Paging Dr. Figment Fiasco…

Paging Dr. Figment Fiasco…

Peacock, my dear, sweet, beautiful boy…  has henceforth been put on a temporary psych hold under the pseudonym of Figment Fiasco while he sorts his shit out. Anyone watched The Cutting Edge from the 90s? You remember listening to Kate’s sing song voice call out “Toe Pick!” each time Doug face planted? Just replace that with “Peacock!” And you will essentially have my week. Well, the first half. 


I had my ultrasound and was told I had 3 cysts and would need a biopsy for further results. I didn’t see the need to text him. Or email frankly. “Why?” I asked TheraB. If I send him a text he may or may not respond and then I will get annoyed. If I email he may get around to reading it this  week and when he does same thing. I can deal with this on my own and discuss with him WHEN I hear from him.” “Ginger, I agree wholeheartedly with what you are saying but think there is a solution. I’ll think on it.” This resulted in her sending him the text: “ultrasound indicates need for cyst biopsy. Patient belligerent about consulting surgeon.” He emailed me that night.

“You ok?” I told him what was going on, he advised in a much more reasonable and conservative manner. I also told him that That was not my main concern but the issue of flipped custody etc. was… “Can I call at 7:15?” I told him I’d appreciate that. He called at 8:40. I told him that it seemed I was getting the bits. “Ginger, I definitely agree you should take them. But I mean this essentially blocks you moving don’t you think? This just isn’t really a good time now.” I raised my voice louder than typical…”THAT ship has SAILED. I turned in my resignation THREE WEEKS AGO.” “What?!? Wait? When are you coming here?” “My last day at the college is June 3. I know you have been BUSY…” “I’ve had an insane caseload and one of my colleagues…” “I’m not upset AT you, but when I told you a MONTH ago I needed to discuss this with you because it was URGENT, THAT was the time. THAT was when I jumped up and down remember? You told me you Wanted me. I told you we were a relationship of wants and needs. I only got what I needed; you could have what you wanted, but it only worked if you voiced them. NOW is the time for you to be my cheerleader and get behind me and tell me I can do anything.” “I know how bad you want to leave but I just think that your whole support system is there and you won’t have one here.” “Well that is true, but I no longer have a source of income, so I’m thinking that financial stability is the better bet at this point so I will be in your backyard mid July. It remains to be seen if I will have the kids.” “I just didn’t realize this was all happening so quickly. Look my Nurse Practioner is standing at my car window. I love you babe, really. Take care.” 

I stared at my office phone in horror. “Peacock!” As I slammed the office phone down. My grad student came in and asked what was up bc he could hear me yelling. “You yelling at the Surgeon?” “Somebody needs to remind him he’s just a bloody Peacock. I’m more astounded he’s so hellbent on maintaining his head shoved up his ass to keep from seeing the cracks in his life that he can’t see I’m in the middle of Rome burning down all around me. He’s an utter Fiasco. Everything about him.” “Except the fact he’s your boyfriend.” “No, in that respect he’s just a figment of my imagination.” “A fuck, a figment, and a fiasco rolled into one.”

In describing this conversation to my friends the name Figment Fiasco stuck. It isn’t that I don’t love him. I do. But seriously, I don’t have time for this insanity. I have my own life to deal with and by his own admission he won’t be helping me across state lines. I did take his advice and talk to the Wasband. No surprise there he’s that crappy of a communicator to the point his own lawyer was confused. Wasband meant give me whatever I wanted on the finance aspect not custody aspect. A call to my attorney and we reworked the divorce terms before signing and sending them back over. I’m hoping I learn on Monday that Wasband signed and they have FINALLY been filed… 

And how I KNOW I am fine…

And how I KNOW I am fine…

On Tuesday I am scheduled for an ultrasound to check the lump in my left breast. I’m not worried. We’ll get back to my reasoning, first I need to lead up to what all is happening.

Two weeks ago I learned I got the position that will have me moving. It is an instructor position and I am super excited. The teenager doesn’t want to move with me, fine fine, we can figure something out, and to make life difficult I will be forced to travel back to the homestead every other weekend to live with my mother and see my bitties. BUT WORTH IT.

