Today is a dick.

This week has been exhausting. Mentally, physically and emotionally.  I bought a new car to haul all my market crap around, had my plans messed up and missed my chance to go out and have fun, had (and still having) a pain flare up that has made me resort to hiding in bed most days and I spent my weekend feeling like shit and being too sore to go out and do anything, too bored because of it and having some kind of hormonal screw-up that rendered me chemically incapable of rational thought. I’m not just talking cranky and PMS-y.

Mako shark

Mako shark (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Thankfully, I don’t seem to PMS, but every now and again my body decides that it’s had enough stress to throw a wobbly and calls the Commies into the Fun house completely out of the blue. An unexpected Shark Week. I fell off multiple logs. Aunt Flo won’t piss off and go home. I’m sure you get the idea. Fortunately right now is not so serious. I’m not dealing with a war wound, mostly just feeling like I’ve been punched multiple times in the ovaries. I’ve employed the UN to initiate peace talks with my uterus and we’re in some pretty intense discussion about freedom of speech and who gets to do what on Tightarse Tuesdays.

What this means is that when I get emotional, it’s fucking nuts. In the space of ten minutes, I can go from tired, drowsy and generally lethargic to having a full-blown panic attack over the fact that I may have sneezed at the postman on a Thursday three weeks ago while polishing my brass monkey. I may or may not have been clad in frilly underwear and penis tassels at the time. It doesn’t matter.

We had to go out to the shopping centre this evening so I could get a few things and manthing could get stuff for burritos. He wanted burritos tonight. I inevitably was drawn to the ice cream isle. It was a beacon of cravings and sanity in the midst of a sea of hormones and mood swings. Unfortunately, my favourite kind of ice cream is boysenberry. In the last few years, this wondrous flavour has vanished off the shelves and I haven’t been able to find it anywhere. It’s some kind of conspiracy, I tell you. Point is, I went in seeking this delightful bitch of a dessert and failed. Fair enough. Next on my favourite flavours while hormonally unstable is some kind of caramel or honeycomb monstrosity. Hello diabeetus! Unfortunately, this also seems to have taken to hiding beyond the reach of my ravenous taste buds.

Fun with an Argon-ion and a He-Ne laser. Most ...

Fun with an Argon-ion and a He-Ne laser. Most of these photos are from around 2000-2001. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What I was presented with in the isle was not what I was hoping for. I was forced to choose between some kind of mess of flavours that sounded more like some kind of odd torture than a creamy dish. Burnt fig, inserted with the hearts of small children. Triple-choc-our-lawyers-say-this-can’t-be-served-on-Sundays. Ice cream with REAL FRUIT! – Right. Have you been putting the plastic stuff in up until now? Lite and Creamy! Allows you to shoot laser beams out of your eyes! Point is, my choices sucked. Being the emotional wreck that I was, I paced restlessly up and down the isle three times before manthing realised I was no longer behind him. He rolled the trolley up beside me and asked what was wrong. I imagine I looked somewhere between ravenous and exhausted. Probably not the best combination when added to my daggy track pants and hoodie with a mess of purple hair. I explained my predicament about the ice cream. I was faced with a decision that no PMS-ing woman should ever have to face – What kind of ice cream do I want to shovel into my face hole?

Honest to god, the concept alone infuriated me. By the time I was done, I was almost in tears. Yes, I nearly cried in the ice cream isle because I couldn’t make a decision. Five minutes of frantic pacing and peering into the frosty freezers was enough to make that little voice inside my head want to lock itself in a cabinet just to get away from the bitchy comments my brain was making about flavours.

“98% fat free, huh? You WOULD get that, you fatty!”

“Oh, yes. Get the fruit one. That will make eating an entire container SO much better!”

“Go on. Get the home brand stuff. It’s REAL classy”

“Look at that. It’s pretentious ice cream! Get that one and pretend that you’re not walking around here looking like a bogan.”

“You want the triple chocolate. Of course you do. I bet you also want to eat an entire cake and rub butter on your nipples, you sugar-whore!”

