This weekend I asked Sarah if she would pick me for her zombie apocalypse team. On one hand this is a silly and ridiculous question. On the other hand… Sarah knows more competent people than the vast majority of this planet. So if Sarah wants to pick me that means she is not choosing more competent, skilled people. That’s a big damn deal. Because Sarah knows many of the most competent people in the world.

She says absolutely. Because of my stamina. Because if she gives me an order I will follow it. I will only argue if I have a very serious amount of domain knowledge that leads me to be 100% sure that I’m right. Then I’ll justify myself briefly and we can negotiate. We do this so well.

I’m thinking about that energy tonight. I had two good nights of sleep in a row. 10 hours then 9 hours. Then tonight…4. Sigh. I decided to just take the Klonopin last night instead of also taking melatonin and 200mg of pot. Apparently… that’s not enough sedation. Awesome. I woke up very awake.

Sometimes I wonder about the evolutionary function of people like me–people who can burn energy like this even when it hurts them. It strikes me that this type of idiocy spurs self harm or heroism.

A while back I read an article about a young man from a “troubled past” who rescued a bunch of people during Katrina. He continued to struggle with life after the disaster. A lot of what makes children earn the “troubled” label is having far too much energy for solving problems compared to the adults around you. If you are a high energy person you are trouble.

God this is so broken.

I am pretty sure Noah and I have reached some kind of equilibrium around nonmonogamy stuff. Now we get to put what we talked about into practice and see how it goes.

I feel very guilty. I know there are ways and places in this marriage where I get more than my fair share (like massage–I don’t rub him much because my hands hurt) but there aren’t that many places where I just flat out ask to get more. Usually he gets more or it is hard to tell. I work hard on that because I don’t feel I deserve the deal I get and I would feel really bad if I was more blatantly exploitive of what I have.

I have already taken too much from Noah.

But here I am. Taking more. Ostensibly because it allows me to give more back. I wish I understood why I am hard wired for novelty in a way that is highly unusual even for my promiscuous species. I can make up a story based on trauma or based on my family history but the truth is I don’t know. I can just guess.

Novelty increases my desire and tolerance for all forms of sex. I’m a lot more satisfied with something that doesn’t feel satisfying if I also have novelty. All of a sudden the repetitive is comforting and lovely instead of boring.

But yeah Noah, you are right. We developed some patterns for getting through the breeding years that we are going to have to undo. They no longer serve. It is becoming a bad thing for both of us. How to ask? How to push? What to do?

It all changes and that is so annoying.

I kinda thought I would get to my 30’s and have sex figured out. Sheesh, I’ve fucked enough people I should know what this shit is about. With every year I am more confused. Because life is a bitch.

I sorta feel like in my dream world “my” people wouldn’t live so spread out. Scheduling people months in advance is fraught. It is hard to predict energy levels that far in advance. Given the distances involved and the complicated schedules involved…. scheduling in advance is how I maintain contact with so many people.

But I kind of wish that I had a longer list of people I could email on Thursday night and say, “Hey want to come over tomorrow?”

Because right now that list of people is somewhere between zero and one. On a given week I might feel brave enough to try once but I usually get turned down and don’t have the ovaries to keep asking people because I suck at that flavor of rejection.

SOMEDAY MY BATHROOM WILL BE DONE. That may change some of how we schedule stuff. Having the house be destroyed is sucking. fuuuuuuuck. I need to go talk to the city about my permit. It expires soon. Sigh. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit.

In my dream world I’d get to invite over the folks I like. Some of them I like having sex with and some of them I don’t. We’d all talk and share ideas and laugh and be safe.

That’s my dream world. Where I get to invite people over to my house at the last minute to talk about intense things in a safe environment.

That’s what I want.

I hope I’m heading there.

I don’t want to cut off my friends in favor of my lovers. I want to spend time with people. I feel like I desire contact with people the way other people want air. I want to hear what you think and why. I want to hear more about your story so I can understand.

Do you know how much I want to understand you? I try so hard and I fail so often. Please talk to me more. I’m sorry I have such a thick head. Thank you for your patience in explaining to me repeatedly.

I love you. I want to know you.

*no tags because OWWWWWWWWW arms

Part of the reason I don’t like to write more in times of lots of extreme ups and downs is because I feel stupid. There have been up moments. I feel like maybe there are more positive moments than terrible moments over the past few days. Things are leveling off.

I feel like we are getting closer to an agreement we can live with. It isn’t perfect on either side (compromise isn’t a dirty word) but it is something we can live with. Perfect for Noah might involve a much longer leash than I can cope with. Perfect for me might involve a whole lot more patience with my shenanigans.

You give what you can give.

I still like being married to him. I’m still happy that I get to talk to him and fuck him and have him tell me that we will figure it out.

Don’t compare partners. But only one person carries me. I notice that. I do compare that. I honestly believe I would have to be a fucking moron to not weigh that more heavily.

That doesn’t justify being mean to anyone else or taking them for granted or using them and discarding them. But I do compare what kind of support I get because I need to make sure I get enough support.

I have to.

Am I selfish? Yes. Is that ok? I don’t know. Noah thinks that banging me is worth the price of admission. It is high.

Tonight we have the penultimate conversation. One of the least scary ones. I am sad that I didn’t manage to get all the people in this month. One of them I will talk to in June because sweet sunny french fries I couldn’t see more people this month. I feel like I’m about to collapse. And I have a cold.

We are getting closer and closer to understanding kinda what we want. Maybe. Uhm, lots of group sex. Because group sex is awesome. Ok, it has obnoxious dynamics to deal with (what sex doesn’t) but I can adapt.

It isn’t that our sex life is inadequate, not really. We have fucked 31 times so far this month and I’m so chafed that sitting down is… uncomfortable. It isn’t that we can’t fuck each other enough.

We went to an open relationship discussion group recently, because I like talking about this stuff. It was fascinating how bad I felt. “Not poly. Slutty.” No. I don’t want to devote every Thursday to you. Even if you are spiffy.

My life is too full.

I would have to cut a few full branches off the tree of my friendships. In order to make room for new growth. Who do I cull? Not you. Not you. Not you. Not you.

Shit.

I rant and rave about how there is no such thing as “deserve” in life. But I think maybe to some degree I have earned the relationships I have. I don’t want to cull any of them. I’ve worked so hard. But choosing to not devote more intense energy to individuals is a choice. I’m scared of putting all my eggs in one basket.

I have poured so much into Noah. Narrowing my other support seems… questionable.

I’m trying to feel more connected but it is hard. I’m having trouble feeling grounded. I feel floaty. I feel disconnected and distant. Cutting does that. I’m way more calm though!

I learned something interesting: I can do much more extensive cutting on my thighs with no marking than can happen on my breasts. Noah marked my breasts, just a little, and those marks are much darker and more apparent than the pretty serious cutting I did on my thigh. Skin is fascinating.

Today I should pack for the grief ritual. Sarah picks me up at 1pm tomorrow. Tomorrow is Noah’s last day of work. Hurrah. Let me run away from home. I’m gonna cry. Doesn’t this just seem like a good time to take all the grief and pain and scream about it? Hell yeah.

Don’t hurt yourself.

I will try to stop.

Do you know what the worst form of self harm I’ve done lately is? Breaking agreements. The cutting on my leg isn’t that big of a deal. Not really. Not in the scheme of things. I broke agreements I made. That hurts me. Noah is going to keep talking about how he knows he needs to get over it… and it’s going to be long term damage. Because I hurt my home. I did that.

I’m mad at him for all the things he has done. But most of what he has done is to not do. I do the bad shit. I break things. I blow things up. I say, “I can’t follow rules right now.”

I don’t know what rules I can follow but not those anymore. They don’t work now. Well, I have a better idea of where we are going. We start writing soon.

And by burn I mean bridges.

Ok I need to type. I haz feelings. I’ve been pretty quiet about them and that sucks for me. It sucks in a lot of ways. In order to compartmentalize my extreme disordered thoughts when I’m not typing them out I have to do a lot of depersonalization. I feel like less than a person. I feel hollow. I don’t feel fleshed out. It isn’t exactly the same thing as dissociating but it is related.

I have offended one person and I didn’t offend that person so much they want to banish me from their life they just don’t want to be that close to my sex life. Totally reasonable.

My sex life is a chaotic place. You need to be ok with ups and downs and extreme changes in emotion or…. we just can’t have sex as part of an ongoing relationship. Because that happens to me. I have big feelings.

I was honest with the psych nurse yesterday. (I have two new scripts. Klonopin (a longer acting sleeping pill like Lorazepam to deal with the early wake ups) and Abilify.) She asked if I had any suicidal urges on the Gabapentin. I said no but my self harming urges went through the roof. She asked what that means.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and said, “Ok I’m not going to lie I cut last week.”

“Ok, where? How deep?”

“On my thigh. It’s not deep. It really isn’t dangerous.”

Then I went into my medical schpeal about avoiding tendons and arteries and she asked me how I insure cleanliness and I told her I use disposable scalpels to avoid infection risk and…

When I was done she blinked and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever worked with someone who is as serious about mitigating the harm that they are doing. Uhm, well done.”

That was funny.

You are harming yourself and you know it. But you are doing it so you don’t do what might be worse harm in another place. As you harm yourself you are following elaborate safety precautions. Oh. Well. Uhm. Ok.

When was the last time you cut? Almost five years ago. Let’s talk about the similarities there.

In  both situations I felt like I had mountain sized emotions that other people were not ok with dealing with and I had to make them go away. Now. Stop on a dime. It doesn’t matter how you feel it matters how you act.

That’s hard. I don’t know another way to do it. When I feel absolutely in a trap and I have to make my hysteria go away now… I don’t know another way to do it. I really don’t.

Why did I feel like it this time? Because I was going to flip out in front of the kids and I’m not ok with that. I’m way ok with flipping out where they can’t see me. I wasn’t going to be able to hold it together in front of them on that day and that… that isn’t ok.

Shove that shit in a box, bitch.

I can’t freak out at my kids. I just can’t. Not when I’m upset about things in my sex life. That’s not ok. Hold it together. But does cutting count as holding it together? Well, my kids haven’t seen the marks and they haven’t had to deal with my extreme behavior either. I’m not sure if that is good enough but it is what I had to give last week.

I put myself in situations where BIG FEELINGS are unavoidable. Then I struggle to deal with the repercussions. My feelings cause other people to have feelings. Situations cause other people to have feelings. Then the feelings must be dealt with.

Thank all the stars in the heavy for easy going, slutty folk. Y’all are the best. You are ok with doing what you are doing and on the good days I show up and fuck you and on the rest of the days you don’t get mad at me for my inadequacy at being consistently up.

Noah and I are… a lot of the way through negotiating. It still hurts. Why does it hurt? Because neither of us like it that either of us will ever do anything but look at one another. We both want that from one another. LOOK AT ME.

So how do we share that? How do we share this intense possessiveness we both feel? I don’t know. But we are going to find out. When it goes well it goes so freakin well. When we both feel safe and loved and like we are getting what we need we have a lot to share and we aren’t selfish and we aren’t stingy.

But how do we get to the point of feeling safe and loved? That’s the hard bit.

We go through phases of feeling that way. I know that I complained about how only other people make Noah glow and that’s not true. I see him glow with me too. It just only happens on days when I spend a lot of time adoring him and that shit takes work.

I need to do more of that work. I like the results.

Sigh.

What is it that we really want? I want to speak in we. Maybe that’s bad.

I want enmeshment. I want intensity. I want attention. I want to be a separate self and I want to not have much of me that is outside of our relationship. I want sex like this month to be most months of the year. I want to feel special.

I hate that I have absolutely no idea what could cause me to feel special. I don’t. Even though Noah has spent ten years doing his best to cause me to feel special… I don’t.