Then I tell the Wasband. Lo and behold- He is SUPPORTIVE. Not only that, he offers to house the teen (she is not remotely interested and we already had established she would be living with TheraB by this point). He then tells me that he feels like he likes the area I am moving to, it is a great arts center. He has looked at it before for his work, and that he is going to contact his lawyer and just moving things along with the divorce. In fact, he has about decided all the issues we are still arguing over don’t really matter and he can just eat. Still I am oddly weirded out at the fortuitous nature of the universe and how everything is working well. BUT as my Aunt has just told me that we have a little “something extra” in our bloodline I was trying to work it and go okay if this is trade off for the burning face pain and headaches that comes with the intuition -done. Universe I accept your blessings gratefully!

The following day TheraB asks a teensy favor- check on a friend for her. Do I know this friend? No. Should I have listened to my gut? Yes. Did I? No. I did some yoga, went to my mind palace, found her friend in the bottom of a well starting a bipolar spiral and told TheraB it was time to call in the troops bc she had severed her ground control. Ie, I meddled. Before I was even done with yoga, the migraine and trigeminal flair I had was one of the worst I had had in years. Please note- I am not about to say that the ensuing sinus infection I got that left me bed ridden from Thursday to Sunday was because I metaphysically stuck my nose in where it didn’t belong. What I am saying is that, Karma is a bitch! And if you fuck with the metaphysical or spiritual realm depending on your belief system you get 3 times the kick in the ass! Boundaries and privacy are sacrosanct! 

During my bed rest while high on decongestants it seems that every intuitive friend I have was visited by visions and thoughts of me randomly. I had NO BOUNDARIES and would essentially be streaking naked through their mind palaces high as a kite dancing in the moonlight making an ass of myself. Again I say: Karma is a bitch and I’m actually a rather modest person and would be MORTIFIED to do such a thing. But it is what it is and lesson learned. TheraB was kind enough to teach me that you can now physically look at me and tell if I’m having a vision and not just spacing out because it seems my pupils dilate to nearly no iris. So that is kinda cool. Or creepy. I mean I can feel it but I didn’t realize you could “SEE” it. She said “Oh No, it is scary, you look sorta like Sybill Trelawney you go from space cadet and giggly to *POOF* matter of fact, all cut and dry, everything is what it is spiraling out, and your eyes just get bigger and bigger until you stop. Then *POOF* back to space cadet as if you lost your train of thought.” I do lose my train of thought all the time- most of it has NOTHING to do with anything REMOTELY psychic but just me being a space cadet.

Anywho, so Monday I had my followup with my Dysautonomia specialist. On the drive down the Wasband texts “have you spoken to teen about if she wants to stay with me in the fall?” I responded in the best stall I could think of “She doesn’t want to make any decisions til school is out.” I get there an hour early, he is 2 hours behind. He only sees 10 patients a day. I am fortunate I found this man and if you have Dysautonomia or Fibromyalgia and are in the south if you message me privately, I will tell you his contact info bc he is truly a miracle worker. I mean that. He sees me and goes, “G- you’re immuno compromised.” “Doc- we know this.” “G- when did you get sick last?” “Finished a z-pack yesterday for a sinus infection.” “Did you have a fever?” “About that… I felt like I did, aches, pains, chills, but my temp stayed around 95°” “I was afraid of that with you. It’s your thyroid. You can take tylenol for the pains, it won’t drop your temp. But you will need to take another Cytomel if your temp does that again. Do you want to check your labs again/ Do you feel like it is managing you right now?” “I guess so. I just don’t have energy.” “When you say energy what do YOU mean. Every patient is different. And we pulled you off two drugs known to increase energy. We cut back your dose of adderall. Let’s have you take a half dose at noon again.” “Okay.”

I am driving back trying to make my game plan of To Dos when the phone rings. It’s my attorney. “Ging- I got a call from Luke’s attorney. There’s been an unusual change of events.” FUCK. FUCK. FUCK A MONKEY. “What’s up?” “Well, it seems that he is willing to give you whatever you want.” “I beg your pardon? What do you mean whatever I want?” “Like whatever you want. Whatever you want.” “So I say Full Custody- they are mine?” “Yep.” “Does this keep me from leaving the state?” “Only if you can’t take the kids with you.” “Does he know he would have to pay child support?” “I would assume so.” “DRAW IT UP!” “Okay I’m on it.” “Hey, Tony, thank you. I really feel like I’m being baited… by him and my mother in a she won’t take the kids and leave she will go for one or the other. Or something is up, but thank you.” “No Problem.”

