I keep coming to post, and nothing comes out.  There is nothing to say and too much to say.

I’ve managed to get seven blogs back on my reader. (the feed list thingy will NOT import because the file type is unrecognizable or something, so I’m stuck trying to gather you all back up, and it’s too much work.  Blech.)  So, anyway, I feel out of the loop, and I feel confused in my relationship.

I’ve voiced all my confusion, though, so it’s only a matter of hearing back from him.  I’ve heard back on one point – perhaps the most important one…

It’s time to plan another visit out there.  Thank fuck.

I can’t go so long without seeing him again.  It is just not good enough.  As I said to my friend Itty the other day, “I’m barely holding it together with this long-distance crap.  I need a flesh and blood relationship now.  This bullshit is fucking over.”  And Itty said, “You are handling it much better than I would be.  I’d be in permanent freak-out mode.  Come to think of it, how are you NOT in permanent freak-out mode?”

I don’t know.  But I think I’m getting there.

I’ve had sex dreams for the past three nights.  (I think I’ve reached a critical level of horniness, fyi.)

Anyhow, I texted Antonio this morning to tell him about last night’s dream.  I mentioned that he was mean in the dream because we were fooling around and I had my hands on his cock, and then RIGHT before we were going to have sex, he jumped out of the bed and went to talk to someone else, totally naked (and sporting some sexy tattoos, I might add) in the room.  I was pissed – I wanted the sexing, dammit!

I got this text in reply:

You had your hands on my cock? What, were you jerking me off?  SUCK, BITCH, SUCK!

O_O

Well… I’ll just pass that along to my unconscious brain, then, Sir…

(I’m still giggling, imagining him actually incensed that my dream-self wasn’t properly pleasing his dream-self.  Man, that cracked me up…)

(I’m BAAAACK!  It was a bit of a hassle getting everything up and running on the computer, and my feed apparently has like 38 new posts in it and I’m overwhelmed thinking about reading it all, but I’m back.  Here is some musing junk I typed into my iPhone notes late one evening, expanded.)

I have fantasies… Lots of ‘em.  Most of them are about sex or pain (or both) or raunchiness or things I’m not brave enough to do or ask for.

But some are darker.

And it’s the dark ones that fascinate me.

My darkest thoughts are about finding (normally catching in the act) Antonio with someone else.

I entertain these thoughts quite regularly, actually. 

I usually imagine a dark-haired woman, slightly older and much more beautiful than I am, in his arms.  (I don’t know why I imagine she has dark hair.  He’s always said he prefers fair skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes – which is me.  Maybe it’s just to make her exotic and different…)  I know this is not the darkest fantasy others might think about, but for me, it is.  It is the worst thing I can imagine happening.  So just substitute whatever you scariest, darkest thoughts are in for this, and indulge my musing, please?

I can never tell WHY I think about it.  Sometimes, I’m sure it’s because it is the most horrible thing I can imagine.  For me, and for us, honesty and monogamy are how we thrive.  I’m not saying that’s right, but it’s right for US.  Period. I feel so passionate about being faithful that infidelity is literally the worst thing I can imagine happening, aside from Antonio dying.

I also have a LONG history of self-harm.  I’ve burned and bruised myself to pulp.  I’ve chipped bones with the force of blows, and made bruises so big they grow to take on entire extremity, and then fall through my body, starting on my leg and falling over the weeks into my foot and toes, turning them black.  I have put myself in agonizing situations with emotional vampires – people who literally thrived on tearing my mind and heart apart and bleeding me dry.  Indescribable emotional cruelty.

So… Sometimes I’m sure I’m torturing myself in one of my last available outlets by imagining being cheated on by the love of my life.   Antonio won’t let me self-harm physically anymore.  And I think perhaps these fantasies of catching him with someone else, and knowing I mean so much less to him than I thought and so much less to him than he means to me, are my way of hurting myself.

But…

Sometimes I think I like that idea.  The incredible pain.  The soul-sucking horror.  The end of my happiness, my security, my confidence.  The destruction of the things he and I had worked so hard to build  – the creation of a functioning human.

