I was reading Sara’s awesome blog, specifically this post (and the other entries linked to that post, including one about a couple which had a transsexual partner), and found myself wanting to make a confession.  

It’s all well and good for me to talk about the things I’m tolerant of and such, but… I DO find myself judging certain people and behaviors.

So this post might be looked at as an admission of prejudice on my part.  It’s in no way me saying I’m “right” here.  I’m just being honest, even if it’s embarrassing or less-than-glamorous or might invite judgments to be cast down upon me.  I hope (and think) most people who read here will at least respect my efforts to keep things true..

There are only two transsexual people in my life, so I don’t profess to be an expert.

One is a very, very dear friend I call Itty. Itty is biologically female, bisexual, and one of my favorite human beings on the planet – pure magic trapped in a human body.  The wrong body, as it happens.  Itty is not planning on pursuing a sex-change operation, despite the confusion, pain, and discomfort of being stuck in a female body and stuck in a world where sometimes she is referred to as she, and sometimes he – by everyone from her boyfriend and her family to strangers on the street. In my head, Itty is most often “he” but when I met Antonio, Itty was struggling with trying to “force” herself to just “be” female (for private reasons I won’t get into here because they are not mine to talk about) and to embrace both sides of gender, and I would talk about her in mixed pronouns (because she did too).  It confused Antonio, so he told me to just “pick” a gender. I knew it would be easier for me to just refer to Itty as female for his sake.  So it says nothing about my level of respect for her, or any transsexuals, that I am referring to her as female when she feels male.  Itty is okay with it, and because of that and out of habit from Antonio’s request, I’m doing it here. 

I’ve learned a lot by being such good friends with her, and I am in a place where I feel I have a pretty open mind, and very little (hopefully no) prejudice about transsexuals.

There is also someone I simply “know” as being transsexual. This person is biologically male, and for the first 50 or so years of life was known as Carl.  (Carl is a friend of my father, btw.)  Carl got married, had children, became a firefighter and made a “male” life here in my small town.  Carl, however, is now Carla.

I am unclear how far along she is in the transition from male to female, but I believe she has had a full sex-change operation. It “came out” in our small town before the operation when Carla began getting hormone therapy and wearing female clothing, makeup, and a wig outside his home, and asking to be referred to as Carla.

Now, I have no problem with this. Absolutely none. I know it must be unspeakably difficult to have to live life stuck in the wrong body.  And it must be even harder to make a transition in today’s society. Especially in a small town like mine. I can’t imagine what she’s gone through. I commend her and respect her for that. Truly.

HOWEVER, I have a problem with the way Carla did this. To be more specific, when Carla did this. As I said, Carla has two children with her spouse. Nice kids from what I hear, always did pretty well in school, not super popular, not outcasts – just average kids struggling to make their way, as all kids do, through the landmines that make up high school.

Well, Carla took her transition public when the kids were in 10^th grade and 11^th grade. And that bothers me.  I look upon that choice in timing negatively.  I admit it, I do.  I’m not perfect, and I have a big problem with that.

I do not see being transsexual as a choice, not in any way. But Carl lived as Carl, married with children, in society, for decades. Carl ignored, repressed, or hid feelings, urges, and an internal biological war long enough and well enough to get married and raise two children.   Carl chose to make a male life, and to bring a wife and children into the equation.

So here comes my judgment – I just can’t imagine he couldn’t have kept his male appearance for two more years.  I don’t see why he couldn’t let his kids become adults so if they wanted to get away – move on, move out,  go to college or get a job somewhere else during the time when this would be the talk of the town – they could.

Obviously, he didn’t wait. Or maybe it could be said he waited far too long. I don’t know. I just know that his children are the object of incredible talk and ridicule now. Hell, they’re the topic of this blog, and they don’t even know it. They are taunted and whispered about behind their backs, and degraded right to their faces. They are hurt and harassed teenagers.  I know the source of this is a sickness within humanity, not within Carla or her kids, but naming the source doesn’t eliminate the pain they feel.

And I admit, a LARGE part of me is screaming “They are hurt and harassed largely due to a choice in TIMING. And dammit, parents shouldn’t DO that to their kids!”

Now… Granted, I don’t know if they all sat down and talked about this and Carla and her wife asked the kids how they felt. I don’t know if the kids were consulted, counseled, or questioned. They might have been all for it.  I have no idea. I guess I just find it hard to believe that a parent, of any gender or sexuality, would have even brought that to the table. If I were a parent, I hope I wouldn’t put any sort of burden on my children like that.  The burden of guilt or the burden of making it “their” choice if he does it now or later.  I just… I feel lost for words, here.

I guess I feel once you become a parent, your number one duty is to protect your child from harm as much as possible. Go ahead and let kids scrape their knees – everyone’s got to learn some lessons firsthand – and sometimes your kids are going to fall despite your best efforts, but for goodness’s sake, don’t trip them!

Maybe Carla had just gone so long living in a body that had betrayed her that she had to do this, or she feared she would commit suicide or something, and she felt this WAS in the best interests of her children in the long run. But… Still… I just… I don’t know.

It feels WRONG of me, to say I think she should have continued life as a male for another 24 months. The free spirit and loving liberal in me wants to say “Of course she should make the change! As soon as she was ready, willing, and able to make it! Welcome to the REAL you, Carla!” But… try as I might, I can’t fully embrace that.