I immediately called TheraB, ScreamQueen, and SoulSister. All of whom had multiple different theories:
• The “if he is found positive for alcohol” clause in the divorce draft that auto gives you full custody made him go ahead and plead at your feet bc his atty knows something you don’t. Seems to be what we are all leaning towards at this point. But really I don’t think he is drinking again. He has been sober to the best of my knowledge for 3 years. Although I didn’t realize he was drinking when he was so I am not the greatest judge on that one.
• He is going manic and just wants everyone to be happy.
• He has met a woman.
• He is taking a job abroad illustrating/archaeology and could potentially ask to take one kid with him.
• He is finally going to get his reconstruction surgeries done and realizes he can’t have the kids while he does it.
• He is going to continue stalking you. Just in your NEW location.
• He finally realized being a single dad is hard and is like screw it.
And the creepiest one that we all don’t want to think about…
• He is trying to trade the bits for the teen.

Anywho, we may never know why. It may not matter. He may back out bc as I say I feel like I am being baited anyways. But the sinus infection wasn’t healed so I went back to local NP for a steroid shot in the rump.

While there I asked… “Linda, Since I am about to be on Cobra insurance until my new kicks over can you feel this lump in my boob and tell me not to worry until August.” “Sure thing Doll!” She does. “Yea… I can’t tell you that. We are going to ultrasound that first off. Why didn’t your man catch this? Does it hurt?” “No.” “And you are tired and you are dropping weight aren’t you.” “Yep.” “Great.” “Yea… you gonna tell him?” “No and here is why he will send me to the best breast guy he knows right?” “Right.” “That is his best friend, Kevin. And how I know I am fine is because I will never have the opportunity to sit topless in front of Kevin and say ‘Kevin, this is covered under doc/patient confidentiality, but I’m your best friend’s Mistress and you are about to operate on one of his favorite play toys. I’m telling you that so you are aware that your work will be under constant scrutiny so do your best because you and I both know he will never admit that he has seen it but he will always carry it and secretly judge you for it because that is how he is.'” Linda burst out laughing and agreed with me.

In vino veritas or in NyQuil as the case may be

In vino veritas or in NyQuil as the case may be

I’m high as a kite on NyQuil. I also took off my glasses and they are across the bed somewhere and since I’m texting this on the WordPress app on my iPhone I doubt it will be my best post ever. I have some summer cold from hell and haven’t left the bed all day and am wishing for death to the little virus swimming around in my bloodstream. Tresnot cool.

Also not point of my post. I took a job near Peacock. I have to do a five week training this summer before moving and all of it is really fast. I’m excited and terrified, not gonna lie. Initially the first husband was supportive but now I have the job he has flipped and weirdly enough the Wasband is backing me and now motivated to sign the divorce papers all the sudden. It’s like everything is speeding up around me like a scene in a superhero film but I’m just casually walking through at a leisurely pace. I know it won’t last and the drinks will hit the floor but for now it is peaceful and serene.

Quick! Someone tell me is the world ending?

Quick! Someone tell me is the world ending?

Not only did Peacock message me Thurs AND Friday night, but I just had a 25 min email back and forth with him where he told me he was 1- Proud of me, 2- Recognized his lack of communication has been hard on me, and 3- felt like himself again or as he felt once more like he was “in control…” Here’s hoping that is deliberate. I am going to assume so as I was left with orders to send a pic of my outfit of the day. It’s been a long time since we played this game. He’s taught me well since we started. Almost a year of lessons. I no longer wear shoes that don’t coordinate to my outfit perfectly and almost always wear heels or wedges to work. Hell I wear jewelry and makeup daily now. (Well I did when we played the game, lately I have been saying screw that.) When we met I was a jeans and T sort of girl. During the beginning of this game he shipped me a box of clothes- that was a trip! Grrr. I felt like I opened ThunderCunt’s closet. It was like a model’s wardrobe puked on me. And worst of all – WOOL. I have texture issues so I literally started crying and whimpering while trying it on. The teen filmed it laughing the whole time and emailed it to him. He thought I had to be kidding til he hugged me in a wool sweater and saw my body react. Then he declared it worthy of “punishment.” Asshole.