But, it’s fantasy. Lines and edges are blurred by imagination.

Perhaps that’s the only place it works.

Because fantasy dissipates. Fantasy thrives only because I feed it. I am the master of my fantasy.  It lives in me, and it lives only because of me.

When the flushed skin, the mental escape, the overwhelming sensations are over, so the fantasy can be too. It cannot linger unless I nurture it – or Antonio nurtures it, of course.

Sometimes it’s deliciously scary or makes me question my sanity. Sometimes its embarrassing or makes me think I’m alone and strange. Sometimes it leaves me sobbing and drained, terrified and confused. 

But I keep going back to it.

On the whole, that dark fantasy is contained. It may infiltrate mundane activities, in my mind, but it cannot pervade or corrupt or alter my life in the same way the reality of it would.  Reality of infidelity would linger and drip and collide with all aspects of my life and my happiness. It would invade in hurtful, nasty and destructive ways. It would be tangible, and inescapable.  It would erode me until I crumbled.

Fantasy of something like that casts an eerie glow, reality casts a cold shadow.

Maybe that’s my edge play. Telling him what will hurt so badly I may not recover, and waiting to see if he wants to hurt me that badly or not.  Waiting to see how far he’d take something like that.  Waiting to see if he’d keep me safe… Or not. 

Maybe that’s the whole point – to release the demons I have worked so hard to harness, release them into his control and wait to see what he does.

I don’t know. I’m tired.  It’s been a long couple days, and tonight was… Draining.  Strange.  Confusing.  Scary.

I’ve saved everything and Harrison is about to wipe this computer. (He’s reformatting the other one right now.)  YAY!

Speaking of this computer, innit pretty?

(Click for big, if you enjoy pictures of ELECTRONIC PAAAAAIN.)

My monitor is divorcing itself from my laptop.  Literally as I type this, the screen is waggling about, making last demands and shouting insults at the motherboard, I assume.

Now, I won’t pretend to be surprised.  This computer is a lemon.  I got it a little over four years ago.  (Well, I got the original then, but we’ll get to that.)

It arrived broken.  Well, okay, not broken.  But a pixel was out on the screen.  I had purchased a four-year on-site warranty, so I called them up. 

They explained they don’t replace monitors with fewer than five pixels out.

I explained I don’t purchase broken computers, and requested they tell me how to return my laptop so I could go buy one from someone else.

They asked for my address, and sent out a repair guy the next day.

Thus began the shittiest relationship of my life.  In the first two+ years, my computer had a further FIFTEEN service dispatches. And that just numbers the times they had to send someone to replace something.  Hard drives and power cords and DVD drives they just mailed to me. It’s had (as far as I can remember, but I know I’m leaving things out) 2 LCD screens, 2 DVD drives, 3 hard drives, 3 keyboards, 6 power cords, 5 motherboards, and 2 new plastic casings put on the bottom after repair guys broke them from having to open my computer up so frequently. 

Eventually, Dell conceded that my computer was a practicing cannibal. 

They offered a “complete system replacement” meaning they had to send me a brand new computer.  I accepted since, after nearly three years, they weren’t making my computer anymore, so I believed this new one would be MUCH better.

Ha.  Hahahaha.  Tell that to monitor as it packs its shit and breaks the casing and FALLS off the computer as it’s doing THIS VERY MINUTE.

Dell sucks huge, hairy goat balls, as far as I’m concerned.

Thankfully, my mother ALSO thinks Dell sucks huge, hairy goat balls and went out and bought herself a brand new Mac Powerbook with an external keyboard, mouse, and 24” monitor.  (24” screens are huge, btw.  At least to me.  My brother has one nearly that big and still sees fit to have dual monitors)  Anyway, her new shit now functions as a desktop and a laptop for her, so she ditched her old desktop (gave it to my bro, Harrison) and her old laptop (gave it to me!!!)

It’s a piece of shit, I have to admit.  But it will work.