I feel for his children, and I guess what it boils down to is that I feel more for them than I do for her. It’s not even like they were infants and Carla decided she couldn’t live the lie of being male anymore way back then…  It was just two years, in the context of having gone 50+ already.  I think he should have told them his feelings, his plans, his turmoil…

And then he should have told them: “So I’m going to do this, when you’re both out of high school and can make the choice as adults to stay or to distance yourself from this town. I hope you’d never feel the need to distance yourself from this family, but if you need distance from the people here who will come after you because of me, I want you to be able to do that. I want to give you the opportunity, as your parent, to avoid as much of this as possible. You’re already going to have to deal with the personal side of this, and plenty of societal backlash for the rest of your life – bringing home friends from work or college, bringing home boyfriends of girlfriends to meet the family, etc.  But as your parent, I’m going to make a sacrifice of 24 months of my time to make this easier on you.  You will face persecution for this, for something you had no hand in, no choice about, no influence… But I brought you into this world, and I’m not going to make it harder for you to exist in it, not on purpose or without just cause.”

He didn’t.  I judge him for it.

(I’m trying to write random TINY posts because I often find myself with dangling, squirming,  mini-thoughts…  Semantic dances… And incoherent outbursts… And I also find myself needing to practice the elusive art of brevity.)

We’ve all heard  a woman refer to a man as her “knight in shining armor.”

I’ve never said that about Antonio.  It’s an idiom not suited to my world.   And Antonio is most certainly NOT my knight in shining armor. 

I don’t want one, either.  Because it’s impossible to know if a knight in shining armor is worth his salt.

When push comes to shove in life, when the world brings a battle to the doorsteps of knights?  The only ones still in shining armor at the end  are the ones who were too afraid  or felt too entitled to stand up and fight. 

And that just isn’t the knight for me.  Every knight’s armor starts out shiny.   So a knight with shiny armor has either never seen battle, or shied away when called upon. 

I simply prefer those who have been called to battle and  who answered that call.    Experienced.  Tried and true. That’s just who makes me feel safest,  both in love and in life. 

And that’s exactly who Antonio is  – my knight in banged-up armor.

I cannot even begin to explain how much it irritates me I can’t reply to comments!

First off, a thank you, to everyone who commented in my transition-type posts.  There will be more to come, I’m sure… And it’s really bugging me I can’t thank you all personally without a 9,000 word blog entry.  Perhaps it’ll let me soon?  C’mon wordpress!

To Kaya.  NEVER.  I WILL NEVER BE SILENCED.  Grrr!  Argh!  Ergh!  (And other piratey noises…. *swashbuckles*)

To lynette… I might have to try a bond system, that sounds awesome.  (Omg, that sounded kinky!  Joy!)

Next, to luna.  Thank you!  But unfortunately, the issue is IN the dashboard.  It hates me.  At least, that’s my assessment. (Antonio maintains there is a technical issue, but I’m doubtful.)  My blog has ALWAYS been a jerk, and refuses to allow me (or anyone else) to reply to a comment through the blog.  The “reply” link is just a dead link, and I have no idea how to fix it.  Antonio does all the blog stuff – I’m certifiably moronic when it comes to that.  But since the last update, I can no longer reply in the dashboard, which was my only way of doing it before.  It opens a reply box, and I can type in it, but when I hit “Submit Comment” it just zooms me to the top of the page without submitting.  Ergh.  Antonio said he’d look into it today, though.  Yayayayay.  Fingers crossed he can fix it.

Also, to swan… I’m really, really curious as well, about my co-worker.  I wonder if she has softened any of her views.  Perhaps, perhaps not.  Maybe my goals are set too low, but I considered it a bit of a victory just to get interest out of her, rather than disdain or dismissal.  I hope I can talk to her again soon, though… Part of me thinks she simply let the matter slide, didn’t research it, etc.  But there is always the chance she did, or that a few things stuck in her head – the idea of a level-headed, scientific approach that may contradict her “gut feelings” and maybe she’ll mention it to someone else, someday.   Here’s to hoping.  And to a healthy dose of skepticism.  *raises glass*

And to Dan… Thank you, for giving me an opportunity to completely geek out!!!  Obviously, yes, you’re right.  I understand exactly what you’re saying about causation and correlation and their relationship, and the potential for migration to serve as a confounding variable.  I even thought I sorta said so in the “Editor’s Note” but it’s possible I wasn’t clear enough that I acknowledge potential confounds in correlational studies.  The note was, I admit, a lot longer originally. But I got a little obsessed and technical, as I often do with statistics, and decided to just clip the “disclaimer” portion to a bare minimum.  However, I nearly clapped with glee that you commented about correlation and causation, because now I’m justified in rambling nerdily!  YAY!   So, yes, you’re 100% right, urban environments are often more liberal, hence more accepting. So homosexual people are very likely to migrate there.  And that may be why we see higher rates.

There are other potential confounds as well, and my coworker and I brainstormed a few.  Some confounds might even imply that there are NOT higher levels of homosexuality (though I doubt it, but it’s important to acknowledge all possibilities!).  For instance, it might simply be that people in cities and accepting environments are more comfortable reporting that they are homosexual to an interviewer or on a questionnaire, so the numbers are artificially inflated.   It may be that more comprehensive studies are done in urban environments, or perhaps a disproportionate number of scientifically sound studies geared at assessing rates of homosexuality are carried out in cities, and only dubious studies are done in the rural areas. Etc. etc. etc. The thing isn’t that two items cannot share a correlational relationship AND a causal relationship.  (I mean, obviously sometimes they definitely can.  Cutting yourself is strongly correlated with bleeding.  In that case, there is a correlational AND a causal relationship.) However, no, we definitely can’t ever claim causation with ONLY a correlation – we’d need different kinds of studies to attempt to assess causation. 