Any who, most mornings he would have me dress and take a pic of my outfit and send it to him. He would note if it matched and what adjustments could be improved upon. What shoes would go better, or hairstyles- that sort of thing. Slowly I learned. Both what was fashionable and his tastes. I still have my tastes but they have blended and molded into something more I don’t know if “grown-up” is the word. Maybe we could just say they have evolved. Even in jeans and T’s I managed to hit Femme Fatale. As a result I look like a walking J.Crew meets H&M with a penchant for things that have a classic, vintage, or retro sort of flair to them. And not like the 80s. I live in pencil skirts or midis and  well cut wrap dresses that show off my curves and cleavage. So tomorrow will be fun. If I can figure out what I want to show off for him. It’s too hot for thigh highs now. Proper underpinnings are all part of playing dress-up as well…

These times they are a changing.

These times they are a changing.

I am siting in the tub. I have roughly 20minutes before the bitties appear at the house. My mother hired a college student to be her assistant post surgery but since she didn’t have surgery she now has to have the kid do something so the poor girl has been tasked with taking care of my children.  Please understand she would have been my mother’s bitch anyway but now she is bitch to a 4 & 5 year old as well.  I would say I have sympathy but I’ve watched this charade too many times to be phased anymore.

I was raised by black women. Not my mother. Strong, compassionate, determined women who taught me to cook, care about others by tending my wounds and nursing the elderly- my grandmothers, one who loved them as much as I did and one whose racism was as thick and tough as molasses in winter. They were the women who taught me to survive at all costs.

My first sitter was a former cook in my parents bar. Mama and Daddy bought a bar right after they got married with a loan for $2500 from her father Big Daddy.  It burned 12 years later and if I mention it’s name people from that generation still look at me in awe and amazement that I was from That family. The one that had gaming pinball machines and bets if you knew who to ask along with connections that are never mentioned. Yep. Same one. “I drank away my tuition on your Daddy’s beer.” “Oh the stories that place saw.” “I got into some trouble there.” “I saw your Mama break up more bar fights with a smile and a hair toss! I see the resemblance now.” “So do you take after your Mom or your Pop? You play pinball or pool?” And darts, but those messed up the bar, I got sidetracked… Clementine was a cook and murderess.

She killed her abusive husband with a cast iron skillet and then called Daddy. According to Daddy which I believe completely, Ms. Clem had been beaten for years and years and everyone knew but people just didn’t get involved back then. Grrrr. Well she warned him. And he made the mistake of trying to beat her on a day she had saved up to have a homemade fried chicken dinner for her night off. He got drunk and hit her and she layed him out cold with the skillet. Supposedly if she’d called the cops then that’d a been the end of it. Maybe. But she was scared and so she called Daddy telling him to come over right away thinking he could protect her and went back to cooking to have as she told him, “her best meal in 15 years over his dead body.” Daddy showed up an hour or so later not knowing what to expect and sees her calmly eating with a body on the floor and sits across from her at the plate of fried of chicken waiting for him, “Clem, he’s been there too long for you not to have called. How long’s he been there?” “‘For I started breadin’ the pieces, I warned ’em Mr. Albert…” “This is the best batch you’ve ever made.” “Figure it’s the last I’ll get ta make.” Daddy called the cops and she had to serve 15 months. She needed a job when she got out and Mama was about to pop. Ms. Clem never made fried chicken again. It was never discussed openly, but Daddy said she felt it was her real penance.

The next sitter, Marigold, had a gold front tooth with a star cut out. Raised four kids alone and her eldest two boys grew up to be marines. She made the most incredible candied sweet potatoes, played with my hair, would take me home with her, and fed me goat meat from the goats she raised which apparently I love but have no recollection of. She also would rock me for hours during Soap Operas and taught me the best tricks for cleaning any and everything. She was considered a housekeeper+, but was “released” for not getting enough stuff done around the house. Speaking from hindsight, I was a handful and she cared for me and my best friend another 3yo whose mother was being treated for breast cancer. Paige was a late in life only child and me being the youngest meant we were both spoiled brats. And inseparable. Our moms had met soon after we were born and Pai and I had twinspeak- only we used full sentences and English. By age 2 we were enrolled in a daycare that only accepted 3yos, but only together bc in order to use the bathroom we had to take turns standing in front of the other and hold hands to not fall in the toilet. “The Buddy Poo” my sisters called it. We also could fully operate a telephone at that time and it was not uncommon to find small human giggles instead of dialtones. My house had a kids’ phone line, this wasn’t a big deal. Her house had a father with a temper.

