I’ve been quiet/absent for a while.  I’ve just been hangin’ out, you know, chillin’ like a villain, yo.

*throws gang symbols*

Okay, fine, that’s not true.  (The villain part, at least.  But I AM ghetto-fabulous, and I can totally throw gang symbols.  Werd.)

Basically, I’ve been struggling with… Everything. First, my computer shat the bed for a few days.  And, in awesomer news, I’m currently under FOUR punishments, layered neatly on top of one another.

1. I can’t bake. For anyone, period. (Sulking over this, because I wanted to do a granola bar post.)
2. My daily schedule has to be 500 words long, even when I have nothing to say. (My schedule has always been my one place to vent, to pick and choose my words to my liking, to express without fear or restraint or  rules.  It was my safe place.  Now it’s not.  It’s under regulation. And the pain of knowing this  lingers like a deep bruise.)
3. I haven’t spoken a word, outside of email and text, to Antonio for sixty-nine hours.  (He said this was a “48-hour” punishment, btw.  Just sayin’.)
4. I’m not allowed to ask a co-worker if she can switch one shift a week with me for the rest of the summer.

That last one sounds small, but trust me, it’s HUGE to me.  It essentially means I won’t be able to see my friends and family in normal social situations.  And then I’ll move 1,000 miles away from them. For good.

I’m struggling with this one, big time.  I have my own beliefs on the severity of our miscommunication (my crime) vs. the severity of the punishment.  They don’t mesh with Antonio’s, obviously.

And since he wears he Master hat, he gets to be right, no matter what.

And I know.  It’s what I signed up for.  I know that.

I WANT -so badly- to accept this punishment with grace.  I do I do I do.

But that want isn’t quite holding back the trickles of resentment, the “but, but, he’s WRONG” feelings, or the hot tears that spring to my eyes every time I think of leaving my family and the 26 years I have spent knowing no matter how far I traveled – they were my home…

I am desperately, soul-achingly sad about this.

I mean, I have lived in several cities and towns in several states.  It’s not like I never left.  But this was always HOME to me.  And for the first time ever, it won’t be anymore.  I won’t ever go back here, except to “visit” and…It’s such a big step forward, and I’m so happy to be making it and making it permanently.

BUT… I want the switch so much – I want to spend one night a week with my loved ones here at “home” before this is no longer my home.  I can’t seem to come to peace with not being allowed to find out if my work will let me switch the nights over my own stupidity and a simple miscommunication.

That is my punishment – I have to maintain the schedule I have now until I move.  And I’m going to admit to you all right now, I don’t have a goddamn clue how to TRULY be at peace with it because it feels (not saying it IS – just that it FEELS) wildly unfair, and incredibly painful.

I do know, however, that Antonio is the most important thing in my life – past, present, and future.  He matters more than everyone, everything, and everywhere else – combined.  And while I don’t know how to be at peace with this punishment, how to accept it with grace, I do know I WILL figure it out.  Because I will not fail him.

(per usual, click pic for big!)

While I continue to debate passworded posts, I’d like to share my FAVORITE thing that happened while Antonio was here.

I got my collar back!

(*coughs* It has, er, come to my attention… that this information probably would have made more sense and resonated more deeply with you guys if I had… say… actually mentioned on January 13th, when it happened, that I lost the privilege of wearing my collar, and was told I couldn’t have it back until Antonio put it on me personally. If I ever invent time travel, I promise the FIRST thing I’ll do is change that. Because having appropriate priorities is important!)

I went seventy-five miserable days without my collar. And now I have it back. I’m happy as hell, and determined not to lose my amazing status symbol again. That’s what it is to me, a status symbol. Low status and high status, or something… I bet I won’t be able to explain this properly.

I’m just so damn proud to wear it. I know a collar symbolizes slavery, and being property, etc. And it does, yes … But for me, it’s an all-good kind of symbol. It’s not humiliating or hurtful or annoying or anything. (Ain’t saying those are bad things, yanno.) There are things we do that symbolize my submission and slavery and my status as property that are humiliating and forced and gross and ergh. But those are temporary situations. Words, actions, days, hours, activities… But my ever-constant reminder? The one that never leaves? My every-single-waking-minute symbol? My collar? It’s just the fuzzy-happy-good stuff. I LOVE it and there is nothing about it that feels forced. AGAIN, not that the things that feel forced feel BAD… Ergh. See? I can’t explain anything right. Just PRETEND I make sense, kay? Thaaaaanks.

It almost feels the collar is for ME, not him. I’m sure he likes it, but if he needed me to wear a collar to feel I was properly owned, I’d think that was sort of silly. It’s my symbol of my pride and joy and I feel more “allowed” to wear it rather than being “forced” or “required” to wear it, yanno? There is no element of force, or any of that “I’m unwilling… but willing. consensual non-consent” stuff. I mean, I like that stuff. It’s just got nothing to do with my collar. My collar is my happy place. (EDIT… Incidentally, I’m curious… While I “have” to wear my collar, I honestly never FEEL like it’s a requirement. I feel, primarily, that it’s a privilege. How do you guys FEEL about your collars, if you wear them? Or any equivalent symbol? Is it a symbol you both decided on together, both wanted, etc.? Is there an element of choice in wearing it? I mean, obviously there are situations where one can’t wear a collar, that’s not really what I’m talking about. I guess I mean… How much rides on the collar. Does anyone use it as a pawn, a bargaining chip? If it’s thrown off in anger, would there be retaliation or an eye roll? Would it mean anything to take it off without permission or necessity? Does anyone hate their collar, and wear it simply because it’s required? ***A MILLION OTHER QUESTIONS GO HERE*** All I know is how I feel about mine. I’m VERY curious about everyone else!)