But, here’s an interesting statistic I had to cut out of the last post for space and time (and last I read this was in a textbook, and I can’t recall the actual study at the moment – but I should go look it up…)  A study showed that prior to age 17 (which was used as a cutoff because not many teenagers have the ability to migrate for social/sexual reasons prior to adulthood – so it is more likely these young people were simply born into an area, or were taken by their parents – neither of which are motivated by sexual orientation, as the migration you spoke of clearly is), there is STILL a higher rate of homosexuality reported in urban environments.  So, while attempting to control for the obvious confound of migration, they still found higher rates.

Again, obviously, there are potential confounds in that correlation as well.   There always are.  But it’s still so darn FASCINATING.

Yanno… 

To me.

The girl who gets excited over coding data analysis in SAS.

*sigh* I’m SUCH a dork.  Someone ought to shoot me and put me out of my misery…

(Speaking of misery – I’m 5 hours into a 22-hour triple-shift.  THE JOY IS NEVERENDING!!!)

The biological imperative fascinates me.

I was going somewhere totally different with this post, about how all of us are slaves to our biology, but a recent conversation at work opened up my musing-channels.

One of the girls I work with ended up talking to me about homosexuality the other day.

First, she was saying: “God, I just don’t want to SEE that, ya know? I don’t want to see two guys grabbing and groping and making out with each other.”

And I have no problem with her feelings there. I respect them. I even understand and agree with them, to a degree. But for me, it’s got nothing to do with sexual orientation. I don’t want to see ANYONE doing that. I don’t want to see a tarted up girl wearing a mini-mini-mini-skirt and a transparent tube-top grinding on her boyfriend in public JUST as much as I don’t want to see a guy in a mesh tee-shirt and leather hotpants groping his boyfriend.

If I want to see overtly sexual stuff (and sometimes I do!) I know where to go. Online, and in real life. But walking through the park with children in tow? No thank you.

Public displays of affection? Awesome! Rock on! Spread the love!

Public displays of foreplay? Take it somewhere private and/or appropriate. Immediately.

So, anyway, I was on her side about that. If she doesn’t want to see overtly sexual displays in public? I personally think she shouldn’t have to.

BUT… Then she moved onto the “And besides, it’s unnatural… It’s just WRONG!”  argument.

And that one bothers me.

It bothers me from an ethical standpoint, a moral standpoint, a logical standpoint, a political standpoint, a humanitarian standpoint, etc. etc. etc. It just BOTHERS me.

But I’ve noticed no one feels the need to listen openly to those standpoints of mine, unless they happen to already agree with me.  They do, however, feel the need to argue with those standpoints.

But, surprisingly, I have managed to see a LOT of positive, open-minded responses when I speak from a scientific standpoint.

(Provided of course the person is not a taking-the-Bible-literally type. No offense to them, but we disagree on some GIANT fundamentals that make more intricate scientific discussions impossible. For instance, I am confident the planet Earth is over 6,000 years old. Most science-related conversations with people who disagree with me on that issue are going nowhere, and getting there at light speed.)

Back on track… I engaged this co-worker in conversation. The beginning of this, and most conversations I have like this, look about like this:

ME: “Well, what would you say is the overall biological goal of any and every species?”

HER: “Reproduction.”

ME:  “Sort of. I mean, yeah, obviously a species needs a way to create new versions of itself or it just dies out.  Reproduction is key. But it’s a second-level objective. The primary objective is survival of the species.  So, yeah, reproduction is key… to that ultimate goal.”

HER:  “And obviously gay people can’t have babies. So being gay IS backwards, unnatural.”

ME:  “What’s funny is it’s not, actually. It’s specifically designed FOR survival of the species. In Nature’s opinion, it’s completely necessary.”

HER:  “How?”

ME:  “I mean, okay… If you had to guess, where would you say the highest rates of homosexuality are for humans – in the rural countryside, or in the cities?”

HER:  “Cities, for sure.”

ME:  “Exactly. Obviously, we can’t explain WHY that is just by knowing it is higher there. We just hear that higher rates of homosexuality and urban environments are correlated.”

(Editor’s Note: I’ve studied statistics, and here the girl and I went off into a discussion of “correlation does not infer causation” and we talked about a bunch of possible reasons, and possible confounds in the situation. Obviously, there are MANY.)

Then I explained more of what I thought… To do it with fewer interruptions, I’ll say it out of the context of conversation:

It’s obvious no one can claim urban environments “breed” homosexuality. No one can say being in an urban environment causes higher rates of homosexuality – just that they are correlated.  But even if it can’t offer explanation, it’s interesting. Not on its own, but because of how the animal kingdom mirrors the trend.

I’ve heard there are studies showing that in certain animal populations, when they reach a critical population density – like a ‘city’ of animals – a few types of behavior go on the increase, simultaneously.  Two of them are filicide (the killing of offspring) and homosexuality. Why? Because at a critical population density, life SUCKS. Disease spreads rampant in close quarters with waste piling up. Resources run dry. Fighting ensues, territories are encroached upon, competition soars within species instead of between… The Biological Imperative – Survival – becomes threatened.

So, Nature aims to restore order, and there is an increase in behaviors designed to save the species from total annihilation. Two of those things are killing offspring, and the pairing of same-sex animals. 

Homosexuality appears to be a means of natural population control by coupling individuals incapable of reproduction; a natural means of helping ensure that the biological imperative is met.  It is a necessary component of most, if not all, species, and it appears the prevalence may increase or decrease depending on certain environmental factors.

I read a “letter to the editor” saying this very thing in the Gay & Lesbian Review Worldwide from 2008. The letter-writer, a Mr. David Williams, as a homosexual male, offered the same opinion I have just stated, and also mentioned:

“Some gay and lesbian activists may read this and feel sickened that this concept reduces our entire lives to a purely biological function.”