That seems so unfair. It means there is nothing I can ask him to do to make me feel special. Clearly it isn’t going to come from him if we have utterly failed so far.

I don’t know and it really sucks.

I want time spent. I want conversation. I want perversion and tenderness. Time. Time. Time. Time. I want your time. I want to crawl inside you so that you carry me around in a Joey pocket and I never have to miss a minute with you. Ok, maybe I’ll crawl out and leave you alone when you are pooping. Because oh my god. But the rest of the time I’m happy to be with you.

I don’t need you to garden. But it’s nice when you decide to come sit in the shade near I’m working so you can talk to me.

I don’t need to program. But I like sitting near you when you are doing so.

I don’t like doing the cooking. But I like when we work together and I do all the other stage setting parts of making a meal and getting drinks so that things just feel more put together when we sit down to eat the wonderful mea you have made.

I like grocery shopping with you and exercising with you and meditating with you. I like that you, alone in the whole world, are happy to try that hard to learn how to be happy so you can teach me how to be happy.

Thank you. That is a gift I cannot repay.

I see you. I see the vulnerability and sadness that comes from feeling like there isn’t a thing about you that is lovable. You do deserve love. You didn’t believe you deserved it when I told your mom she wasn’t allowed to come after the motorcycle accident and we took care of you because we loved you and you don’t believe it now when I do my very best to show you that you are important every single day.

Yeah, I’m all in.

Yes, this sexing other people thing is going to be hard. But it’s also so much fun. It takes energy from both of us to share. It’s hard. We don’t love it. Neither of us like sharing our toys very much. But we do actually both like the results. We do like the increased skill base and knowledge and repertoire. We like the glowing and the extra energy.

Even when I want to scratch your face off. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

IF ONLY I COULD STOP LIKING THE BENEFITS OF NONMONOGAMY.

Uhm, I need to go water the back yard before taking Eldest Child on the school tour. Fudge.

If only I were less slutty this would all be less complicated. I would say there are seven people who are being actively being impacted in an ongoing way with our nonmonogamy. We have talked to 3.2 of them. (I started a conversation and it didn’t get finished and it has a long way to go.) 2 are scheduled for next week. I have a date on the books with the person I started to talk to and didn’t get to finish. I need to book one more person over.

I definitely started off with some of the most easy going folks.

Let me say, as someone who is not easy going dealing with people who are is such a treat. Wow. You make life so pleasant. Thank you for that.

I am… not going to write today about how the chats went. Complicated. Layers of reasons. Suffice to say: yes I was blushing. I still can’t believe I’m saying some of this shit out loud. Doing it is easier than talking about it.

I really have no idea how my life will look at the end of the year.

I am feeling overwhelmed at having this many people who are like, “Ok on bad days call and ask for…”

But… you don’t understand. People find out about the bad days from my blog. Otherwise they are invisible. I don’t ask for help. I don’t communicate my needs in a non-passive-aggressive-just-for-documentation-sort-of-way.

Why?

Because being direct about my needs mostly hasn’t gone well so that’s a habit I just dropped. It’s complicated.

The more I need/want something the harder it is for me to say out loud that I want it.

I’m fucking obnoxious. But when I was a kid revealing a strong need or want was a way to get targeted for having it. I know I need to get over my childhood. I’m working on it. It comes in layers. I’m not done with this layer yet.

I remain grateful to the tips of my toes for Noah. The only person who never ever makes comments about how I write too much. He’s glad I give him so much of a window into my head. It overwhelms other people.

Hey, you are allowed to opt out any time you need to. You don’t need to give me an elaborate explanation. You don’t need to tell me, “You just write too much.”

No. I don’t. I write how much I need to. Maybe it is too much for you to handle reading given the constraints of your life and your reading speed, and that’s ok, but it doesn’t mean I write too much.

Ahem.

I’ve spent a lot of the last few days meditating on the idea of being the “biggest bitch” and what that means to people. Over my life time I have repeatedly been told that I am the biggest bitch. By men and women. I’m evaluated with other negative words too of course, but biggest bitch has come up more than once so I’m thinking on it.

I think about what it means to want things and want relationships and demand that your boundaries matter.

I think about what it means that some people desperately want me to get better at asking for things and being at least a little demanding and then there is everyone else who wants me to shut the fuck up.

Life is like that for everyone, I think.

I’m thinking a lot about what I want the shape of my life to look like. I’m thinking about the people I want in my life. I’m trying to figure out why I want the things I want. The reasons are changing as I went from having an amorphous “I waaaaaaaaaaant” to “I want _______.” Those are different.

Why do I want you? I could list reasons why, if you were curious. Why are you worth the trouble? I can tell you. I think about it. There are reasons or I wouldn’t bother. As has been pointed out with a chuckle more than once lately I do have a very full life.

If I’m trying really hard to pull you into it… it’s not out of pity. It’s not out of obligation or meh.

I want you.

You get to decide how you feel about your end of that. I don’t get to tell you how to feel. I want you to like you as much as I like you. Then maybe I can learn to like me as much as you like me.

Yesterday didn’t quite go according to plan. Things were just… not lined up. And when we went dancing it turns out we should have checked the calendar. I’m not a line dancing kinda girl. I have flashbacks of junior high PE and it isn’t real fun for Noah either. If he has a limited willingness to dance… I’m not fucking spending it on line dancing.

So instead we were in bed at nine. I got about six hours of sleep in my first sleep. That’s way better than four. We decided it was smarter to try and get more sleep before the camping trip rather than try to be fun last night. Smart choice.

(Deity–my hands were wet from washing dishes. Nothing more fun than that.)

From 3:30pm-5:45pm I was driving to and from Oakland. Oh that tried my patience. The trip home was actually wicked fast. Took 45 minutes in traffic. That’s quick. The trip up took an hour and a half. Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

That was my nap time.

I’m looking forward to every part of today. My submissive and Cupid will be at this party. Noah and I have some fun talking to do. At least some of the folks Noah plays with will be here. So much talking to do.

No puking, Krissy. It’s just talk. Everyone here is friendly and amenable to negotiating. No one has a long list of “YOU MUST DO THIS OR I DON’T WANT TO KNOW YOU”. It’s ok.

It’s going to be ok.

Hell, it’s going to be fun.

Chill the motherfuck out.

I hate this anxious feeling. Like a whining dog cringing. I feel like I should crumble into a little ball. Who am I to ask for so much. Who am I to feel entitled to dictate terms like this.

I think… when it really all boils down… it comes down to… who am I to set boundaries? I accept boundaries. I run into them. I don’t set them.

How god damn audacious. Who do you think you are.

It’s not even a question. A statement of incredulity. Uppity bitch. Shut up.

My driveway has been buried under palates that need to go to the dump for a while. My neighbor came over and said, “So it’s time for me to start collecting the garbage again? Which things should I leave?” That’s a kind of… assumption that I can live with. Thank you. I’ve been trying to figure out how to get rid of them. Awesome. Maybe we can park on our driveway this year.

The evaluator came yesterday and took test cuts of the roof. It was constructed entirely incorrectly and can’t be insulated correctly, the roofing material couldn’t possibly be attached securely as is, and large swatches were done in ways that will fail super soon.

In other words: I wasn’t paranoid. I was right.

Arbitration is going to be fun. But I’m going to get a whole bunch of money back. I hope. I was told that anyone who ever goes up against me in court will end up sorry. How far should I test that fortune telling? It was funny how his eyes bugged out when he said that. “When it comes to money and going to court…. anyone who goes against you will be sorry. You will win and win and win.”

So my birth chart has something going for it.

There is a part of me that has always wanted to test that prediction more. Because I know that I will end up in court over incest research someday. I’d like to trust my magic feather a little more. Be a little more certain before I get there. Part of winning in court is knowing how.

Step one: develop good relationship with a lawyer.

Check.

Step two: line up experts with evidence to prove you are right.

Check.

Next!

Gosh. Pieces of this are almost fun. In a spiteful don’t fuck with me sorta way.

You fucked with my home.

Turns out having a friend visit for a weekend is going to sit heavy on me. I give Noah a lot of credit for my life. I wouldn’t be where I am without him.

She has different views. I mean, yeah… she knows I would be in a different place. She thinks I would have found a way to do the important bits without him.

I wish I had so much confidence in myself.

It’s nice having people come visit so they can be your externalized self-confidence. “You are under rating yourself and let me tell you how. In great detail.” Thank you my friend.

We also had a fantastic conversation about poverty, being white, white trash, and multi-cultural environments. That was just a weekend of talk-talk-talking.

Hey wanna come hang out at Krissy’s House of Cheerful Conversation?!

I feel bad about the degree to which my ability to be fun/nice with guests is tied to how medicated I am. If I sound pissy and frustrated… it probably isn’t you. It is probably that my entire body hurts and I can’t eat when I’m sober and that feels awful and I haven’t slept right in a long long time. I had a good 40 days there for a while. Then my Lorazepam was cut because she’s worried.

Sigh.

This is why I stay so stoned. But I feel embarrassed getting this stoned in front of people. I use a lot of pot to be as functional as I am around the house. So if I have to drive before I see people…

People think I’m pissy with them or offended or…

No. I’m just operating near my physical limits and the strain shows. I’m sorry. I try to be careful with my tone but it gets away from me.

I’ve been driving too much.

I am really excited about the changes that are going to happen around here starting June 1st. Noah has a new job. He will be working from home. I… don’t want to say much more about why this is super exciting until he does so more publicly.

But I’ve always wanted him to work from home. He finally is doing so. I’m really happy about this. He is too. He hates working in offices. Dealing with that many people all day drains him and makes him really unhappy.

Commute time can become exercise time.

Cooking will be easier.

I am so excited.

Once the mosaics are off the floor the garage is going to change again. I love my garage. I like how many different uses it has had over time. This incarnation is going to be fun too.

Part of the fun? The garage is way more sound proofed than our bedroom. I’m going to be putting a lock on the door. We might actually do a little play out here when the babysitter has the kids. Nothing loud or messy or complicated. But if I squeak a few times no one will hear. That’s not true in our bedroom. And all the furniture is additional sound dampening.

Excellent.

The other thing about dating and going to parties right now? I uhhh really want to stop spending money for a bit. We are going to need a serious cut back for a bit. Between the remodel and the cruise…. we are tapped out. The flow is maxed out right now. And then some. I’m going to have to dig out of a hole. It was a planned hole. But… it got bigger. And the road trip was more than I hoped it would be. Because I was in so much pain I was in hotels a lot more than I wanted to be.

So. Something has to give. I know how to lock down. I can do it. Uhm… any… day… now…

Sigh.

But there’s a lot of fluff in our budget right now and some of that has to get trimmed for a few months.

I HATE BEING A GROWN UP. FUCK RESPONSIBILITY.

“But volunteer!” No. I’m cranky and in pain. I work all the fucking time. When I go somewhere I don’t go to fucking work for them too.

Not right now.

I’ll figure something out.

I didn’t go out to eat for lunch yesterday even though I kinda wanted to.

I’m not sure I’m handling sibling stuff that well right now. (For another abrupt topic shift.) Eldest Child is… starting to want to separate more and that’s fair and reasonable but it is happening in shitty ways.

I kinda react like a viper. There is this one mom I know from homeschooling. She’s intense. She does not let her kids abandon one another at the park. Play together. Find a game that works for everyone. Compromise. There is no “But that’s for babies” in her house. PERIOD.

I don’t agree with every aspect of everything about parenting with her and that’s totally cool but I seriously pattern off of her with the sibling stuff. But I’m not sure I’m doing it right.

I know it is kinda part guilt tripping. I have mixed feelings about that.