All I gotta do is get my stuff from this computer onto my external hard drive, then have Harrison wipe this computer, and have him reformat my mom’s old laptop. 

However, since it can take me up to three days to get him to do so much as empty the dishwasher, this may take a while.  Perhaps not SO long if I promise he can wrench open my old laptop and fuck around with it when he’s done.  But…

Still.

Anyway, I was gonna get to impy, molten, and Dante comments but Harrison has JUST walked through the door, fresh from face-punching class.  (Boxing?  Jujitsu? Striking?  One of those.  I just call them all “face-punching class”.”  Mainly because he does too.)

So wish me luck making him help me!  I’ll catch ya’ll later.  *throws gang symbols*

If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all, right?

Well… In that case…

Over and out.

Antonio has feakishly accurate powers of observation.  He is able to predict and interpret human ambition, intellect, bias, desire, and motivation.

With me, since he has access to ALL kinds of information, he is downright terrifying in his ability to read me.  It’s a fabulous quality in a dominant partner, that’s for sure.

I don’t match him in this ability.  But I see things he doesn’t pay attention to.  I watch where people rest their fingertips.  I watch how they hold their shoulders when they’re tired.  I observe quietly and completely, but my skills are… Different. 

Because he has instilled in me a love of analogy – Antonio’s knowledge functions like an encyclopedia, and mine like a book of trivia.  He is looking for the bigger picture with a person as a whole, implications and connections, how he can use the information.  His skills are more useful than mine in the world, and more useful to a dominant.

However, my skills let me read Antonio in ways that are useful to me, and to him.  I know when he’s tired.  I know when he’s pissed.  I know when he is irritated, or when he wants to relax.  (Unfortunately, I can’t always tell you WHY, and I tend to freak out over that part, or invent reasons that don’t exist, but still.)  I know when he’s taken a nap and when he hasn’t slept as much as he’d like to.

It is useful to me because he doesn’t always feel the need to share this information with me. But sometimes it amuses him that I can figure certain stuff out.  For example, we were on the phone the other night.  I couldn’t see him, smell him, see his fridge, his table, his hand.  I don’t know what he did when he went on errands.  I have very little information at my fingertips a thousand miles away.

Over the phone, I heard him stifle a burp.  Now, this is not unusual or anything – people burp, including Antonio.  And often when he’s on the phone he won’t go for maximum volume right into the mouthpiece.

But… There was just something about the way it sounded.  My brain registered and before I fully knew WHY I was saying it, I said, “Did you have a beer tonight?” 

(I only put it as a question to be polite.  I KNEW he had, even though he hadn’t had a beer in a month – he doesn’t drink when he’s working and working out a lot.)

He replied, “No, I haven’t.  *pause*  Wait!  Yes, I did have a beer.  I bought a six-pack and decided I’d just drink one now… Wow… Wow.  How did you know that?”

“You burped…  You’d had a beer.”

He laughed for a while and said, “Sometimes I forget how closely you watch me.”

I sometimes forget too.  It’s just second nature. 

Here is my current situation, in bullet-form:

• I have no money. My car payment is late and my bank account is bleak. Life sucks when you’re poor. I’m getting by, but barely.  Things should get better if I can tutor more, and I’m working for Mom at least 20 hours next week and that’s $400  cash right there.
• I have no car.  The break lights are out and I have to wait for m father to fix them – and he’s traveling for the next week. I’m borrowing my brother’s car in the meantime, strictly to get to work and back.
• I work all the damn time as is… PLUS…
• I promised my boss I’ll cover shifts if (when) the other overnight girl at work gets terminated (which will be Sunday night or Monday morning) because I DESPERATELY need the overtime.  And my assistant manager was put on probation yesterday.  We may be two staff short come Monday, and we only have six staff members. 
• Antonio is driving (a looong way) to his hometown because of a family situation.  He will be about 5 hours from where I live.

Now, I felt secretly whiny about this…  Knowing he would be within driving distance of me and I wouldn’t get to see him?  That was hard.  But I knew this was him-and-his-family time.  Not me-and-him time. 