I don’t know why it should offend homosexuals exclusively – but the letter was written about homosexual behavior, so it was a natural thing to say.  But I’d offer the corollary that we are ALL slaves to the biological imperative, regardless of sexual orientation, so there would be no need for anyone to feel sickened – unless all humans should!  All humans are driven by their hormones, their biology, their genes, and survival of the species.   These drives push us in so many ways we aren’t even conscious of a fraction of them. 

I am fascinated by studies that focus on this phenomenon.  I am fascinated by how all-encompassing it is, I am fascinated by the exceptions to the “rules” and I am fascinated by my entirely insignificant personal place in the world of humans. 

I don’t find it offensive to study our place in the infinite sets of “natural orders” that rule life here on Earth.

I realize, however, that some people might find it offensive to think their sexual identities or preferences are dictated in large part by biological imperatives.  I’m just not one of them.  It’s a reality I accept, embrace, and enjoy pondering and researching. I’d never get up in arms about it. But now I’m curious if anyone will get up in arms about this post.  It’s all about open minds though, so bear in mind I will always try to have one!

Back on track…  AGAIN…

Sometimes my discussions of the science of homosexuality take a turn.  The person I am speaking with will become accepting of the premise of homosexuality being natural. And then they’ll do the “Kay-fine, BUT” and ask if homosexuals aren’t “supposed” to have babies, as is judged by Nature Herself, shouldn’t gays not be allowed to adopt?

This sends me explaining that I’ve heard it is common in avian species (specifically those birds that form life-long bonds), for females (who have lost their male mate) to lay their eggs in the nests of male-male couples who will fertilize the eggs they themselves are unable to produce, and raise the chicks themselves. And, though I don’t think it’s been sufficiently substantiated, it has even been suggested, that male-male pairs are “better” at raising the babies than the average female-male couple.   So who knows about the “who is BETTER” situation.

So as I understand it, Nature never said homosexual couples can’t raise children. Nature just says they can’t personally contribute to the population – reproduction is not naturally possible with same-sex pairings. According to Nature, they can raise children, and raise them very well. Granted, animals have fewer social constructs and constraints to take into account – but this is a very ‘state of nature’ type musing/discussion.

Anyway… After talking, my coworker said: “That’s actually really interesting. I didn’t know any of that. I’m going to have to go look it up.”

YAY!

My mission is not to convert or bully or even to change minds.  I never even said I was SURE of any of this stuff – and I’m not – just that I’ve read about it, heard about it, and looked up articles.  It’s science, so I’ve seen evidence, not proof.  I’m interested, not asserting.

If I can speak to these ideas as truthfully as I am able with the information I have available, and as a result someone is willing to go research something on their own, willing to ENTERTAIN the notion that they might not have ALL the information?

That’s a wonderful thing in my world.

I mention this just because I have had SO many fruitless and irritating conversations with people about the moral and political sides of various homosexuality issues. And I’m tired of them. I’m tired of not getting anywhere. I’m tired of being asked why I even care, being as I’m about as heterosexual as one can get. I’m tired of it feeling like a fight, rather than an intelligent discussion. I’m tired of the anger and hate that so often go into defending religion and politics and ethics.

I prefer the uneven and ever-changing grounds of science. We are not all on equal footing, nothing is 100% certain – but most people who believe in the power of human intelligence and discovery are willing to talk from an observational and scientific point of view, without too much animosity. 

For the record, I believe – very deeply – that my morals are sound, and that my politics are on course with a better future for all mankind. But those political or ethical discussions do not seem to engender positive and open-minded responses NEARLY as often as the scientific conversations.

And no wonder! Have you watched politicians? Religious leaders? Moral advocates? Have you watched YOURSELF (or me!) argue on those grounds? Have you seen how all of those people, yourself and myself included, differ from scientists?

Well… I have.  But I can’t say it any better than Carl Sagan did in 1987, so I won’t try:

In science it often happens that scientists say, “You know that’s a really good argument; my position is mistaken,” and then they would actually change their minds and you never hear that old view from them again. They really do it. It doesn’t happen as often as it should, because scientists are human and change is sometimes painful. But it happens every day. I cannot recall the last time something like that happened in politics or religion.

(Carl Sagan rocked, btw.)

I don’t know what it says about me… But I have taken to appealing to the scientific minds of my friends, while trying to be utterly free of condescension, when it comes to these issues simple because it’s more likely to engage someone, rather than antagonize them.

And I don’t know what it says about people in general… But for some reason saying, “I’ve heard studies/science have/has shown,” works a million times better at getting people to simply say “Huh. I want to look into that,”  than saying, “Know love no hate.”

Maybe it’s just easier to google a peer-reviewed scientific journal article these days than it is to google a moral compass?

I’m too irritated to be thoughtful today, so this is just random crap.

~Wordpress Gets The Thumbs Down

So, Antonio is awesome and updated WP for me the other day, but I guess something is wonky with the update or a widget or something because I can’t reply to comments now.

It lets me open the little box… And type the reply… And then it treats the “Submit” button as a “Top of the page” button and zooms me to the top of the page without submitting the reply.

Of course this would happen when I have about three posts worth of comments I am desperate to reply to… And at the moment I barely have time for emails (I’m getting way behind on those.  I’ve had one sitting for about three people for AGES and I just… I am a wee bit preoccupied at the moment trying to figure myself out.  But it BUGS me.  I WANT to email these people.)

Bah.  WordPress must die.