I tell Eldest Child, “You know what, you can be mean to your sibling because it wins you points. That’s a choice you can make. You can be funny and spiteful. But you’ll pay for it. Have you ever heard me say a nice thing about my big sister? Do I see her? Would I help her if I passed her and she was stranded on the side of the road? No. Go ahead. Keep being nasty to your sibling.”

Eldest Child is ready to leave baby things behind and she’s out of patience. Youngest Child is not ready to give up on being a baby and is regressing in obnoxious ways all over the place. I want to jump up and down and scream, “I THREW MY FUCKING BACK OUT CARRYING BOTH OF YOU WHEN YOU WERE IN THIS GOD DAMN PHASE SO STOP BEING SO FUCKING IMPATIENT WITH YOUR SIBLING.”

Clearly this is triggering.

I can’t carry Youngest Child basically at all any more. I feel sad. I have destroyed my back carrying kids. I have to stop.

I don’t regret it. I am so happy I kept them close to my body as long as they wanted. Well, YC would still like it… So we have been sitting and snuggling a lot more.

I’m having really big feelings of inadequacy lately around managing some of these transitions. It has occurred to me to wonder how much hunting is tied to the fact that very little inside my house leaves me feeling adequate. I’m always a day late and a dollar short. I feel like I never get it done. I’m never good enough. Because it is so unrelenting. I have to pace myself. So I’m always always always robbing Peter to pay Paul.

So Noah and I are going to sit down and talk life priorities. And scheduling. And… we’ll have to just not deviate for a bit.

I need to stop driving so much. It creeped back in. We need a more set schedule for sleep. We have to let our bodies heal. We need exercise. I’m running out of time in which to set the patterns for my body that will let me get fast enough to potentially keep myself safe given the shit I want to do with my later life.

I need to stop fucking around. I’m in ok shape. But I have to work on speed. Shit.

And if Eldest Child is less certain about school than she thought… well… that means I need to get my shit together. She needs more structure from me next year. I can do that. Yes ma’am. You want more structure… but not timed reading tests and standardized tests and timed math tests and someone standing over you sighing as you work.

God I get it.

I can help you with that. No trouble. I can build a schedule for that. I love building schedules. It is going to be interesting having Noah and Eldest Child on more set work schedules while Youngest Child still really isn’t so I have to have a weird hybrid bounce in and out of structure/free time.

Oh this is going to be the best adventure yet. I’m so excited.

Oh Noah. This is what we’ve always wanted.

We will make this work. Period. This will be glorious. Occasionally obnoxious. But I think this is going to be good. You have noise canceling headphones, yes? If not–we are buying really nice ones.

This morning I get to spend some time with a roof evaluator looking at my house. Weeeee. Then I get acupuncture. Then I run around and collect supplies for camping. Then babysitting ends and I take the kids to Oakland. Then I come home and take a nap. Then Noah asked to take me dancing! He turned down an invitation to a different kind of event to take me dancing.

He says he feels bad that he’s never offered in ten years. *Sniff* We dance at weddings. Dat’s it. And he says he feels bad about that because his issues with dancing weren’t about me and I’m lots of fun to dance with.

I am not a well established part of the dance community who will sneer about how you aren’t a very good dancer. I’m not polished. I’m not perfect. I fuck up constantly when I dance and my reaction is to laugh and laugh and laugh. I’m there to move around and have fun. I’m not that picky.

If someone comments on my footwork being messy I turn around and wiggle my butt at them. I am not there for stage performance quality dancing.

I do not aspire to being here for your entertainment, motherfucker.

I hope he will have fun. I know I will. We are going to the Saddlerack which will be entertaining.

Then in the morning we will finish the last bits of packing and drive down to Santa Cruz early for some time at Kiva before the camp event. Given how my back feels… let’s do some relaxing before I camp. Goodness.

Spasms suck. But it is that kinda week.

We will have a nice lunch in Santa Cruz too. We will talk and talk and talk. God I love talking to him. That’s what kid free weekends are for us: let’s alternate talking and sex. The whole time. We’ll barely sleep.

Why would we want to do anything else?

We will talk a lot more about the structure of this nonmonogamy stuff. Maybe start writing more down.

I gotta say, his current entrenched position is much less threatening than the position he has held for many years. This is progress.

I’m looking forward to camping. I’m looking forward to the easiest conversation of all happening this weekend so a little bit of the poison in my belly will dissipate.

I’m scared of one conversation in particular. That one is freaking me the fuck out. Why am I so afraid of that one. It’s the only one where I’m afraid of punishment or negative response. I think everyone else will be fairly close to “Oh. Ok. So that’s what you’re doing.” This one person… I’m afraid I am going to hurt them a lot.

I feel so bad.

No way out but through.

I don’t feel like Noah and I understand the shape of this yet. Not fully. I’m still scared of that.

The good news really does change a lot of stuff. Holy shit.

I picked that title because I don;t need to cement in my head that this process is terrifying. Eeep.

Trying to figure out what frame I want to talk to Noah about and compare to the frame that he wants is hard enough. Then trying to figure out what I might want to ask other people for so that we can have a conversation in which they are allowed to ask for what they want…

I want to hide in a closet.

Do I really have to talk in person to people like this instead of just talking around them in my blog? WHY?! THAT’S NOT FAIR. I DON’T DO WELL AT THE IN PERSON TALKING.

sob.

Eeeeeeep.

But I’d kinda both like to still be close friends with these people and I’d like to bang them and whether I like it or not… it gets messy.

Sob. Rend garments. Rip hair. Agony.

Noooooooooooooooo communication.

You can’t make me.

Ok. No one is trying to make me. So far one person very politely asked and another person said “Or you can tell me the end result–whatever you need” and another said “I’d like to help and I don’t know how.”

Me either. Can you tell me how I feel about these things? That would be useful.

There’s a lot to balance here. Because everyone needs to feel important because everyone is important. We have a really strong dyad in our house and that’s fine… but that doesn’t make any of the folks we want to play with less important.

We just need to talk about where the happy medium is. What is the closest we can get to what we want.

I’m glad we are four days without yelling or screaming now. I hope this trend continues. We are both reacting from a completely terrified and insecure place and I hope that can change.

Noah. I hope I can manage to change my behavior enough to stop scaring the hell out of you. Thank you for being willing to talk about ways you might need to change for me. If we could figure out what we want to ask for it would go faster.

We are getting better. Closer.

I feel like by the end of the month we may end up with a bunch of different written documents. Maybe including flow charts. Years ago I went to a protocol play class taught by Tristan Taormino. She talked about having a 13 page (or more? Memory is fuzzy) document outlining behavior.

I totally got wet thinking about it. Fuck yes. I’ve never forgotten that. The idea of having that much certainty about what you are supposed to do. Swoon.

It was that long and detailed because different situations require different rules. Given that I spent half of last year traveling with my kids because I need them to understand deep in their bones that different situations require different rules and I have historically had a hard time figuring those boundaries out alone…

God I love a good contract.

I looked at my old contract. (Apparently other people have been curious about it a lot lately too because that gets a lot of hits.) It is interesting noting the similarities and differences between what I want now and what I needed then. My Owner really was as close to a Daddy as I could talk him into being.

Do I want that with Noah? Is that what I want forever? I know I want codependent enmeshed stuff, but do I want that kind of taken-care-of forever? I don’t know.

“The slave is to try to contribute positively to the relationship and submit to
commands as they are issued.” I’m giving a side eye to this bullshit right now. My Owner really didn’t like the degree to which my mental health problems impacted his life. Suck it. I get depressed. I get anxious. I get suicidal. I feel intense self harming urges. I’m not always a positive fucking contribution.

I want to feel like I am still welcome here.

I want to feel like I am good enough for Noah even when I don’t feel like I am good enough to justify continuing to eat or sleep or breathe. That’s an unfair burden to place on a person.

What is fair?

One massive difference will be that our “normal” protocol will be out “kid” protocol which is to say… just about none. Like, maybe there are household provisioning things. Or maybe we get more ritualized about hello/goodbye… but dat’s it.

No more in front of the kids.

My kids will never see me kneel to nobody.

This is nonnegotiable.

I don’t give a shit what other people do. This is about me.

Some day my kids will figure out that I’m a sexual submissive and it is going to blow their minds from here to kingdom come. “You?! You do what dad says?!?!?! Hahahahahahahaahaha”

That’s going to be how that goes. About how it went with my mother. “Wait. Say that part again. You do what someone tells you to do?”

I am completely and totally convinced that all my obedience in this life needs to happen on the down low where most people won’t even know it is happening. Safer that way. My experience of looking too sexually submissive in front of people was that it wasn’t safe.

Hi, I’m Krissy. I’m a bad ass motherfucker.

Oh golly. I got an interesting perspective on Youngest Child recently. We are getting to know a new little friend and there was a mild altercation between this new friend and YC. The other child hit YC and I guess YC glowered back but didn’t hit. I wasn’t clear if there was verbal threatening of some variety on YCs part…. but there was a lot of intensity involved. Enough that the other child was affected.

That’s my baby. I’m proud. Keep that shit up.

I was asked if I had a good day. I didn’t sleep well. I’m in a lot of pain. The kids are all fussy and I have five of them here. I did tons of chores (laundry, dishes, vacuuming, sweeping, putting books away, helping kids clean their room) and I took a rest period during babysitting.

I really can’t complain about my day.

I’m thinking a lot about this negotiation thing. I don’t want to be “polyamorous”. I’m also ok with being an asshole. But I really don’t want to hurt my friends if that is avoidable. That makes everything about sex and emotions complicated. Even if I’m “just” nonmonogamous… I love these people.

What does love mean anyway?

I don’t really know.

But I know I love you.

I know I want you to be happy and to be treated well. I know that I need to deal with my triggers around some of this in some way even if that means there are some things I pussy foot around because PTSD sucks.

Maybe non-traumatized people should never make a rule to avoid trauma. I’m less convinced that I should never create rules for managing trauma. That’s a thing.

Especially if it is things like, “Being nearby when Noah plays with friends is fun and exciting and when he does it away from me… I completely flip out so let’s make sure I’m nearby when you play.”

Is it “fair”?

What the fuck does fair mean.

I’m not saying it is a fair reaction. I’m not saying that flipping out is a rational response. I’m saying it has been predictable for over 15 years. I don’t share that well. It is complicated and layered and I have distinct limits around it.

Is it fair that Noah is less possessive so I have more leeway? Maybe not.

I’m not sure he is less possessive. He is less traumatized. It makes a difference.

If he really and truly couldn’t handle it… we’d figure something out.

But should I have to handle something because he can? I struggle with that. I feel very small and ashamed because I can’t just match his generosity of spirit.

I know it has been nice for me and I suspect it has been nice for Noah to hear the long list of things we each feel insecure about. There was a big part of me that didn’t really believe we would work out. But 10 years later I want him a lot more than I did at the beginning.

I respect him more. I appreciate him more. I like him more. Knowing Noah more deeply makes me want to make sure I never ever lose access to this person.

When pretty much anyone looks at me I’m always trying to figure out why I’m wrong and what I need to try and tone down to not bother them.

Noah is the only person in the whole world who has ever looked at me like I am his dream come true. That’s heady shit, yo. I try as hard as I can to give that back.

The calm in the storm is over.

This shit sucks to talk about. Like whoa. What are we doing? There are so many layers to “fair” here. We want and need different things. We really do.

The things we can offer aren’t necessarily the things we want to receive.

The things we want to receive… we can’t offer even a little. We are so different.

Monogamy has meant a lot of “let’s not talk about x problem because there is nothing we can do about it” and that’s getting blown up. That means we are talking about shit we maybe should have talked about years ago and we just didn’t know how. Or it hurt too much. Or something.