So I busied myself with work, I planned to have stuff to do.  AND, as if to really drive the point home, this week I ended up with absolutely no money, and no car.  I was thinking, well, it’s for the best.  I couldn’t have seen him even if I wanted to.  I’m stuck, so he may as well have been on the moon this weekend.  All is well.

Right?  Ha, no.

Because yesterday he asked me what my work schedule was going to be like next week.  I told him I had no idea owing to the fact that a third of the staff was probably going to be fucked up, fired, on probation or whatever.  So my schedule is up in the air until Monday when the office opens and decides the fate of the stupider members of staff at our house.  Being as my manager said to me the other night, “You do know there are only two normal people working here.  And we’re talking to each other…” I have basically put myself on call in case she needs me…

Then he said, “I was thinking of having you meet me after work Monday morning. We could hang the day (and night) and then you can be back home (or work) the next day.”

That was enough to want to make me shoot myself.  But did he stop there?  No… No of COURSE he didn’t. He promised me all kinds of filthy things.  He promised no mercy for my mouth or ass.  He promised to smack the ever-loving shit out of me.  He promised to treat me like a whore, and he promised to really push my abilities to drink piss.

And the thing is?  Short of me walking out on my job, robbing a bank, and stealing a car – I just don’t know how I can possibly get to him on Monday. I can’t, in fact.  I have no car, I have no money, I have commitments to be on-call for work.

But SWEET MARY MOTHER OF FUCK...  I NEED to see him.

I feel like a highly trained dog behind a piece of bullet-proof glass, watching my owner beckon me from the other side.  I feel like a magnet, aching, longing, needing to press against nearby metal, but there is something between us, preventing the union I’m seeking with every fiber of my being.

And last night, he said, “Well, I guess I won’t be seeing you on Monday.”  Like it was nothing.  “That’s life” he says.  Like he doesn’t care.  “Oh well,” he says, like it meant nothing to him to begin with.

I know that’s just how he handles everything.  Once a Marine, always a Marine, and he doesn’t bitch and moan.  EVER. It’s just not part of his makeup to EVER whine or sulk or get upset over things he can’t control. He just ACCEPTS it.  Almost with no emotion.  Maybe that’s because he exercises such precise control over the things he CAN control.  I don’t know.  All I know is he brushed off the news that we couldn’t see each other like it was just a crumb on his shirt.

But me?  I feel absolutely fucking gutted.  I’ve cried twice this morning already.  (Which sucks doubly because while doing some yard work the other day, I managed to get poison ivy on my fucking EYELID.  I hate life right now, can you tell?)  Yesterday, before I talked to him, I was just upset, and a bit desperate.  Today?  I feel so lousy I don’t know where to begin.  I just HURT. 

This is MY fault, but not because of anything I did or didn’t do.  I feel like I have dropped the ball, I have screwed up, I have FAILED.  And yet?  Unlike in another situation where I may have failed, there isn’t anything I can do to fix this and there isn’t anything I could have done to prevent it.  I can usually sit and lament the things I did wrong, but I can’t even do that this time.

We won’t see each other, and though I didn’t create the situation, it is on ME.

I am guilty, but not responsible.

I can tell you this much – it doesn’t feel much better than just plain “guilty.”

I wrote out a 1,000+ word SEETHING entry, and I can’t post any of it.  It has nothing to do with blogging or BDSM, but it would shed too much light on where I live. 

I also can’t post about my recent “artistic” endeavors, because they would shed too much light on my insanity.  (Anyone who has seen my artistic endeavors is welcome to reassure me, and the world, that I am NOT insane.  Or just be quiet.  Confirmations of my insanity will NOT be tolerated.)

So… I have nothing to talk about.

I am le tired, btw.

Speaking of “le tired” does everyone remember The End of the World Flash?

It has to be one of my favorite internet sensations of ALL time.  In fact, my mother, brother and I all say “Ho-kay” instead of “Okay” to this very day, as a direct result of that Flash animation.

It changed my goddamn life.