~There ARE Legal Grounds For Homicidal Rampages, Right?

I live in a nice part of the United States.  You know, the kind of place that makes asshats tourists people turn the word “summer” into a verb so they can tell their friends they “summer” here.

A lot of the locals, if they have a place to go, will vacate their houses in the summer and rent them out.  And no wonder – it costs an arm and a leg to vacation here.  Want to come visit me?  Go ahead, and bring the kids, there’s a cozy 3-bedroom place nearby for a mere $8,500 a week.  (Same place in the winter would be like $1,500 a month, btw.)  *sigh* Rich people ruin my summers, lemme tell ya.   It’s not just the houses that get more expensive – the restaurants change their menus, the hotels cost quadruple what they used to, the bakeries up their prices, etc. I know, I know, it’s how we make money in our area – rich people come, drop their cash like they know the apocalypse is coming tomorrow, and our little tiny two-stoplight town gets wealthier as a community…

BUT, I’m still complaining… Because the house next to me becomes a rental property in the summer.  And for some reason, there are MAGICAL acoustics in that place. In the winter, nothing that happens over there is disturbing in the least.  But in the summer?  The renters open the garage door, and drink beer, and I can hear EVERY WORD THEY SAY.  And, typically?  They’re saying them drunk, at 2:30am.

“Duuuude, do you like THIS chair?  I LIKE this chair!!!” (Said with the enthusiasm people usually reserve for things like the birth of their first child.)

“Five, four, three, two, one… GO!  I said Go.  GODDAMMIT Gooooooo!” (Oh, just skip the stupid games and drink the beer already, jerkfaces.)

“I love Beirut and, and, oh, oh, oh-my-God I love this song!  TAKE ME TO THE PLACE I LOOOOOVE!!!” (I’ll admit, I sang along too while curled up in my bed.  I mean, I was awake, so what the hell, right?)

Last summer, I called the police on three or four separate occasions just so I could get some goddamn sleep.  I haven’t slept well for DAYS now because this particular batch of renters is oh-so-fond of playing Beirut at stupid o’clock in the morning.

It’s doing my imagination NO favors that we have a veritable arsenal in the basement, and I know that even when it’s NOT sighted in?  I can still hit a target the size of a grapefruit 38 times out of 40 at fifty yards with our AR-15…

(I kid, I kid.  I DO enjoy target shooting – the concentration and heightened awareness it requires soothes me greatly.  But I’m not violent.  I won’t even shoot at silhouette targets because I can’t stomach the thought of working on my aim shooting at a human-shaped piece of paper.)

~Minus The Penis, Good Looks, and Helmet, That Was Me

I had to cut off all my nails because I broke one.  I’m considering having a funeral/burial for them.  They were so preeeeetty…  The most nail-demolishing activities I do are all cleaning-related, and I housecleaned for an agency one summer and got really good at not breaking my nails every time I scrubbed a floor.

But at work?  I broke a friggin’ nail.  I had JUST popped ten meds for a client, and she was about to dump them on the floor.  And there was just no way I was going to go through the process of collecting the pills, crushing them all, adding bleach to them, then throwing them away.  THEN making notes on the backs of the medication pages that my count is wrong because a pill was dropped and wasted, and I had to give another.  It would have been about 45 minutes of pill-destroying and writing.  So I SHOT my hand out and grabbed the pill cup.  But I misjudged and nailed the table too.  Bam, broken nail.

Sulky sulky sulk.  I was about to self-manicure them too.

I’m TIRED.  But I’m also ALONE in the house!!!  So I think I’ll try to nap while the neighbors are taking a break from pretending they are college-age.

I have a post going that is my random musings on the biological imperative.  So, tomorrow, or maybe later tonight, I might post non-whining.

This is a slight aside.  And hence, shortish.  (Omg, I know.)

Dinora’s comment (on my last post) about liking the falcon analogy prompted me to want to post this.

A reminder of Antonio’s analogy:

If a falcon is kept tightly tethered to the wrist for too long, it is no longer effective as a falcon but becomes merely an ornament.

I think it’s actually a useful analogy in BOTH directions.  My Man doesn’t happen to want an ornament.  But there’s a whole lot of NOTHING wrong with a person who does.  Obviously.

It’s kind of hot, actually, to think of breaking a bird of prey until it IS nothing more than an ornament, dontcha think?

I do, at least…   It may not be in my future – *tiny fantasy-loss sulk* – but I still think it’s hot as hell.

Basically, I really hope no one thinks I’m saying Antonio’s way is THE way and everyone else can go eat mud.  I’m definitely not.  It’s just the way for him and, thus, the way for me – whether I like it or not.

I think it’s just as awesome, and just as slave-like (subservient, submissive, etc. – and oh, jeez, there I go with Antonio’s “etc.” AND his “jeez” and OMG IT’S LIKE HE’S IN MY HEAD), to become the ornamental falcon vs. the huntress falcon.

If HE commands it and YOU do it?  I think it’s probably the way to go, no matter what “it” is.

There’s no “ur doin’ it wrong” ‘round these parts… But I was beginning to fear it might sound like it from all my out-loud attempts to reinforce in my own head that I am doing it right.

And, on the off chance I AM doing it right?  I’m only doing it right for me.  I sincerely hope no one thinks I’m ever saying I’m doing it right for everyone…

(This *might* have been my paranoia talking that made me want to qualify all this.  So there’s truly no need to tell me, “Dude, Chloe, we got it.  We – unlike you – were not dropped on our heads daily as infants.  So we – unlike you – don’t have your blog confused with a pulpit, soapbox, or a big vat o’ koolaid.  And even it if were?  We ain’t drinking it.  Silly!”)