Then came Gladys. Mama still has Gladys. Big Mama hired Gladys when I was 14 to do her housework and cooking when she had to move closer to us. Like in a house two streets over. Gladys would cook full family lunch at least twice a week and anyone in town (or college) could come eat at Bigs’ house. That usually included some combo of Satan’s Lapcat/spouse/bitty if not at daycare, ThunderCunt/sorority sister, Mama, Daddy/employee/”starving” college student he happened to have on staff at the time. When I got mono at 14, I was out of school for 6 weeks. My parents didn’t want/ couldn’t deal. They moved me out of my house and into Bigs’. Gladys nursed me to back to health on blue Gatorade and lemon jello with pears in it for. Gag.

Bigs died when I was 17, and Mama stayed in a haze of brandy and Xanax for days before finally announcing “I’ve decided to retire and scrapbook full time.”  Daddy was quick to reply, “Hun, how about I let you keep Gladys full time?” “That’ll do.” And so 20 years later Gladys is now paid to have coffee with Mama while this pretty “starving” college student comes and chases my children, changes the sheets, and drives Mama, and occasionally Gladys around. I think it’s a change for the better.

Local Politics and Family Dynamics

Local Politics and Family Dynamics

Interesting weekend… my middlest sister, Life-sucking Thunder Cunt, was in town. She was here bc my mother was supposed to have knee surgery. She didn’t,  I have no clue why TC still came, but she did. Please note: I have not spoken to TC as my besties refer to her in probably 2 years. TOTS NOT MY FAULT! Okay maybe a little my fault. Probably equal parts mine and her fault mainly hers for being what she is… BUT… What Had Happened Was…

She and I were never really close growing up. Too far apart in ages. 5 years, 7 grades due to our birthdays etc. and so we really just didn’t get along. Then there was the added perk of my mother always putting a sibling in charge of me. It just never went over well. TC dislocated my arm when I was 9, (that actually WAS my fault- I refused to leave her room, held on to one of posts of her 4-poster bed, she grabbed my ankles and pulled I let go, slammed into the wall and my shoulder went *pop*) so my eldest sister, Satan’s Lap Cat, who was an Emergency Medical Technician at the time, came over reset it then took me to Zoology 101 with her that night. Her Prof was weird as hell. All I remember was him sitting on the desk for the lecture and telling the class that if a cat sneezed on a pregnant woman her kid could have furry ears and a tail. Later learning he was explaining that was NOT how things worked but if you are 9 and that is all you pick up on you have an innate fear of cats around pregnant women for no reason for a really long time. – Sorry for sidebar-

Any who, TC and I didn’t get along. Til she moved out, and I was left to fend for myself. None of us could stay in that house to age 17. She made it the longest. She was 17 and 10 days when she went to college. She actually graduated early just to flee that much quicker. Impressive if you ask me. Celebrated her birthday and packed for ‘Rush Week’ the next week. I got sent to a private school where I DID NOT fit in the following year. She tried to help me survive. Be a cool kid if you will. There was only so much you could do to help me, but she did what she could. She graduated, moved a few hours away, I went to boarding school, was still “too wild” and not making great decisions about college plans. She and Satan’s Lap Cat wanted me out of the state for college. I would visit her and her now hubby on long weekends or for big music festivals in their city. It was actually awesome what a cool sister she was. She could be great on every topic but sex.

I had sex before she did. She waited for her now hubby. Which is cool. They weren’t married then. He was separated and had been for years when they moved in together. I adored him. He’s about 8 years older. Daddy had to go move her back out of his house temporarily for a weekend when his Ex came into town to finalize the divorce. I never quite understood that whole story and never asked, but Daddy and our Godfather drove there with a U-Haul, loaded the thing up, parked it down the street, and then unloaded it back. PISSED he was. It was hysterical. He never mentioned it though. When it came up you would just see his brow furrow and he would change the subject. Uncle Frank would. He thought it was funny. Only after Daddy died did he mention it a couple times about how livid Dad was about it. I tell this story bc it is part of why she and I had our falling out.