If I lose it, I’m still his. It is a symbol. Nothing more, nothing less. If he takes it off me? It means he’s taking away my status symbol, taking away a reward, removing a comfort, removing a reassurance, removing my security and telling me to up my game. It doesn’t mean I’m not his. That would take, yanno, an actual conversation. Running up behind a someone and putting a collar on ‘em would not make you their owner. So it doesn’t work the other way around, either. (YES.  I KNOW I just misused a plural pronoun.  I DO NOT CARE!  Okay… Fine… I care a great deal.  But it looks STUPID with “his/her” and “him/her” in there… *sulk*)

(And, for the record, this losing the collar thing doesn’t happen often with us. I think this is the first serious collar removal I’ve had. It’s a pretty serious punishment because of how deeply I LOVE my collar, not because it actually affects our relationship. Things I DO affect our relationship, not things I wear.)

But, in any case, I think I had a point here… I mean, most likely not. I rarely have points. But still.

I have my collar back. It’s a simple black leather dog collar.

I am, in a word, rhapsodic.

(My hair was really, really dark in that picture, btw. Yikes. And I have a scar on my neck that bothers the hell out of me. Grrrrrr.)

Ever been in a situation where you’ve got multiple orders contradicting one another? I’m assuming I’m not the only one. However, I MIGHT be the only one who mulls over the intricacies of just such a situation like it’s going outta style. (In related news, it’s frequently brought to my attention that I am a bit neurotic.)

This post was a whole lot longer. Explaining what I did and why, but I don’t think that part is actually important. (It’s not that I mind sharing, I don’t, it’s just boring and not really the point and I’m KILLING myself trying to make a short post for once.)

I chose the lesser of two evils. I broke one rule to prevent breaking bigger rules.

But it FEELS kinda wrong. It feels wrong to decide, on my own, which rules and orders are “more important” than others. In this instance, it wasn’t that big a deal. It was a minor offense, and I wasn’t punished for it, because (I think) he saw it as I did – me making a choice I had to make.

And I know I can’t be this useless pile of goo who can’t do anything on her own.  Being a slave doesn’t mean I can be useless when the time comes to make choices.  I know that.  I just…  *squirms*  I am uncomfortable making all the decisions I made, all by my lonesome.

I decided I had no other decent options other than to break a rule.

I also decided which rule was more important than the other.

I further decided it was okay to willingly break a rule and face the punishment instead, if it meant preventing bigger rule-breaking.

And that last one is what really got me, I think.

I honestly think I was okay given my circumstances this time. I did what I had to do, when unable to get input from him. Antonio seems to think so too.  I’m not upset about what I did, or why.  Not this time.  I’m just musing…

Because it seems like a bit of a slippery slope from “I had to do break the rule” to “Yeah, that’s right, I broke the rule ‘cause I’d rather just have the punishment… What’s it to ya, punk?”

I don’t ever want to catch myself being told, “Do as I say, or face punishment” and feeling as if it’s an actual choice.

It’s not a choice… It can’t be a choice…  Right?  I mean, RIGHT?!?!  No choices like that for me, thanks!  Do Not Want!

I want to think I don’t get to choose between doing what he says and punishment. He’s not offering them both up for me to barter with myself and my desires. I am NOT being offered an either or situation. I do not have the option to choose punishment!

But, yanno, technically, I do.

I CAN just fail on purpose, or go against orders for the hell of it and earn the punishment instead. And that irritates the hell out of me.

I mean, I’m comfortably buffered by the simple fact that knowing I’ve let him down is something I never want to do.  Ever. When he is disappointed in me, I writhe mentally (and okay, fine, sometimes physically) and hate the entire effing world. I’m melodramatic as all get out, I know, but it feels like nothing is right in my world, and I may as well just drop dead a few times because I’m already a rotting, stinking, putrid cesspool of fail.

Have I failed before? Sure have. Have I not given something my full attention? Yup. Have I forgotten, misunderstood, or generally just sucked at stuff? Check, check, and check. I’ve probably even sabotaged my own efforts because I can be a hormonal, moronic wench.  And the other night, I purposely broke a rule because I felt I had to.

I just don’t ever want to catch myself breaking a rule because I didn’t feel like trying.  I don’t ever want to think to myself, “Screw it, I choose punishment.”   That kinda scares me, you know?

I know it’s not something I have to concern myself with.  (I also know I just ended that sentence in a preposition.) In fact, I imagine if it began happening with any sort of regularity, it would signal something much larger was wrong in our relationship. And even being afraid of slipping down the slope inadvertently is probably silly of me.   The Man watches out for stuff like that and he enacts corrective/preventative measures long before the fall.  But still.  I worry anyway.

It’s a skill, I’m sure of it.

(Does this count as a short post?)