This is hard. What do we really need? That’s hard to say out loud. We need different things. That’s very true. We have always needed different things.

I have read a lot about 50/50 marriages. Where folks try real hard all the time to make things “equal” like who earns money, how to negotiate child care, splitting up housework…

God that sounds hard.

We aren’t good at doing the same things. If I had to earn 50% of our income… it would go down like whoa. If Noah did 50% of the housework he would have a lot less time and energy for paying attention to me and I consider that a bad trade.

I will happily keep the house clean while you are busy with shit I can’t prevent you from doing so that at the end of the day you will turn the full radiance of your attention on me. Fuck vacuuming. I can do the vacuuming.

I want your attention. I want your attention. I want your attention. I want your attention.

Not getting enough of Noah’s attention feels like a plant withering from water. I cannot live. I cannot grow. This is not a want. This is a need. I will die piece by piece if I do not get this.

We have never been all that good at balancing this. I would drain Noah dry if he wasn’t careful. I want so much time and so much attention.

If Noah worked 10 hours a week and spent the rest of his time with me, that would be ok with me.

I remember Auntie freaking out when Uncle Bob retired. She went out and got a job to get the fuck away from him.

I can’t wait until Noah spends more time with me. Please. He’s trying to have his next job be a remote job so he can work from home. I think that sounds dreamy. It will help him with his extreme burnout on dealing with people. It will let us just… be in a room together more. We like that.

I don’t want to date other people because I want less time with Noah. I want to date other people because when I do so our sex life is off the chart amazing. It is true that I was not willing to discuss limits on what I was doing a month or so ago. I really wasn’t. I shut you down. I know I didn’t communicate about that. I know I scared you. I know I hurt you.

I am sorry about that.

I know it still hurts the way I’m framing Portland. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m not sorry I realized I need this that badly. I’m not sorry that I limited my cheating in the exact way I did. I’m glad I had at least that much restraint and yeah I know that is chicken shit.

I’m glad I didn’t fuck up bigger. Clearly I needed to fuck up.

I feel really bad for being so god damn glad that I only fucked up that big. It was a fuck up. Yes. I am so very happy I only fucked up like that. When my self-control goes… shit I’m glad I did that well. I know I hurt you. I know you want me to be way way way more contrite than I know how to be about this. It is so complicated in my head.

I’m so glad I didn’t fuck up bigger that it is hard to be as sorry as you want me to be.

That’s weird and hard.

I am sorry I hurt you. That’s a full stop. I know that’s a chicken shit apology. That’s not a real apology. I know that. I am sorry I hurt you.

I am sorry I couldn’t talk about more pieces of this before I flipped out and just had to go fucking play with people. I’m sorry I told you I wouldn’t follow any rules and scared you so much. That was terribly unkind. I really should have found a way to negotiate a short going off leash period… not acted like that was the way things are now.

I really fucked that up.

I don’t want the rest of my life to look like April. As awesome as my friends are.

Noah. I am here for this. But I’ve always liked having lots of people come over. I’ve always had lots of friends. I just want to have sex with more of them more often. Because that’s fun. Yeah I’d like it if you were there most of the time. Any sex that involves you is better than sex without you. And to be honest, after all these years it is weird to orgasm without asking for permission and you don’t want me asking anyone else. It’s hella convenient for you to be there.

I’m insecure about the loss of time and attention. It’s not about your dick. Not really. I know I’m enmeshed. I know I… pull maybe more of my sense of self from this relationship than is strictly speaking healthy but this has gone so much better than anything and everything else I’ve ever tried. That’s complicated.

Sigh.

I’m nervous to speculate here about some of the stuff we are talking about. Intensity vs variety. What do they mean? What do we want?

What do we need in order to feel safe and happy? We are different. We need different things.

We are filling in different shapes of gaping holes in our hearts.

I’m happy to help shovel for you if you help shovel for me.

I know you don’t feel very likable. But I like you so much. I’ve already devoted 1/3 of my life to you and I plan to have that percentage only increase.

I’m frustrated with the idea that I shouldn’t feel entitled to anything from you. I don’t find that very useful.

Wow. I just had an interaction that I want to start reacting to. And I don’t. So time to stop typing.

I have been on this roller coaster for almost 30 years now. My behavior/emotions right now are not really and truly tied to what is happening right now. I just do this. This isn’t rational. This isn’t carefully considered.

This is what triggering means. There are things that… send me round the bend. And I’m going to be on that trip for a bit.

That is what living in a highly traumatized body means. It means that even when I really fucking wish I were just mellow and ok and fine with what is happening sometimes I’m not.

I try as hard as I can to be ok with things. Often to the point of hurting myself because I accept things long past when they are triggering me because I’m so tired of being the whiny baby who needs everything to be all about me.

One of my friends said that I need to identify my core emotions and deal with them because I will never be able to come up with a list of rules that prevent me from feeling like this again.

The only part of that I agree with is that I can’t prevent feeling like this again.

I don’t know that I think that identifying my core emotions matters.

Nothing that is happening now should feel threatening. Nothing that is happening now should feel threatening. Nothing that is happening now should feel threatening. Nothing that is happening now should feel threatening. Nothing that is happening now should feel threatening. Nothing that is happening now should feel threatening. Nothing that is happening now should feel threatening. Nothing that is happening now should feel threatening. Nothing that is happening now should feel threatening. Nothing that is happening now should feel threatening.

Doesn’t matter. I feel like everything I have is about to evaporate. Because I am not good enough to deserve any of it.

I am not good enough to deserve Noah or anything else I have.

Because I am bad. That is what this all feels like it boils down to. If I weren’t so fucking selfish and immature and stupid and petty and bad… I wouldn’t be like this.

I have very strong feelings about how much punishment I deserve for this. That may become a problem. I feel like I am wrecking Noah’s life. I feel like I don’t let him have joy or pleasure or experiences he wants to have.

I feel like I should die so that he actually gets to live. Because I don’t know how much living he will get to do with me standing around. Because I am a contemptuous petty bitch.

I hate myself.

This week the list seems to be growing by leaps and bounds.

I don’t like myself even a little bit.

I don’t like how insecure and neurotic and pathetic I am.

I think I am ruining Noah’s life and he would be much better off pursuing the laundry list of people he’s had to give up for me. They wouldn’t be the fucking asshole I am. I’m the problem. The other people he wants to date are generous, kind, and tolerant. I am the problem. I am the problem. I am the problem. I am the problem. I am the problem. I am the problem. I am the problem. I am the problem.

Maybe I should stay home for a while. When I leave the house all I do is hurt people.

Bleeding didn’t break my suicidal ideation this month. That’s because I am such a pathetic fucker I am hurting fucking everyone.

I don’t think I deserve to have friends, let alone lovers.

I’m ready for a new mood.

I don’t know that there will ever be a time in my life when I’m not the reason people can’t have nice things.

I asked Noah questions last night about what he gets from sex, play, and dating. What he wants and what he needs. He told me a lot of things. Some of it I kinda knew. A lot of it I didn’t. In the end he said, “But the thing is, I want ____ with you more than any of that. If I do those things I won’t get to have ______ with you. It isn’t worth it.”

It’s true. If you date, Noah, you won’t get to have what you want from me. I won’t be able to give it to you. In order to share you I will have to keep you out at arm’s length.

I can share really really really well when someone doesn’t feel like mine. I’m the most generous slut ever when it comes to people who don’t belong to me.

I’m sorry Noah.

It isn’t fair. I know.

Why? Why can’t I share and have real closeness? Because I can’t. Because if you want to go see other people that’s fine but you are sleeping alone afterwards. Because I don’t want to touch you.

I don’t do that after play parties where he plays with people.

I’m an asshole.

Because I’m scared. Because I’m not very secure. Because I’m a baby. Because I can share the casual people because I don’t have any belief they will actually be in my life long-term. If they are that will be a pleasant surprise.

In order to share I have to be ok with not knowing you soon. Because if I don’t like how something is going with sharing I need to be able to walk away or I’m a mean nasty bitch. When I feel threatened I am horrible. Which is why I don’t feel possessive at all of my casual partners. It would be toxic and problematic.

But you want me to feel possessive of you. Which I do. Which means I want to scratch your face off for wanting serious alone time with someone else.

Because I’m a fucking asshole.

I’m not mad at them. I’m mad at you. I hate you for wanting that. Even though I want it. Because I’m a hypocrite and a fucking asshole.

This isn’t fair and I feel really guilty.

You can give this and I can’t.

That doesn’t seem fair at all.

In order to tolerate Noah dating I’ll need to make the garage into my bedroom and not come near him on the day of his dates because I’m mean. He doesn’t really want dating if it means I will be isolating away from him.

I’m not trying to punish you with the isolating. I’m trying to avoid punishing you. I know it doesn’t feel that way. My control is… variable.

Noah says that even though I document the kid fuck ups I don’t need to punish myself with publicly talking about every speck of what I do to him. Because he’s a grown up who has consented to this relationship and we talk seriously about when I step over the line and we keep track of it privately and he says I don’t need a public firing squad for being mean to him.

I think he is being too nice to me. I am scared of him not getting the support he deserves from friends.

I have had very blunt thoughts in my head about why I picked Noah. Of my available options in life, he really was my only chance at getting to write the specifics of the story I wanted. He was my only option who was interested in what we have now when he suddenly proposed out of the blue. He and I talked last night about what it took for him to get from what he offered when we dated initially to where we are now. It was quite a departure from established norms for both of us.

When he rattles things off I can see why he picked me. But I still don’t get, really, why I am worth so much ongoing trouble. I’m a lot of fucking trouble.

It is really hard to help me feel even a little bit secure. I’m not a secure person. Noah doesn’t just do cartwheels. He does them through flaming hoops. Suspended over water. I’m not sure how he manages.

Noah did concede that when I am not monogamous my orgasm response goes through the roof. Yes, I was doing better after the road trip. It’s true. Be fair. But not like when I’m dating. For the record: last night was awesome.

BIG NEWS! I finally started bleeding. HALLELUJAH!

I love that I went into the bathroom and after wiping I said, “Glory be!” Noah said, “Ahh, started bleeding?”

That kind of intimacy is awesome. He knows why I’d be happy in the bathroom. (Ok, I knew I wasn’t pregnant… but I was feeling paranoid. Yes I’m fucking thrilled to bleed. I knew I wasn’t pregnant because I’ve been pregnant four times. I will never ever mistake that feeling.)

It bothers me to know that if Noah died I don’t think I could ever let myself be in that serious of a relationship again. I don’t like how much I control Noah through my insecurities. The only way I know to manage that is to not get that serious about someone.

Why do I think nonmonagomy is good for my sexual drive? Because we had sex most days we saw each other in November (I got home at Thanksgiving). In December we had sex 14 times. In January 7 times. In February 14, right before going off leash.

In March we had sex 22 times. In April 29 times.

That’s nonmonogamy. That’s how it works in my body. I had sex with other people on six days in April. Usually I had sex more than once per date but not every single date due to timing.

That’s nonmonogamy.

I had sex with other people on two days in March.

We are up to 9 times for May. It’s the 4th of May. Oh god. May the 4th be with you. cringe

Why so high in May already? Anyone who will do 9 straight hours of processing with me for a date deserves lots of oral sex. That tends to lead to more things. Like last night.

Normally I don’t have sex on my period. At least not for the first few days. But for some reason oral then anal was beyond ok.

I think I am remembering the book right but we are having fun with Doc and Fluff overtones because we decided that ass fucking needs to be only in the marriage going forward. I had been considering it with other folks. I already did it once with my submissive. Noah wants me to not do that again. He won’t be fucking anyone else in the ass at parties either.

We are so possessive.