P.S. – I’m totally at work right now.  Heh.

I thought it was important (at least to me) to use some of Antonio’s words as an adjunct to my last post.  (I’ll get to the comments soon, I promise! I have to get to work though, so a general THANK YOU to everyone for now.)

His initial instructions read like this:

Okay, I’ve been thinking. Remember I said that our relationship is first and the DS stuff is second etc? Well, I’ve come to the conclusion that the whole Master/slave thing is hobbling you. It’s hindering you from growing, evolving and being a more complete, whole person.

You said a while back that it’s weakened you in some ways, and I now see that you’re right. You need to learn to be able to make decisions, to think, to act. Letting me do all the thinking and decision-making for you was good in the beginning when you weren’t doing too good, but you have grown since then and you’re much, much better now and I think you’re ready to take this next step.

You are no longer a slave. Of course, you’re still submissive to me etc. but I’m giving you more leeway to make decisions and learn from them. To see the effects of your decisions and actions and so learn from them and grow.

You can change your work schedule etc. if you want.

You can make any decisions affecting yourself. Of course, if you need advice or counsel or input, ask away.

Also you no longer need to write a daily schedule every day, but can write a daily summary if you have something on your mind that day.

You no longer have to text me every morning, or whenever. You can text whenever you like, of course, like a normal couple, but you’re no longer under orders to do this.

It’s time for you to take the next step.

Evolve.

And… To me… That last part read blissfully like an order or two.  But the whole thing still freaked me out.  (Incidentally, if anyone has noticed that I say “etc.” in here a lot – it’s HIS fault.  He says it ALL the time, and I caught it from him.)

After I made a “broken bones, and how you need to walk on the cast before they are fully healed” analogy, he went on to further explain (with emphasis added by ME):

Part of this is that you must overcome your fears. That’s your biggest hurdle and with me protecting you and guiding you, you’ll never do that. Your analogy’s pretty correct.

You’ve got to use those injured limbs – even if it hurts. No, even more so if it hurts, cuz they’ll never gain back their strength and grow if you don’t.

And, through a lot of my freaking out, he said things like this:

You have to stop looking at life as if it’s a test. Life isn’t a choice between getting what you want and killing yourself. You come across like that sometimes.

You didn’t fail at anything. But by giving up your will, you’ve removed all responsibility and capacity to learn and grow. While it strengthened you in some aspects, it’s weakened you in that aspect.

And this:

Hahahahahahahahahaha! Wow! Jeez, kitten, stop over-analyzing things.

Uh, no, I’m not playing some twisted mind game. I’m not into mind games.  I’m not trying to “trick” you. Hahahahahahaha!

You can do what makes you happy – but do it cuz it makes you happy. Not cuz you have to do it or cuz you’re just blindly following orders. If it gives you comfort to address me as Sir or text – fine.

Like I said, I don’t have a need to be addressed as Sir. You know your place as well as I. It’s who we are. It exists without resorting to titles and protocol.

If you call me [Antonio], does that make you feel less submissive? Does that mean somehow that you love me less? Of course not.

And the texting thing, while a means of asserting my control and dominance, was also a way of keeping tabs on you while you were going through a tough time in your life. You’re in a much better place now.

You can still text whenever you want, but it’s no longer mandated. I trust you to be able to do the right thing on a day-to-day basis and not have to check with me every step of the way.

If a falcon is kept tightly tethered to the wrist for too long, it is no longer effective as a falcon but becomes merely an ornament.

So!  He’s not into me as just an ornament. I have to serve a purpose, too… I have to hone my hunting skills, or I become useless to him.  And that is the LAST thing I want to be.  I don’t want to be a free falcon.  But I certainly don’t want to be a useless one.  I guess, to serve him according to HIS needs, I have to zoom off every once in a while.  I’m just a lazy homebody of a bird, and perched on his arm is my comfort zone.  But I’d be seriously useless as an owned bird of prey if I didn’t follow orders and fly off when he tells me to…

I like when he uses metaphor and analogy – it helps me see things.

Our dynamic runs deeper than the day-to-day stuff.  His dominance is not heightened by controlling minutia.  It’s a hassle for him to have me hanging every teeny decision on him, to be shaky and stupid when I have to check with him on every little thing, and when I become incapacitated if I can’t for a particular task/item/choice.  It does not enhance me as a slave, a submissive, or a partner when I become rattled over small choices.  It makes me ineffectual.

I have always known that my choices, when I’m allowed to make them, will ultimately be the subservient choices.  I simply prefer them.  I prefer to ask him permission for things.  I prefer to have his blessing and his guidance and his control.  Is it really necessary that he mandate I get them?  No, probably not.  It’s just… It’s difficult for me to imagine not “having” to even though I know I always “want” to.

It’s like… I know organic food is better for me, tastes better, feels more natural, makes my body function better…I used to eat it and it was awesome… But, for whatever reason, we introduced chemical-ridden products into our diets.  And switching back to the all-natural variety is a bit hard.  I know it’s better, I FEEL better when I’m eating pure foods… But I’m in chemical withdrawal.  And I’m reminded that a little more effort that goes into selecting the right foods, checking expiration dates more carefully, being more diligent about vitamin consumption, and being on the lookout for cupboard moths and bugs in the bulk grains.

But I know it’s worth it.  I know it’s GOOD to have to keep a closer eye on how things are going between us.  I know the organic, natural parts of our relationship have always been my favorite…

But… I dunno.  I still kinda want the goddamn Doritos, I guess.

More on all this later, I’m SURE.  For now, its off to work!

Antonio says I am no longer a slave.

