share and the love that has held us together through all of our trials & triumphs it does all get to be a bit much. There are certain issues we have that we just can't seem to resolve and after a fashion I just get so irritated with the same annoyances that I just can't get over it. It's like the irritation is a tiny spur that has worked it's way into my paw and every time I step on it I think of him. I know a lot of my problems with him are really a reflection of unresolved issues with myself (most all of our problems with people are) and I vacillate between feeling the need to get couples counseling and feeling like things are pretty OK. I know once we part ways for a chunk of the summer I'll forget all about all this petty crap and just wait and want and pine for him to return, I think I'm just ready for that to happen.
It's just too bad that we can't be the kind of people that have a heated argument and wrap it up with hot arduous sex. I've always wanted to be that person but having sex is the last thing I want to do when I'm pissed off. And when I'm irritated and feeling unappreciated I don't much feel like having sex either. Feeling like I'm only being approached for sex to supply him with an orgasm isn't high on my priorities either, and it sucks because I know he would be hurt to know that I feel that way some times but I don't think he is willing to consciously look at his approach and see how it would make me feel that way.
But, alas- it seems as though I will always be burying my feelings to spare his. It's the pattern we've established for a very long time now, it's doubtful it will ever change. For it to change I would have to actively recognize my feelings and voice them, explain them, stand behind them, make it all stick. But I haven't, don't and most likely won't. It's just too terrifying to be naked out there with my wounds open and gaping, with my emotions spilling out of the cuts. Most every time I begin to show these wounds and say the words that are choking my throat I'm sorry that I did and every time I swear I'm just going to keep it to myself in the future.
It might not be right, but it has gotten us this far when by all rights we should have ended this relationship years ago.
I'm back. I can't seem to wrap my mind around where to take this blog. Where to pick up, where to go, what to say. It's all very crafty and dubious when you are attempting to write a blog secretly while living with other people and using a shared computer. I feel the need to share, to reach out to this community that I am (sort of) a part of, it feels important to me to have this feedback and this anonymous place to clear out the stuff that can't go in the journals.
There has been an alarming lack of sex in my life lately. And just as alarming is the frequency with with Tristan and I have been fighting. I feel anything from raging blinding anger to sad indifference tinged with annoyance towards him lately. I know this cycle and I've seen it before- it's time for us to spend some time apart. We are nearly inseparable most all of the time and although I love the closeness we share and the love that has held us together through all of our trials & triumphs it does all get to be a bit much. There are certain issues we have that we just can't seem to resolve and after a fashion I just get so irritated with the same annoyances that I just can't get over it. It's like the irritation is a tiny spur that has worked it's way into my paw and every time I step on it I think of him. I know a lot of my problems with him are really a reflection of unresolved issues with myself (most all of our problems with people are) and I vacillate between feeling the need to get couples counseling and feeling like things are pretty OK. I know once we part ways for a chunk of the summer I'll forget all about all this petty crap and just wait and want and pine for him to return, I think I'm just ready for that to happen.
It's just too bad that we can't be the kind of people that have a heated argument and wrap it up with hot arduous sex. I've always wanted to be that person but having sex is the last thing I want to do when I'm pissed off. And when I'm irritated and feeling unappreciated I don't much feel like having sex either. Feeling like I'm only being approached for sex to supply him with an orgasm isn't high on my priorities either, and it sucks because I know he would be hurt to know that I feel that way some times but I don't think he is willing to consciously look at his approach and see how it would make me feel that way.
But, alas- it seems as though I will always be burying my feelings to spare his. It's the pattern we've established for a very long time now, it's doubtful it will ever change. For it to change I would have to actively recognize my feelings and voice them, explain them, stand behind them, make it all stick. But I haven't, don't and most likely won't. It's just too terrifying to be naked out there with my wounds open and gaping, with my emotions spilling out of the cuts. Most every time I begin to show these wounds and say the words that are choking my throat I'm sorry that I did and every time I swear I'm just going to keep it to myself in the future.
It might not be right, but it has gotten us this far when by all rights we should have ended this relationship years ago.
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