Noah was the first person to successfully fuck my ass. Other people tried first but he managed to do it in a way that was good and not traumatizing and was fun. He took me to Monterey for a weekend. Got me good and drunk on port then he seduced me and just… made it work.

I’ve done it with uhm a lot of other people since that before our marriage. Only a little bit since we got married. Sounds like I’m done.

Because Noah wants that. Ok. Yes. I like the idea that you want to be possessive. Be my guest.

(Yes I know I will have to update the users guide again at some point. How about if we kinda finish negotiating first.)

We probably only have 150 or 200 or so hours to go. Cheers.

When my therapist was a Berkeley dyke she commented that Noah processes more than a Berkeley dyke and that’s just weird.

I know you pay attention to me. I feel it. Thank you.

I’ve actually come a long way. I used to hide in the corner and cry when my Owner tied people up at parties. He didn’t ever have sex with them. He didn’t go on dates. I couldn’t handle having him touch other people.

I really have mellowed out. As improbable as that seems.

I am more secure.

Hilarious.

Apparently one of my friends thinks that cis-women are just too much trouble. I so am.

I’m not at a point where I feel particularly deserving of how difficult I am to deal with. I’m a lot of trouble. I take time, energy, so much attention….

I feel like a fucking vampire. I feel like I am evil. I drain people.

I want more than my share and that’s wrong.

I have this black hole inside of me and I don’t know what to do about it. I need a lot of love. I need a lot of attention. In order to be perky and cheerful I need a ridiculous amount of sex.

Like, so much that my therapist bugs her eyes out and says, “I don’t understand how you physically do that and get other stuff done.” Oh I get a lot more done when I’m taking breaks for sex frequently. It seriously fuels my productivity.

I definitely overdid it in April. I hit burnout feeling. I am feeling kinda done with people but my life is still very scheduled. It’s going to be one of those time periods when I celebrate people canceling on me and I still don’t turn anything down because I’m dumb. (Ok, I’ll turn dates down. I mean friends.)

Because I ran away from home to stretch taut the strings in my life. Folks are trying to pull at the strings and I just can’t say no to tightening those bonds.

I need you and you and you and you and you and you and you.

Why do I need all of you so bad? Because none of you have that much to offer me. And I’m a black fucking hole.

The only trouble is y’all have your own needs and this has to be a trade and that’s why I’m feeling so burned out.

I get a lot of energy from folks. I give a lot too. It’s going to be fascinating to try and regulate this so that I’m nice to Noah and the kids.

I’m not capable of figuring out how the rest of my web will look in 30 years. I know that my life will largely revolve around Noah and my kids if I don’t fuck things up. Noah wants it and Noah is demonstrably all in on making that true. My kids show every sign of being folks I will be able to have a relationship with later.

I don’t know for sure that we will live near each other. But the way Deity talks about his parents gives me hope.

There’s a juxtaposition. One of the things that probably contributes strongly to why Noah is so safe for me is because he is not melodramatically divorced from his family…but he doesn’t actually have a relationship with them. That’s broken. What exists now is mostly there because of me and my damn letters.

Deity has a very positive relationship with his family. Listening to him talk about his interactions with them is fascinating because I want that.

But I don’t think there would have ever been any possibility of my becoming part of that kind of thing as the child side at this point. I think I… I would be the problem.

I need a partner who, like me, is alone. Who needs that obsessive enmeshment because that is what we have in this life.

But I want to be the parents for that.

And I want side pieces. Cause I’m a selfish asshole. No, because when I have side action I want to fuck for five hours straight when my kids aren’t home. Ok, not straight. We can take breaks. Cumulatively. In between talking about intense and overwhelming topics that most people never want to talk about at all.

Yes. That.

I want that. Someone who has the time and energy to spend most of the rest of their life obsessively fucking me. Because they don’t have that much else really… pulling their attention away. Yup. I want that.

I have that.

I am so lucky.

I don’t feel like I’m isolating him because he only sees his friends because I make him go. I push him to schedule trips with friends. I suggest people for him to email and go visit. I am forcing him to create his own web.

Because if I break he will need to be caught.

And my web, while wonderful… wouldn’t be perfect at that. It is shaped for me.

I don’t really want him to be alone. But it makes it a lot easier for us to enmesh the way we do that we don’t have families who try to hold us into an image of who we are. We are free to create our relationship without giving a shit about approval.

That’s…

That’s a big thing.

I might have different feelings about a lot of what we do if we did. I don’t know. I can’t know.

The problem with all this desire to go out to parties together is babysitting. But! I’m arranging split custody stuff with a friend. Because that’s how this is going to work. The kids need folks to be with all night long on a regular basis and this is how I can arrange this. And my friend needs some damn support.

Four kids is often easier than two. It’s weird. They are very self contained. There are times when it feels like being a circus ringmaster and I’m so grateful they get to go home.

I’m keeping them two nights this week. My friend kept my kids for three nights in a row. While her kids were puking. Yes honey, you can rest.

Thank you so much for giving me space to ride that whole emotional roller coaster. I’m really glad Noah and I got to talk for probably 24 hours in that time period. We are… talkers. We have a lot to process right now.

God I love this man.

Taking breaks from the emotional processing and bonding for vicious sex just seems like, yeah… that’s what I signed on for.

Today I am setting up a guest bedroom for a bit. Pam could use a place to sleep. We have a weekend long guest coming soon. Another friend spends the night sometimes and can’t crawl over the tile work. It’s going to suck because it is in the play room with the window removed but the garage doesn’t work right now. At least it is warm! And Noah has one more date on the books. I’m not going to be an asshole.

Damnit.

I don’t know why I have this thing about not canceling but I do. Once something is scheduled… canceling is… whoa. I don’t do that.

It hurts people when you make plans with them and don’t keep them. That… that hurts. It gets their hopes up and then makes them feel like they aren’t that important. I don’t like to do that. I try very hard to meet the expectations I set. Which is really complicated for someone who is as moody as I am. Heh. When I negotiate for weeks then wake up in a mood…

Heh.

With casual people I can get it up. I can take on a role for a limited date and do what I said I’d do. I know that in the long run I’ll be happy with myself.

With Noah that’s… shit I can’t do that all the time.

Ok, here’s a weird sticky wicket about why I’m less inclined to ask Noah to cancel the date he has scheduled. That person… I’ve played with. I’d uhm really like to play with her again some day. Which uhm yeah. Not to mention that she is a very close friend who has been present at some of the absolute most intimate moments of my life.

Complicated.

And after his date with her we had ridiculously hot sex because I felt very comfortable fantasizing about her and we were kinda… yeah. That wasn’t awful and bad. I freaked out because they did it in her house in a way that I started juxtaposing with pictures of my kids and that made me sick to my stomach.

Because my kids go there. Ugh. Gross. No. Yuck. Bad. No.NOnonononononono

See, this is so random and fucking weird.

It isn’t that I object to Noah having a sexual relationship with her. I really don’t.

I wish I understood what my boundaries were. That would make this so much easier.

Near as I can tell the only way to figure out my boundaries is to keep fucking up and crossing them so that I can course correct and stop doing that bit. That’s the only thing that has ever worked.

Speaking of which, it’s 6:30. Time to go on duty. Bye internet. I love you. Talk to you later.

Joking about violence. That’s something that I definitely have a history of doing and this has changed for me internally and I need to change the manifestation of my behavior. I don’t want to be a hypocrite on this one. If you hear me say something… please call me on it. (Threatening to hurt my submissive isn’t the same thing. I’ll actually do it and we’ll both have a great time so… uhhh exception.)

I also seriously need to work on my language in general. I don’t mean with the swearing. I mean with the ableist, racist stuff. I’m noticing a few things I do and it… it isn’t ok. I’ve done pretty well with making my language more gender inclusive. I need to work on it more. I’m not as respectful as I want to be yet. I need to work harder. Think about what I say before I say it. Heh. That would be novel. Only if I do that… I find I’m not listening to the person as well. This is going to be hard.

Being better at being brave about asking Noah for things. It’s hard to rock the boat. I’d rather just say I don’t want rules and go act like an asshole. Sometimes I don’t know what I want and it is hard to ask. I need to find these words anyway. We have already started talking about rules. Quite a few (ugh) that are weirdly layered. I need to think about Noah’s feelings and ask for permission. This is going to be hard. But it is important.

I need to figure out how to talk to Noah about being scared of him. That’s an elephant in the middle of the room we dance around. We just can’t… deal with it yet. It is hard because I have compartmentalized that fear very well and I can have a generally loving, trusting, safe feeling relationship as long as he walks very carefully around the elephant and he has for a long time. He’s feeling sorta done with not being able to walk straight through the room and I don’t know how to evict the elephant. This will be very hard. This is going to involve a lot of crying. Fuck.

Leading a bit more with Eldest Child’s education. I’ve been super lazy lately. She’s ready for more direction and I’m not giving it. I need to be more assertive here. She wants it and I’m just… putting energy in other places. Stupid remodel.

Interrupting less. Listening to myself on the radio show was kind of a revelation. Good grief. Am I always that much of a self absorbed asshole? Oh god. I sure as fuck hope not. Because that was bad. They thought it was ok and they invited me back, but I can’t do that again. Ok yes, I do want there to be more women who can insert themselves into conversations. That doesn’t mean I need to conversationally walk all over everyone. I don’t think I’m usually that bad, but I need to work on it anyway. It was rather obnoxious. I also suddenly scream frequently and that is jarring as fuck. Sad face.

I need to do a bit of research on child development stuff because the four kids are getting together a bunch and I need to manage that more skillfully. I think I’m doing ok at helping them integrate but there is more proactive interaction I could do. I need to start. They need to be consciously taught how to interact. I’m the grown up. I get to do it. Ok. Things like: I need to teach them how to play catch. I’m the one. Ok. Get busy, bitch. You want to be where the buck stops then get off your ass and teach these kids how to play a game together where they have to look at each other and communicate and build physical skills. Yes, every one of the uncoordinated geeks would rather stay inside and read. You are the grown up. Lead. Most of us don’t naturally want to be healthy. We have to be taught. Modeling is the way. Just do it motherfucker. (Clearly I’m motivated here.)

I also need to be more serious about gardening any day now. The remodel was supposed to be done already so I could be gardening more. Fuuuuuuuuck. I need to weed so much. The grass seeds are almost ripe and I’m going to be screwed. My nice gardener can’t get the lawn mower to the back because of the god damn bath tub. UGH!

I apparently planted a few too many potatoes this year. A large chunk of my crop will be… potatoes. And that’s ok. I like eating them. I have a small yard. It’s easy for one plant to dominate. One year I had a sea of tomatoes. That was kinda fun. But canning 60 lbs of tomatoes got a bit old. It took over two years to eat all the fuckers. (Because we also ate 20-30 lbs of tomatoes fresh and we got over saturated.)

Food glorious food. I will learn how to grow it.

I want to work on running and my posture. I’m not running and that’s a problem. I should run to and from class today. I am now at a point where running does a lot to loosen up my muscles and when I don’t I hurt and that sucks. This is like that bullshit I did with high heels where I deformed my calf for years. Only this is better for me. I hate running. Why did I pick up this hobby? Now I pretty much have to continue. Fuuuuuuuck. I want to be back at a half marathon by Christmas. I really like how I feel when I’m exercising like that. And by extension I feel like shit when I slump. But I slump most of the time. Good grief Krissy. WTF?

I need to count out pills again because I should start this round of nutrition shit and get into the habit of taking the meds I’m starting. This thought makes me want to cry. I’m so sick of pills. Will this be my whole life? At least I have taken so many that I no longer throw up when I try to swallow pills. Uhm. Yay for exposure therapy. Or Boo. I think boo.

That’s enough. Frowny face.