Right.  So.  How was everyone else’s day?  Good?  Good.

Okay, bye!

…

…

…

Kidding. Of course I’ll ramble endlessly.

For some reason, it’s taking a very long time to get an answer about whether or not I can use Antonio’s words… Since there are about 40 billion posts brewing in my brain that can’t be posted until I explain this… I will just press on without being able to post his words and explanations verbatim.

I was scared to TELL you guys this.

I’m worried I’ll be laughed at. I’m worried I’ll be dismissed or you’ll roll your eyes and scoff at me. I’m worried I’ll be seen as a failure, as not good enough, as misguided to the point where I ruined things. I’m worried you’ll stop reading because this means I’m just not “like” you or something. I’m worried about judgments – toward me or Antonio. I don’t know. I’m just embarrassed, I guess.

You all have been wonderful and supportive, given me kicks in the ass when I need them, and have offered me insight I truly value. So I know this fear isn’t logical.

My initial reaction to this commandment of his was pure terror.

After asking him a million questions, and getting a million patient answers, I’m feeling a lot better.  (And, let’s all take a minute to thank heaven my Man is as awesome as he is.  The guy has been up at 4:30am, working his ass off in hot, muggy conditions every day, and is still managing to be patient with me.  I’m convinced he is part cyborg.)

ANYWAY… I’m feeling better AND I spared you guys the horrific onslaught of my “OMFG THE WORLD IS ENDING” tripe of the past few days.

Waiting was totally a win-win.

I’m feeling better because I honestly feel the “you are no longer a slave” thing was really to get my attention. Because, basically, it’s just a removal of protocol and rules – not an alteration in how we feel about each other, how we react as naturally dominant/submissive people. And he asked me, as I was freaking out about things, if it made me feel ANY less submissive not having to follow certain rules, not having to address him a certain way, or ask him permission to do certain things…

Pffft.  No. Of course it doesn’t.

I was never one who drew submissive or slave strength from rules and protocols. It comes from within me, from within my connection to Antonio. And that hasn’t changed.  And it’s not like I’m not allowed to ask him permission, or call him Sir, or do everything as I know he likes it done.  I can.

So, you might be asking yourself, if feelings haven’t changed, what’s his motivation here for giving the leash way too fucking much slack?

Well… In essence, I have not become the person he wants me to be.

I came to him a very broken girl. I did a lot of healing, that’s true. But I’ve arrived at a point where I’ve been stymied. I don’t know which it is – I’m either actively using slavery to prevent myself from healing completely, or slavery is, by its very nature, hobbling me. I guess it doesn’t matter.

I have things about me I need to change. Things about me I want to change, but, more importantly, things about me HE wants me to change. However, I can’t change them when I don’t hold any personal control over myself.

So while I don’t feel any differently toward him, I still treat him and his opinion with the utmost deference and respect, I have to make my own choices about things for now.  I have to do things because I WANT to, not because I HAVE to… Temporarily, I hope.

(I won’t lie, I’m praying fervently – to gods I don’t even believe in – that I can make the changes he wants me to make quickly, and get back to a place where I “have” to do things.  I don’t need that stuff to feel more owned by him, but dammit I LIKE it.)

But for now… I have to learn from my own mistakes, and in order to do that, I have to be given the opportunity to MAKE my own mistakes.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m nowhere NEAR 100% comfortable with this. Of course there are paranoid thoughts… Like, he’s preparing me for letting me go, omg… But that one is too stupid and heartless to even finish thinking about.  I know it’s categorically not true. 

Then there are others – embarrassment, like I just wasn’t cut out to do this “right.”  Or the fear that I simply failed at something; I failed at being good for him in the role he truly wanted me in so he had to drop me down a notch.

I feel like I have to turn in my membership card to the Slave Club or something.  It’s embarrassing. I am REALLY embarrassed. I know that’s stupid, but I can’t help it.

I just keep wondering – Have I failed?

He laughs and assures me I haven’t, and that this is not some mind-fuck test or a failure, just a natural alteration he has made, designed to make me and him happiest in our natural roles in the long run. (Then he makes somewhat snarky remarks about me obviously spending too much time with those involved in teh drama of BDSM on teh interwebs… Hmph.)

But, because of how subservient I feel toward him – with or without protocols and rules and titles – I’m obviously going to make a conscious effort to do the very best I can at this, no matter how embarrassed or uncomfortable I feel, for him, for myself, and for us. 

It’s just that… I have to admit, part of me feels a little empty and aimless now.  A little colder and more alone.  Embarrassed and like a bit of a failure. And I don’t like it, not one bit.  I’ve just got to get past that, though, I guess.  I am just not sure how. 

In some ways, this whole “non-slavery-submission” feels like the biggest test my slavery can be put to.  Can I handle an order to no longer be a slave -  to do things because I want to, not because I have to – without knowing if it’s permanent or temporary or anything?  Of course I can.  Because if I CAN’T handle it?  Well then, I was never really a slave to begin with then, was I?

IN SUMMARY:

There is this incredible man telling this terrified girl to make some changes by losing her comfort blanket, losing her rules and regulations, and gaining more personal responsibility for an indefinite period of time…

And for a few days I got stuck thinking “What in the HELL is that girl supposed to DO?”

But it’s really, really simple… She Obeys.

(This’ll probably take a couple posts.  Here’s one.)

As many of you know, I went to visit Antonio in his neck of the woods. When I relocate, it will be Over There. So I went.  To learn the area, to see some apartments, and SEE HIM.

I am tempted to say a combination of intensely disliking the part of the country he lives in (and, hence, becoming VERY fearful of living there permanently), plus major PMS/PMDD made me act like a wench, but… I really shouldn’t be making excuses.  I was just a bitch.