You see later, when she and her spouse moved back here and had been here forever and a day he ran for city council. He was elected and was AMAZEBALLS. Truly. Got shit DONE! Was Progressive and Kickass and all that. We had a mayor that backed him and cool stuff happened. He and the Mayor had a gentleman’s agreement that the Mayor would be in office for 4 years and then step down bc the Mayor originally had run to dethrone the Imbecile that was in office for a small eternity before him and he was one of the few with enough power to do it. But the Mayor originally didn’t want the job bc he actually had several thriving businesses it would detract from. That is until he learned he liked being Mayor. So he ran against my brother-in-law. Bloodied him up something terrible in the election. Just in time for another Dark Horse candidate to jump in.

The Dark Horse was a classmate of mine. Young guy, I actually really like. Good guy lots of great ideas, even more progressive and charismatic. But, lots of peeps in his camp played dirty. Really dirty. Went to my Bro-in-law’s home town, dug up his divorce records, started going on and on about how TC and he were shacking up before his divorce was finalized and she was a home wrecker (I know it runs in the family…) Only in her case it actually doesn’t. Hell I don’t like the bitch and I will actually defend her on this one. But she truly thinks I helped spread it. She Thinks I helped spread it bc after Daddy died she and I had a falling out and she blackballed me from the local “Whoosy What’s It’s Do-Gooders” because she didn’t think I was good enough to play in their sandbox. Oh I was pissed. Oh I told all my friends she could go to hell and take her broomstick with her. And did I vote for her husband? I’ll never tell. BUT… I DAMN SURE CAMPAIGNED FOR THE SON OF A BITCH. And for the record he lost by a couple thousand votes. Hell I made it a point to do damage control by stomping rumors bc everyone knew she and I hadn’t spoken for almost 4 months at the election and I was encouraging people to vote for him by saying honestly, “I am STILL campaigning for him and everyone knows TC and I had a falling out.” If pressed further I could always say I knew from experience you would always know where you stood with them!

As for how the visit was- I tried to avoid her. I had to drop the kids off at Mama’s and got suckered into staying for dinner. Mama didn’t want to invite me, but couldn’t not invite me. I didn’t want to stay, but if I left it would seem like I was using them as babysitting so we were both stuck. I don’t loathe TC the way she loathes me. She actually thinks I maliciously cost her an election. I just think she is deluded and I hope she one day finds happiness. In something. Hell, ANYTHING. The only time things got weird was when I was in the kitchen doing the dishes talking to the teen and hearing TC and Mama talking about their plans for the summer. Most of the family has birthdays in the summer. Mama starts telling her, “Well, we just need to get her kids one of the weeks she has custody. It isn’t like she will be upset. We can rent a condo on the beach or something. That way I can have all the grandkids there. I don’t want anything big but I do want a little bit of time with each of you alone, so I will need you and your sister’s help with that…”

That was weird. Listening to your mother plan a full family vacation in which you will not be invited, using the limited time with your children that you are allotted, under the assumption you won’t care, all while you are standing in the adjacent room. When I asked Mama about it later this morning her statement on the subject was… “well you don’t care… do you? I figured you could go see Peacock. Speaking of which, I want him to pick out who should do my knee surgery. Surely one of his buddies will be great.” Fuck.

 

There is always time for doing laundry 

There is always time for doing laundry 

Once upon a time there was a princess… And just like every other fairy tale, she’d been cursed by an evil sorceress to have a healthy dose of crap luck for no apparent reason that she had absolutely nothing to do with. The princess could deal with her fate and the fact that she was destined wear a kick me sign while forever cleaning out the castle moat. She could stomach learning that the frogs she kissed were actually alligators and that mud was covering her goggles once again. But she really just wanted to shuck the crap off her boots and soak in a bubble bath. After a few years ass deep in alligators she’d just sorta forgotten what the hell she was doing lately. She did learn a few things and figured at this rate she could at least make a buck or two off what she had handy, that being her ass and the plethora of alligators. And so the plucky princess began a side hobby a gator wrangling…

What? Not the bed time story you were expecting? Yeah… Not the Malibu Barbie Dream Mansion I picked out either but we work with what we were handed. Now where was I?