I have totally joked about inflicting violence. I can never ever do it again.

Yeah. That’s how that works. Ok. Can I talk in my blog about wanting to commit violence? Gosh that’s going to be complicated–isn’t it?

Before I think about that I need to think about what I’m going to say tonight. Not babble. More like an outline. What is related to what.

There are a lot of different kinds of catharsis. For me in this 2 hour block I want to talk about:

• emotional
• physical
• spiritual

The thing about traumatized people is there are layers of things they need to process. For me:

• How to get rid of the physical strain of carrying around those experiences in your body.
• How to not feel guilty/ashamed/deserving of what happened to you.
• How to deal with the anger/frustration/sadness/disappointment that no one helped you.
• How to come to peace with your place in the universe as a recipient of Seriously Bad Shit.
• How to gain the skills necessary to stop putting yourself into positions where you’ll be retraumatized.
• How to gain the necessary emotional maturity to become a real grown up person.
• Figuring out what you want to be instead of what not-to-be.

This show is about sex. I’m not going to get into all the stuff I’ve done though I’ll drop in that it involves 31 years and counting of therapy. I do the work to get my life in order. But bodies are complex places. What am I going to do with my sex life as a highly traumatized person? Pretty much whatever the fuck I want. This is my body. I get to own it now.

I like extreme bdsm. I’m there so someone can get fucked up. Me or them. I’m good either way.

What kinds of bdsm am I interested in:

• sadomasochism. I like pain. Giving and receiving with intensity. I have gone through different phases throughout my life in the leather community. I have certainly done more gentle scenes when I wanted to earn a specific persons approval or be nice to them for a reason. But gentle scenes have never had much draw for me. Why in the world would I want to tie you up and tickle you? I could turn you pretty colors and make you cry. Or you can do it to me. That’s kind of at the top of my preference list.
• D/s &/or M/s. I am highly motivated by playing with power differentials during life. I have used power differentiated relationships to spur myself through a lot of personal growth. I might have been too depressed and anxious to graduate from college. My Owner said that’s not happening do your homework and go to class. Things are…interesting on that front now. I am not really interested in sex if there isn’t a hint of a push/pull vibe. Who I want to play with depends on my mood. I have a lot of moods. So I play with a lot of people.
• bondage. Once upon a time I used to teach classes on bondage and suspension. I’ve done so at multiple conferences. I was assisting in those classes at large national conventions starting when I was 19. I am embarrassingly out of practice but I think it’ll come back. I just need to practice.
• domestic discipline. I list this separately from D/s because it is such a weird specific fetish for me. I’m seriously into being expected to keep the house neat. It’s a thing. It gives me a sense the my work during the day isn’t stupid and wasted. I’m not just doing things that don’t need to be done. I’m doing the specific work I’m supposed to do because it has been spelled out.

Roles:

• bottom- this is what I’ve done with the majority of my play partners.  I’m bossy and specific about how to play with me. This is important because if the point of the scene is for us both to be pleased… I have to tell you how to please me and I’m super fucking picky.
• submissive-this is where I’ve done most of my best scenes. I really enjoy playing with people who want to take things from me I don’t necessarily want to give. Which is super complicated and leads to getting into all kinds of retraumatizing situations let me tell you.
• slave/property- this was only a two year stint of my life but it was incredibly formative. It lead to a hunger for that kind of feeling again that I’ve been terrified of ever since. How in the world could I ever trust someone like that again? I was The One. Until I wasn’t. Then I was back to being one more Slut of the Day. This is super complicated in my marriage because we have talked about wanting to move in that direction and Holy Trigger Batman.
• service top- I would say that 98% of my topping has fallen into this category. I like helping people through cathartic experiences. Let’s go, motherfucker. But I’m like a pushy dominant service top? I play with people who want to be pushed hard and I do that because I want to be what they want to experience. It’s a virtuous cycle.
• dominant- I uhh I’m still starting this journey. There’s one person. I can’t explain what all this means to me yet. I’m still feeling it. But it’s fabulous. I have some incredibly intense impulses to hurt people and take their blood and be ridiculously demanding sexually and… yeah. It’s going well. I’ve known him for over 15 years and we are just getting to the point where I feel comfortable… really pushing for what I want. I’ve done extreme play with him for a long time because he asked me to. I guess some things are a slow boil. I wasn’t ready for him before.

The usefulness of well delineated boundaries:

• relationships suit what you can really give and not be about invisible expectations
• roles define expectations
• I’m going to say expectations again so you know that this is a big deal for me. As a traumatized person, if my expectations don’t line up with reality I experience a lot of cognitive distortion followed by an inability to control my emotions and sometimes behavior. I need to understand what is going on and what is expected of me.
• I like that the bdsm community is the place in the whole world where people are most required to state their boundaries out loud. And you can’t assume it is ever ok to touch someone. I like that.

Different bdsm relationships and intensities. How ongoing is a relationship to count as serious?

• Owner/boyfriend/dominant/Daddy: the overall relationship lasted four years. The central two years were a 24/7 Owner/property relationship.
• Many people were periodic/ongoing before my marriage. I could not begin to name them all in this space because I don’t have permission. I wouldn’t want to it would be kind of boring to listen to anyway. They were friends. Were they significant? What does that mean? They changed me. I carry pieces of their souls inside of me forever. They gave me pieces of themselves in exchange for pieces of me. I am made up of these experiences.
• The one time scenes are sometimes more important than ongoing play relationships.
• I like cross pollinating sex and/or play with my friendships. So the dividing lines between who is a friend or a play partner and what that means is… muddy.
• The Puppy was my most spectacular failure to date as a D/s relationship and I’m thrilled about that. It was a 9 month thing after I left my Owner and… yeah. The worst bit about it was that he was kind of a selfish bully. There wasn’t serious abuse so I’m thrilled.
• I’ve gotten through D/s relatively undamaged. It has been some of the healthiest emotional relationships of my life
• My husband and I do very carefully negotiated power exchange. Mostly our D/s exchanges work best when we do role play so we have an elaborate arsenal of characters and personas. After 12 years of sex and almost 10 years of marriage it just takes a few words to let us communicate a really elaborate backstory and that feels magical. But we are still scared of exchanging that power in our real lives. I have a really strong need to not live that in front of my kids. I was not raised in a sexually appropriate environment. I need my kids to grow up without ever seeing me behave in a submissive fashion. In my household I’m a bad ass motherfucker and… we are not fucking with that dynamic. So it’s complicated.
• Uhm… I’m getting out to play with other friends lately too. I’m finding that mostly I’m drawn to play with people where we have 10+ years of history. You have to have been my friend in order for me to want to put energy towards you right now. My life is super full. This is super hard to negotiate.

Dads/Daddys

• Dude up in the PNW I’ve known since the beginning. Saw him many times a week for years. Started very sarcastically as “Yes Dad” at munches. Maintained contact through moving. Francesca. Play is intermittent and varying in intensity. Has included sex but doesn’t currently and probably never will again. If he ever asks me to demo bottom again I’m saying yes since my rules permit it again. That’s a-ok by me. He’s the best person with a single tail I’ve ever played with. But sex freaked me out. I just… no. We can’t. It is too real of a Dad relationship for me. It makes me feel really gross and bad. It isn’t the age difference. I fuck other really old people and it’s fine.
• First Daddy/Owner. This was… really cathartic and healing. When we stopped doing M/s we transitioned pretty exclusively to Daddy/daughter play as he parented me towards being able to handle moving out on my own away from him. He didn’t want to marry me and have kids with me. I wanted and needed that out of life so we talked for just shy of a year about the fact that our relationship was ending. It was horribly painful and beautiful and kind. I will be grateful for giving me the safety and security and love he gave me for my entire life.
• Daddy James: We had an intense three month relationship that involved a lot of trailing sex because I don’t like stopping having sex with my top 10. God he’s good in bed. He was a very particular sort of Daddy for me. He is good at doing the physical care taking of a full time father. He was the first adult man to ever really get up and make me breakfast and act like I should be cared for. Maybe in my whole life? It’s been women or no one. He gave me a lot of permission to like sex. Maybe a little too much permission. He really liked the hunting part of my personality and that became a problem. I don’t do well with being liked because I like to promiscuously pick up sex. I like that to be just… something I kinda do that’s ok. An amusing quirk of mine rather than something that I should be doing as performance art in front of them at all times whether I’m feeling interested or not. My libido is a roller coaster. I don’t do very well with people expecting me to be super consistent in my desires. He introduced me to drugs and Burning Man people and a lot of… really intense situations. My early group sex mostly involved him egging it on if not participating. That was complicated. I wanted it… and yet… being pushed towards it was weird. If I had seriously told him to knock it off he would have. But I kinda suck at that. I don’t say no to things. I leave if I don’t like the deal.
• Daddy J has flipped the table on me recently and it went from being a long-term really mellow supportive friendship with a side of occasional caning to being a really intense thing with him fucking me and… oh! Awesome. Ok. So I don’t know what’s going on there but I’m enjoying the ride. He’s been in my life since I was with my Owner… so it’s another slow burn in intensity.
• My husband is a fascinating case study on his own. I am someday going to write whole books dissecting this man because I’m utterly obsessed with him. But for this moment I’ll say that for the first many years of knowing him he was utterly adamant that he would not do Daddy/daughter play and that was a thing. It was sometimes hard for me because it’s a core kink. Much to my chagrin after I wrote a memoir about my incestuous childhood he completely changed his mind. I have mixed feelings about that. But the sex is so hot I choose not to decide to be upset.
• Casual sex daddys. It happens. Sometimes dudes want it and I’m mellow. Ok daddy. But you sure as shit don’t get a capital letter.
• Any list like this has to include my biological father. Since we had sex. For the record, we did not have penis in vagina or anus sex. We had penis in mouth sex and fingers in vagina and anus sex. But given that I was pre-puberty when this happened… you know what… it motherfucking counts as sex. Given that it was accompanied by years of being told that my holes were what I was good for and being specifically fingered in public and trained to not react or make sound… it fucking counts as sex and as highly traumatic sex. My sexual organs were violated against my consent. It has had serious repercussions on my whole life. I’ve had flashbacks, nightmares, physical scarring problems, behavioral problems, emotional problems, and general physical problems all my life because of my childhood. What problems came from what exactly? Well… I’ve been working on mapping that for decades and I’m not sure and I’m not sure I’ll ever really fully understand.

What does the daddy stuff mean to me at this point? Well it is really directly tied to my clit. I was indoctrinated to be interested in my father sexually from early childhood. I prosecuted my biological father and he killed himself after confessing to everything so… I feel weird about the prominence of incestuous play in my life. But you know what… I am who I am. It makes me get off. Orgasming causes my brain to be flooded with positive chemicals and at this point fuck you if you don’t like how I get them. I’ve spent enough years doing really bad things to try and deal with my depression and anxiety and ptsd. If calling someone daddy during sex is better than cutting myself, Hey there daddy. I’m pragmatic about my promiscuity and perversion.

cathartic scenes:

• crucification (spiritual catharsis)
• girl-friends & catharsis
• pectoral lifting
• skull stomping
• breath play and that journey
• Daddy/daughter stuff
• Daddy’s drug dealer

Differences between public and private play.