For example… 

‘Member I got my tongue pierced a second time?  The piercing was 30 days old, and felt fine in my mouth. But it turns out it was not NEARLY seasoned enough to take rough action. (Yes, I too was shocked that eating dinner is not as violent as face-fucking. OMG WHO KNEW?!?!?) Anyway, the first couple days I suffered through the pain and frustration that came with him using my mouth.

I suffered through it. I did not, however, manage to suffer silently. I whined, I sulked, I dreaded. I was a petulant, fearful, hormonal ball of Do Not Want.

About the third day I was there, he told me to get on the bed.  That was just The Last Thing On Earth I Wanted To Do, so I asked (begged) for a minute to get my head on straight. He looked at me,  paused for just a second and got a strange look on his face.  It was like he was seeing and hearing three days worth of my bitching all at once – like he had it on tape and was running it through his head.

Then he threw a towel at my face. I have no idea if he meant to be that damn symbolic.  But he really did “throw in the towel” with that.

He’s just not the kind of Master who wants an unwilling slave. He has forced me to do plenty, of course.  I suppose it’s that he just isn’t turned on by a lack of enthusiasm and he’s turned off by a whiny, bitchy, “I hate sucking your dick cuz it hurts me, omg, *whine*!!!” kind of slave. (Yes, I know.  I’m his partner, this is clearly a “duh” moment for me.) 

After that moment, he stopped doing a lot of his normal things.

… He didn’t call me into the bathroom after he used it, to clean him off.

… He wouldn’t push me down for perverted-pacifier time.

… He didn’t hit me or pinch me or grab at me “secretly” while in public.

… He didn’t put an arm around me when we lay in bed, he’d cross his arms.

It was disconcerting, to say the least.  I felt so empty and shameful.

I spent a lot of time just LOOKING at him, expectantly, full of fears and questions and fears and remorse and fears and thoughts and fears and irritating hormones. Also, since I don’t think I mentioned it, fears.

He didn’t SAY anything though, aside from “What are you looking at?”

And we went about our days, with otherwise total normalcy. Toward the end of my visit, I couldn’t take my brewing terror anymore, and let loose.  After, he half-laughed, half-sighed and said, “There is no molehill you can’t make into a mountain, is there? If something isn’t enjoyable for me – I’m just not going to do it.”

Simple enough, and completely my fault. He had a very “It’ll work out, just figure out your issue, shape up and it’ll be fine” kind of attitude. But I couldn’t see that at the time – I just saw the end of the goddamn world.

That night, after I had talked and apologized and had some time to think, I got pushed down the bed for perverted-pacifier time once again, and that was incredibly comforting.  It allayed some of my fears. 

I felt I was going to be able to get myself on track. I felt bad, I felt hormonal, I felt angry with myself and I felt… Stupid. But I felt like I knew where I had gone wrong and… I could DO something about it.

BTW, I’m embarrassed to have told you guys how badly I behaved… It’s reality, though. I’d love to tell you it was a week of uber-awesome kink, and I’m betting more people would read this blog if I had that kind of life at the moment. (One day, guys, ONE DAY I promise it will be true! Just let me get out there, and settled. Swear!) But right now it would be a big, fat lie. (On a depressing note, with the embarrassment I KNOW is coming in the second post, this embarrassment pales SO drastically in comparison, it’s relatively easy to share.)

Anyway, I came home. I was composing my thoughts for him in my head, and posts for the blog as well. I may not have learned any lessons, but I certainly learned which lessons I NEEDED to learn.

• One. Behave, behave, behave. Be-FUCKING-have. Dealing with my hormones will help this. PMDD makes me feel like a female version of The Joker because I’m not “looking for anything logical” and I “can’t be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with” because I “just want to watch the world burn.”
• Two. Quit thinking about myself.  Sometimes, I swear the entire world is against me. I hate everything, I’m terrified of everything, almost without exception. The trouble with this is it assumes everything is somehow ABOUT me. And it’s most definitely not.
• Three. Suffer in silence.  Petulant children are a BIG sexual turn-off for Antonio. I do not need to be in the business of turning him off. That’s NOT my place, that’s the opposite of my place.

And the list goes on…

BUT… While I still feel those are definitely things I need to learn…

Bigger things have been put in front of me. Well, one GIANT thing, actually.

The announcement came down from The Man yesterday.  It’s… BIG. (Oh, hai Amber! What was that you were saying? Tease? ME? Pffft.  ¡Eres loca, mi amiga!)

I want to share Antonio’s exact words with you, because they are important words, and then I’ll try to walk you through my reaction (which is still utter gibberish, so you’ll have to bear with me when I post it) but I’ve been told, in general, his words are “not for public consumption” (can anyone spot the irony in that?) and this post is long enough as it is, so… I’m going to wait. Antonio has been talked into going fishing today, so I can’t ask right now.

I’m very… confused.

I feel like I have material for about 10 posts in my head today.

I felt like I had a couple posts in my brain as of yesterday, and I fully intended to post, but… Well, I went for a 15-hour shift at work and ~because I’m a certifiable genius~ I forgot my computer’s power cord. I felt bad too, ‘cause I told Amber I’d be posting yesterday. I LIED TO HER. Gah!

Then TODAY I fully intended to post, but now I can’t because I got an email from The Man and now I’m… Hazy and confused. Blank and a wee bit stunned.

I’m safe, and I’m in love.

But other things are changing. And I don’t know quite what to think yet, never mind what to say.

(See? I can’t make sense right now. I will soon, though. Promise.)