So Peacock is all, saving people and being, gag, “surgeony/noble/good-for-humanity-and-crap”, I am occupying my time pretty much the same way I always have. I go to work. I come home, avoid making messes bc that involves cleaning, and cook 2 maybe 3 times a week, watch tv with with the teen, do or send tarot readings to friends, yoga, sub the occasional lecture at night, read, soak in the tub, do laundry, and oh, respond to random bad sext messages for the hell of it. So I don’t bleed from boredom.

I messaged my former mentor about the topic this morning since I’ve been thinking about “boundaries.” And just so we go ahead throw it out there, his nickname is Batman. I called him that since I met him over a year ago. The fact I just posted about Chinook and his Batman pjs is a bit comical to me. Believe me I am starting to wonder if maybe donning black and red would be fitting.

I told Batman that I was starting to think something was wrong with me and he gave me a lot to mull over:
“Batman I’m in over my head. As usual. You know me- I have to have three things to thrive. Companionship, which I can get from friends in general, but then sex and attention.”
“Is it the lack of sex or the attention that is eating away at you?”
“The only thing I am not doing well with is the attention and you know me. I am an attention whore. But he CANNOT provide that.”
“Are you scared you will push him away if you ask him to or that he won’t?”
“He can’t. Wife. Work. Life.”
“This is why it’s a J-O-B to be a SugarBaby.”
“Was a Job. Now there are feelings. Hell I don’t actually have an ‘allowance’ anymore.”
“We’ll come back to that one.”
“My point is,  remember all the morons that use to message me that we would sort through for potentials? Well periodically they will still message. And 99% of the time I ignore them. But the other 1%”
“You are still on the clock.”
“Bingo. And I don’t even know WHY. Lately I am passing my time with whatever moron is dumb enough to open a can of worms. I never send pictures worse than pg 13 but have NO problem tormenting the fuck out of them especially if they happen to be of the Dom persuasion and make it clear they want me submissive.
“Oh BratGirl is certainly worth coming back for.”
“As I well know. This generally results in getting sent dick pics (seriously why do guys think that is remotely attractive or desirable?) or worse vids of JUST said them getting off (whiskey.tango.foxtrot?!?) but more recently I have been getting requests for me to be on skype WHILE the jacking has commenced.”
“And?”
“So I thought sure. Why not. I get on Skype. I was doing laundry in bra and jeans and two minutes later of homeslice moaning into his phone while I sort my clothes I call it an evening. SERIOUSLY. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!?”
“Who says anything is?”
“You aren’t listening. This does NOTHING for me. I’m not even turned on. I would enjoy Jeopardy more. I only enjoy the fact that I am being paid attention to and that it is amusing to see what I can get said guy to do while I am not caring. No, wait. I take that back. One or two guys I really care about. But they are both submissive. The Dom guys I could give a fuck. The sub guys I have to try to ‘not care’ and it is almost like I use the Dom ones for practice. One sub guy is coming to grips with the fact he likes small penis humiliation and sissification and cross dressing and so we actually text periodically about life. I like to check on him. Good kid, law student up north. He is tap dancing about transgender issues as well.”
“You think maybe you are truly dominant at heart but lack the confidence yet to be that person?”
“I don’t know. I always say 60/40 switch subby side up.”
“I bet a GOOD female mentor could/would help you find yourself AND help you with your confidence.”
“I just CRAVE Peacock to top me so completely it seems odd thinking other ways. My fantasies all are more there too. I think I am just bored.”
“Idle hands. I hate you aren’t still in the game. You are a natural on either end or team. You… are one of the most intelligent beautiful and interesting women I know. It will take a truly strong/firm yet patient man to fully appreciate you and make you happy. In the mean time, you need to work on YOU. Making YOU happy. Improving YOUR life. Making YOU stronger. Learning to love YOU the way BratGirl deserves to be loved.”
“Grrrr… Yes Sir.”
“Even if you are someone’s ‘sub’ you must demand respect.”