• There are different kinds of safety. When you are in public you have the safety of an audience. That means there are witnesses. In my opinion witnesses can be both a great thing or a terrible thing. It depends on whose friends they are. I feel safe playing heavily in places where there are people present who will head off anyone who objects and say, “That’s how Krissy plays.” Luckily my friends are good at helping enforce my reality bubble.
• I won’t play that heavily in a crowd of complete strangers unless the person I am playing with is extremely well known and their reputation carries the scene. Somebody has to already be known as kinda scary or I’m careful what I do in public.
• I’ve had a lot of scenes interrupted in dungeons to be told that I shouldn’t be so loud. There is this one epic story of a DM interrupting my scene to tell me to be quiet because I was interrupting the people who were socializing in the dungeon at a party at Castlebar (to show off that I’m an old pervert) and this story has been told in DM training up and down this coast. Don’t do that you dip shit DMs.
• Private play allows for a kind of nuance you can’t have in public. You are less likely to lose things because you can’t hear over the music or the other people playing. It is possible to concentrate more. Some kinds of play are safer. Fluid exchange is questionable in public.
• I like public suspensions because there are people around to help with a problem. That said, I’ve been hanged and you just don’t do that kind of thing in public. People will get really upset. So you have to consider the feelings of your audience.
• I like having sex with complete strangers provided they can negotiate STD test stuff with me to my satisfaction. Public is just flat safer for that.

What do the different kinds of catharsis mean to me? Why are they different? I’ll be honest and say that whereas I can rationalize most play I do after the fact when I’m doing it or when I’m negotiating for it I don’t know exactly why I want it. I may react like an animal in a trap if you ask me why I want something. Blind panic. Or I might confidently say, “Oh I want x because blah blah blah blah (go on for 5 days)” it really depends on how much writing I’ve done on that specific piece of myself. Spiritual catharsis has come in stages. I haven’t mentioned the scenes I’ve done that were less brutal but more emotionally impactful because mostly they’ve happened in private during sex with people I really don’t have permission to talk about.

The problem with being a big slut is that you have to kind of track the boundaries of a lot of different people. The folks who did not want to be written about have mostly filtered themselves out of my life at this point. I miss them but I understand. Trusting me to keep my mouth shut is… questionable? I mean… I can. I keep a lot of secrets. But I talk around them in tortured ways and that probably is hard to hear for the folks I’m talking about. I don’t have permission to talk about most of my queer relationships. The het men I fuck seem to really not care what I say about them. This is a fascinating dynamic for me.

I play with people and have sex with people because I want them to give me permission to be certain aspects of myself I otherwise don’t know how to be while sitting alone in a room. There are parts of a personality that only exist as it relates to other people. I don’t actually ask for permission. It is a symbolic thing. I’m allowed to be this thing if you want me to be it in front of you/with you. I’m supposed to not do this in front of you/not be this in front of you if it bothers you.

Physical catharsis is a real thing. There are layers of letting go of pain and trauma in your body.

Non-bdsm stuff I might want to bring up.

• grief rituals

All of this written where the kids can’t see the screen but they can blab to me while doing chores. Sometimes my brain hurts.

Fuck. I need to stop typing. I can’t write for the lawyer today. Owwwwwwwwwwww.

A friend who watched me play on Saturday wrote to remind me that intense play can have a serious emotional drop afterwards and he is worried about me.

Awwwwwwwww!

I thought he was an evil sociopath! Gosh he’s come a long way. I feel so loved.

I dropped after the first scene with Cupid because I misunderstood the tone of an email (completely something I do). I wonder if it’s kinda smart to wait two or three days to process more because then I don’t have that initial OH MY GOD WHAT IS YOUR TONE reaction. Hm. Useful?

Over time I’m a lot more comfortable that Cupid is there doing what he wants to do. I was really anxious the first time that he was humoring me to be nice because in the scene… there’s at least some play that is motivated that way. Lots of folks can’t get the play they truly want unless they do it with a friend. I kinda suspected he wan’t as motivated by selfish reasons?

Ok at this point I think he’s doing it because he likes doing that sort of thing. No one would hit me till I was freaking out like that unless they wanted to.

Ok I can cope with that.

This is part of the fuzzy complication with Noah. Noah has never had a partner with whom such play was possible. So I’ve never seen him do it. So I don’t believe he wants it for himself and I can’t bear the thought that I am dragging people into brutality like that.

If you do not have such brutality already in your soul it is an evil gesture to try and implant it.

I worry a lot about what I want to talk people into doing.

The feedback I got from watchers was “You looked profoundly unhappy.” Happiness is such a funny emotion. Was I happy when I was screaming, “Fuck fuck fuck” while he was punching my thigh on top of already existing bruises and cramps?

Happy … isn’t the word?

I wanted to be there. I’m still glad I was there. When I heal… I will ask for more. But I need to heal first.

Why is this so good for me? You would have to live in my body to understand. I deal with such intense variation in emotion on a nearly daily basis that this kind of play is… kinda like going from running with the kids to running by myself.

Oh yeah. I swing back and forth from an intensity of 3-7 over and over and over again and now I get to hit 10. AWESOME.

It is walking with a toddler then going for a run as a grown up.

I spend so much time with incredibly intense emotions all within a limited range that when I get to have super intense catharsis outside my normal range it is like there is less pressure inside me.

I have that intense screaming and freaking out inside me. It wants to come out. If I don’t ever let it out in play it creeps into my life and creates problems.

I don’t really want to scream like that because I’m hit. I want to scream like that because of emotional problems and the hitting gives me an acceptable smoke screen. The hitting justifies what I’d like to do anyway and if I did it without being hit I’d be called crazy. So yeah, please hit me that hard again.

It means I’m not crazy.

In the past, before kids, when I played like that I did drop more. But after play like that I would be alone. I would be alone to think about how that kind of contact was most of what anyone wanted with me. I didn’t feel like I was worth very much.

Now when the play is done and my snuggles with my top are over I go back to Noah and Noah takes care of me like I am a precious, fragile piece of art. I come home to children who want to say, “OH MY GOD YOU WERE AWAY FOR FOUR WHOLE HOURS OF MY AWAKE TIME I NEED TO POUNCE YOU AND COVER YOU IN SNUGGLES.”

My life is different.

I feel so much gratitude for where I am.

Drop is a very different experience when you are loved compared to when you don’t feel very loved.

Which isn’t exactly fair. I was always loved. I’ve had Jenny longer than I’ve been in the scene. I was always loved. But not in the ways I needed to be loved. That waited till Noah and the kids. That seems ok?

I feel like I have a place where I am important. I am needed. I need to deal with my shit because there is work to be done.

I like my life so very much.

I’m not going to spend my whole life in dungeons. I’m going to show up when I need to get something from the experience. I’m there as a supplement to what I already have. It is different feeling from when I lived the bdsm experience.

I’m getting emails on that kink site from folks I haven’t seen in forever because they want to talk about the good old days. “Wasn’t it awesome when there was one play space in the bay area and it was missing a wall and everyone who was a pervert got together like four times a year?”

Well… it did have some charm but I’m glad things aren’t like that now.

It was nice feeling like I knew everyone like me within 100 miles. That was cool. It’s not like that now. Bdsm is… uhhh… more popular and shiny now. It isn’t dirty gross weird people. I miss that. I’m a dirty gross weird person! I used to fit in more! This is harder. I’m not going to fit in as well with all the newly minted acceptable fetish crowd. They are inspired by things that are commonly kinky. Usually they think extreme kinks are “weird” just like vanillas.

Hey I thought it was awesome watching the guy put the jar of bees on his dick. I like watching scenes where people pound large nails through cocks. I like intense shit.

I miss the kinds of events where people will show up with a kiddie wading pool, jello boxes, and a rubber chicken. I’m not even fucking kidding. That was one of the meanest scenes ever.

The folks I knew from back in the day are complaining about how commercial everything is now. I have mixed feelings about that. Part of the reason things feel more commercial is because so many kinky people are trying to make a living off of being kinky. Once upon a time the scene only supported a very small number of craftspeople and pornographers and they mostly lived in squalor because we didn’t take care of our own that well. Now a lot more people want to be living better off of the scene and that takes money.

I have mixed feelings. We have forced the marginal people out entirely. I don’t know how most of those people are doing these days.

I feel really embarrassed that I haven’t tracked all of them to make sure they are ok. I haven’t. I wouldn’t know how to look them up now. They were my community and I let them down because I was small, selfish, and only looking to my own life.

I know who my friends are who are craftspeople and pornographers and I know how they are doing. But there were more people who did that. Not that many 16 years ago. I could have tracked those folks. Not everyone who has appeared in 16 years. But I could have been loyal to the old days.

I wasn’t.

It is kind of funny how many people in their 50’s want to discuss the “good old days” with me. I grin and think, “I am now at the age where you consider your “golden age” to have been. I refuse to think that the golden era of my life is fucking over. I’m 34 fucking years old. My good times are not god damn over.

I listen to Nikki Minaj a lot.

The last year has involved feeling more alive, feeling more potential, feeling like my life is going somewhere than I think the rest of my life combined.

My golden era isn’t over. It is just picking up speed.

I have felt for a while that I’ve already gotten to participate in more than one Golden Era. To such an extent that on my egotistical as fuck days I wonder if I bring it with me.

Theatre in college was amazing. I’m still friends with most of those folks. No one else has had a period that good since then. I have.

The bdsm community in 2000-2004 was a pretty magic time for a lot of people I’ve met. It wasn’t just me. That was a really well connected, awesome time. I know a lot of friends who think of that general time period as being intense and special for… not sure why. It just was.

Teaching was amazing for me. Teaching was wonderful because unlike for other people teaching represented the first time in my life when I got to have permission to be the one who set reality and invited people into my space to learn. That was magic. I had never had a home. I had never had a place. But I had a classroom and a whole bucket of intense shit I think you need to know to be ok. Let’s get to business.

The first year of my oldest child’s life was the happiest, most blissful year I’ve known. I sat on the couch or on a chair and nursed. I didn’t clean much, cook much, or go anywhere.

I just sat encased in love.

I am almost 10 years into the only permanent home and real family I’ve ever had.

What is my Golden Era? When is it?

I have been so blessed in my friends.

Putting myself out there has been a mixed blessing in life. It is why I have a laundry list of traumas that horrify people. It is also why I’ve had so many Golden Eras. I try to bond. I try to connect. I want to be attached. I have so much love. Can I share it with you?

Some dude pinged me on okcupid and said he treats dating (or attempting to date?) as a creative writing exercise.

I totally know what you mean.

I’m bouncing off so many people because I want to figure out what to say, how to say, what I want, and how to deal with what other people want and I do an awful lot of the figuring in writing. I don’t have room for more serious relationships though. God I’m drowning.

Another random dude wrote to complain that it isn’t fair that I don’t have lots of time available to pay attention to him because I sound really interesting and he’s not willing to have connections with people unless they devote a lot of time to him. Sometimes I want to say, “Can you hear yourself?” It isn’t fair that my life is too full for the kind of connection you want to have. Uhm.

Wha?

For the record my profile is set to only looking for friends and it states that I’m not polyamorous, just slutty. And I still have random people telling me that it isn’t fair that I’m not giving them what they want.

Humans.

Noah asked me why I’m not reading more books lately. I can’t. My brain is full. I’m thinking of too many things.

Today I need to: clean the house, spend time with a neighbor, homeschool the kids (whatever that means), put together a timeline of issues with the remodel for my lawyer, and write a loose outline for the radio show tonight.

I don’t have room in my brain to synthesize reading a story. It’s too hard. I can’t even reread Tamora Pierce right now because it is too hard.

I understand more about why the GATE evaluator told my mom if I was any less brilliant I wouldn’t learn at all given the chaotic environment I grew up in.

To change topics again, one of my favorite things in the world is happening right now. Eldest Child has a double chin. That means she’s about to shoot up. It’ll happen in the next week. I will get to watch her transform. I love that double chin. It is a hint that I need to start staring super intensely or I will miss some cool transformation. I am very sad that Youngest Child does not have such a tell. The growth happens more secretively and I’m constantly like, “OH MY GOD WHEN DID YOU CHANGE?!”

It’s like a pop up alert on my phone. Or my period app. I love that double chin. I love that her experience of life has been that double chins are awesome and wonderful and to be greeted with joy.

My weight goes up and down like a yo yo and it’s not cause I’m trying. When I have a double chin Eldest Child points it out with glee and I grin and say, “Yup. These days I’m living well.”

My kids have managed to grow up in a world where fat is greeted with “Mmmmmmm fat.” Do you know what fat bodies mean? Glorious snuggles. Fat bodies mean love.

I’m up to almost 8 years of this. Between 40% & 60% of 6-12 year olds are worried about their weight.

When I gain weight do you know what I do? I stand in front of the mirror naked with my children in the room and I say, “Damn I look good.”

Even when I think I’m lying I say it with conviction and a big smile because I owe them this performance.

I… have a lot of trouble accepting my body when it is lighter. I strongly dislike the fact that I am usually more appealing to sexual partners when I’m smaller. It offends me to the core of my being.

Fuck you for wanting me to be less.

Years ago one of their cartoons had an anorexic horse. It was an interesting thing to explain because my kids were totally baffled. Why in the hell was the horse refusing to eat?!

I told the kids that it is very complicated and the explanation I’m going to give would be grossly insulting to some people who suffer from this disease because it is complicated and I’m just not capable of giving them the full answer. I said that creatures have lots of reasons they will stop eating. Sometimes because they get confused about how they look and they think they must look a certain way and they must force their body to do that even if they die. Sometimes people punish themselves because they don’t feel worthy. Sometimes people confuse what makes them valuable and they think they need to worry about their appearance so much they make themselves unable to do the things that would actually make them valuable.

If a creature feels they can’t eat enough to sustain their life it is because some part of them is sick and needs help. It doesn’t mean they are bad. It means they are suffering and need help.

I feel very grateful that I have been able to shield my children from television and magazines and movies for the most part. It’s not that we don’t watch anything. It is that we watch fairly curated stuff. We live in a bubble. A bubble where bodies are wonderful and they need to be embraced for however they happen to appear. A bubble where there are positives and negatives to every way of being and there is no such thing as a “better way” only the way that works for you.

A bubble where it takes all kinds.

No wonder my kids spend so much time saying that even if they move out someday they think they will always want to come back and spend a lot of time in Wonderland.

I’m actually living what I believe in. Because I believe in magic. I believe if you want something hard enough and you work hard enough and you study hard enough… you can change things. Not everything. Not everything for everyone. But you can change things. Ripples matter.

Good grief. Prince just died. Think about what one person can do.

Ack. My first appointment is at 8am. My last appointment ends at midnight. I woke up at 4:30am after 8 hours of sleep.

No time to tag. ttfn

You know what? I’m still pissed he said that. It’s not cool. I have a real problem with that.

But I had a really really really really really good night.

When you have to tell someone to stop making you orgasm because you just can’t bear how much your legs are cramping from muscle spasms?

That’s an incredible night.

No you don’t need a lot of toys. You need your hands. Your delicious, evil hands. Punch me. Punch me over and over and over and over all over.

Even when I really don’t like it there. Even when I’m going to pay for that for a while.

Why?

Why is this so explosively hot?

I don’t know. It just is. I’m trying to think about the scene and get back to my buzz so I can go give Noah a proper thank-you fucking. I was really fucking angry when we got home and I didn’t want to be touched.

But I’m… chilling out.

Even though my trophies are lovely I have never and will never get bruises that seriously impress me. The most impressive fucking bruises ever were from a water skiing oops when I was 18 and I’d never heard of bdsm. I was there with Pam. She doesn’t even remember my impressive bruises. I’m so sad. My inner thighs. My entire inner thighs were black for weeks. I screamed so loud they heard me on shore. We were on Clear Lake. It’s not a small lake and we were way the hell out.

So yeah. Comparisons are funny.

Perspective is funny.

Life is funny.

The fact that being punched in my ass can make me get off is funny.

And wonderful.

Why the fuck shouldn’t I do it?

I really can’t come up with a good reason. I’m fucking thrilled we already have more dates on the calendar.

One of them is a private date. I might be able to talk him into fucking me again. After several beatings in a row in public where he won’t…

I’m going to be so annoying.

He might just have to fuck me first, then beat me. Because god damn. Ok, I don’t think he would agree to me just being a snot and ordering him about. But it is funny to think about.

I’ve lived with Noah a long time. Sex is ready and available any time the kids are occupied and I’m interested. Any. Time.

God I love you Noah.

I have almost finished talking myself into coming in and fucking you.

I’m… not sorry exactly that I got so mad. I really have a problem with bully posturing. But I’m annoyed that it has interrupted my sleep cycle and our sex life this much. I’m trying to deal with it fast.

Remember when this used to take a week or more?

I’ve come a long way.

Compartmentalize.

I have completely and totally no idea what to think about this. I mean… I don’t know what part of my life this anger will alter. I don’t know what boundaries will change.

But I know I have no desire in any way shape or form to penalize the partner of this person for these words.

She didn’t fucking say it.

So yeah. Complicated. Big feelings.

*beat head on wall*

You know what… one of my play partners crossed a boundary recently. I said “Don’t slap my face” and the first thing he did was slap my face. I burst into tears and freaked out. He realized that he fucked up and apologized.

I don’t think he should be threatened with bodily harm because he fucked up.

Sigh.

What do I want here? I want to stop thinking about this because there is completely and totally literally nothing I can do about it.

And that kinda sucks.

I feel sad and kinda helpless.

I suspect that if I’m in a room with this person I will need to turn on my heel and walk away. Or just very consciously not go to rooms where I think he might be. Which… is really sad.

Threatening to break someone’s legs… even in jest is a fucking boundary for me.

I get to have that. It’s not being an over sensitive baby. That’s a god damn reasonable boundary. Noah gets to figure out his own boundaries.

I won’t be around someone who will do that. They aren’t safe. I don’t care how safe they have been to or with other people. Nope.

It doesn’t matter if he would ever do it. He said it.

That’s too much for me.

That hurts me. That makes me feel like shit. That makes me feel scared as fuck. That makes me feel like I might need to fucking attack someone to get them the fuck off my husband.

I don’t like this feeling one little bit.

It’s ok that this freaks me out.

It’s ok that I have this as a limit. I don’t have to be ok with “jokes” that are violent. I don’t have to be ok with casual threats.

Even if they aren’t to me.

I know this has been the all-slutty-all-the-time channel lately but…

Noah is my life.

Threatening Noah’s body is threatening my life.

I don’t have to accept that. I don’t have to excuse or justify that boundary. That’s allowed to make me angry.

But mostly I’m so so so so sad.

I want to feel relaxed and tight and sore and hot from what I did tonight. No, he can’t fist me when my legs are cramping so badly I’m screaming non-stop through every orgasm.

Let’s try that again without the leg punching first.

I left that party with my entire body feeling on fire. I planned to fuck Noah silly and pass out.

But Noah and I needed to talk about the party. Because yeah. We do.

AHHHHHHHH. We got home almost two hours ago. I’m still consciously working on not gritting my teeth. My dentist is very adamant that I’m not allowed to crack more teeth as anger management. We have stern conversations every six months.

He doesn’t really want me to have to pay for a new implant. Breaking that would suck. I mean, the teeth I’ve broken have been bad enough… oh god. I need to be careful with the implant.

How do people live in bodies without destroying themselves? My fingers are saying that I’m a big selfish cunt right now. This whole organism that wants to type. Fuck you brain. Go the fuck to sleep. Calm the fuck down. Your fingers are not able to do this forever you know.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I’ll get over it. I will. It’s 4:12. How long will it take. Shit.

I’M NOT OVER IT YET. But it’s kinda like that TMBG song where the guy is waiting for his date and staring at a clock and it never moves. It is still 4:12. No wonder I’m not over it yet.

Would it be weird if I went to the missed connections section of the party and said I’d be interested in dictating to that dude who types 150 words/minute in exchange for play. I could totally do that.

Ha.

Uhm, I’m not explaining that.

And I’m not serious. I really don’t have time. But it was a funny few seconds of thinking.

Ahem. I’m trying to cheer myself up. And be interested in sex. Because REASONS.

I’ll feel better afterwards. Now it is 4:15. I still ain’t over it.

But I’m taking breaks to stretch my shoulders. I was dumb to try and stick it out with my hands over my head.

Note to self: don’t be macho before play has started. Fuck that shit.

Ow my shoulders.

I’m not entirely sure how I felt about the rib punching. It was… hot.. super fucking painful… and deeply… God I don’t know the word for this. Everything I’m thinking of is wrong. It’s not about “primal” (I kinda cringe when I hear that word) it’s not about submission exactly because we don’t have a dynamic exactly…

I don’t know.

I don’t know what that feeling is. It scares me and I’m ok with that. Noah and I talk a whole bunch about the scenes I do and he talks about the ways in which he reads my faces and says “When x happened you seemed unhappy. Why?”

God I love the way that man looks at me.

Cupid wasn’t giving me a light sensual beating for “strong sensation”. He was… deliberately hurting me. In ways that weren’t fun and I was cringing away from and crying.

That makes my cunt throb.

That’s what I don’t know how to do with Noah. I don’t know how to let him hurt me quite like that. I always stop him. We always retreat from those really dark places.

Well, not always. Heh. But Noah doesn’t beat me till I’m cringing and crying unless we are deep in role play and it is ok to treat that character like that.

Cupid thinks it is ok to treat me like that.

It’s… different…

Which… it is ok for him to do. Because we negotiated extensively in advance like grown ups. We talked about limits and interests and desires and now we are figuring out how those things really mesh.

God damn I think it’s awesome.

And kissing him gets better every time I see him. I’m not… used to that? I don’t know. Usually people kiss about how they kiss and I like it how much I like it pretty much from day one. I liked it on day one and I like it more now. It being the kissing, of course. But I dropped a modifier.

It isn’t that I think I’m falling more in love with him. That’s not it. I… I don’t know?

I feel like I don’t know much of anything any more.

It’s 4:30. I can go to bed now.

So we got home right around 2:20. Noah probably told me this around 1:45ish? Closer to 2 maybe cause I think we were at the 92 when he said it.

That’s… pretty good for me. I’ll take it.

I feel lucky. I feel like my life is just about magical.

On Monday I’m going to go be on a radio program. Radio Valencia. Sex Cels is the program. 10pm-12pm. I was asked to talk about catharsis and healing.

Last night I went to the wet munch with Noah for his first trip. Deity went for his first time. I played with Cupid. Other folks were around and I waved and kissed a few more people.

My butt hurts.

I’m thinking about what it means to process pain. What does it mean to take something for someone? What do I like? What am I doing for me?

When Cupid was beating me we had some banter around kissing. He said he felt kind of uncomfortable because if he kisses me he wants to fuck me and we are in a crowded bar and my husband was there.

That was funny.

I grabbed his head and kissed him. Whoops too hard and we slammed teeth and I hurt him. Snort. Well, no one is perfect. I did better on the other kisses. (I hope.)

I appreciate how willing everyone in my life is to share. No one is even slightly obnoxious about me reaching out a free hand to yet another person. I also appreciate how many silly jokes were dropped into my comments. That made me smile.

Yay.

My fancy tights from New York got ripped up. Good thing they are just clothes and they don’t matter. I was having fun grinding my ass on Cupid’s crotch. Friendly fire casualty. It happens.

I don’t have the hand spoons to type about my masochism right now. Which is a shame. I want to figure this out, but ow.

I handle different kinds of pain from different kinds of people with different degrees of acceptance or resistance. Why can Cupid hit me like that and I get upset with Noah? I don’t know yet.

But I’m going to think about it.