By the end of the ordeal, I had simply thrust my hand into the nearest cabinet and grabbed the first thing manthing suggested. I was done with this ice cream bullshit. I didn’t want that flavour, but like hell I was going to go back through the process of deciding. Actually, in all fairness, it wasn’t that bad. I mean, I still haven’t tried it since we came home and ended up going out fairly shortly after to help clean a house for an inspection, but that’s not the point.

The fact of the matter is that I have ice cream, Iron Man is best pony and my body is a complete dick. I also have no idea where I’m going with this post and have re-written it three times now. I’m going to go and make midnight burritos (fuck yeah!) and sneak spoons of ice cream into my mouth while nobody’s looking. Not that they’d care, but it tastes better when you’re under the impression that you’re not allowed to. Then pass out.

Have I ever told you how much I love my bed? Maybe that should be my next post “Poetry’s not dead – Ode to my bed”

Goodnight!

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Getting into the swing of things

Well, tonight was certainly an experience. I used my beginner’s trapeze class voucher this evening – the one manthing got me for my birthday this year.

Having always wanted to run away with the circus as a child, I was thrilled to get there and see the set-up they had. We went through a basic intro video, some warm ups and then we got to the fun part. We each got a highly fashionable harness belt and wrote our names down in the order we were going to soil ourselves in.

The group watched as each victim went forward and took their leap of faith, having a bit of a laugh and surely running over the ‘it looks easy’ mantra in our heads. However the moment I got clipped into the ladder, I realised shit was about to get real, especially given that I wasn’t allowed to wear my glasses.

It’s funny. At the top of a three story ladder, I was less worried about the height and more about how the ladder was secured to the platform. I started getting a little nervous when I had to manoeuvre myself around a suspended platform less than a metre wide, around two other people – one of which was a middle aged woman surely suppressing the urge to hug the spotter for dear life.

She had her turn and I was clipped in. I grabbed the bar, I bent at the knees and I took my dicky little jump off the platform. I soared like a valiant brick through the sky. I screamed through the air. Literally screamed. Never before in my life have I been so conflicted by emotion. I wanted to let go out of fear. I didn’t want to because dear god, harness be damned, that bar was the only thing between me and falling. I wanted to cry. I couldn’t see what was happening and I was equally as embarrassed about screaming like she-hulk as I ‘gracefully’ threw myself towards the ground via an over glorified rope swing.

Rinse and repeat several times. We were trying to do a few tricks, but my body just decided that it had enough fun for the day and refused to let me touch my toes mid air. On the upside, I tucked and rolled like a champ and did a backflip on a dismount. Go figure.

So, right now I cam proudly say that I’m still alive and feel like a champ, though my hands are burning like Satan himself voided his firey bowels over them and the rest of me is demanding something in a foreign language. But I did it. I’m also presently uploading the videos to youtube and will add some photos of my incredible, breathtaking descent towards the great net below. Also, apparently I’m feisty according to the trainer.

 

 

The fine line between pleasure and pain

A War of Nerves

A War of Nerves (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So, as you many have gathered, I spent Saturday night at a kink event. It was a very tame event in the scheme of things with a few play areas and more of a emphasis on dress and atmosphere than actual action. Now, kink is still a fairly new thing for me. This was maybe the 8th event I’ve been to, give or take a few, and at each event I go to, I make a point of trying to push my boundaries. I started off as a VERY coy, very reserved religious girl and since then, I’ve been able to use kink and the fetish lifestyle as a way to empower myself. I’ve been able to grow from my experiences and do a lot of learning – about both the world around me and the inner workings of my own mind.

Now, as mentioned, I have nerve issues. I have hypersensitive nerves to be precise. Do you ever get the horrible sensitive patches of skin when you get sick? What about sunburn? When you have a burn, touching the skin is a very, very delicate procedure. For me, I have good days and bad days. Some days I’m more or less like everyone else. On my bad days, however, the simple sensation of clothing is enough to hurt. If manthing were to lovingly stroke my arm more than three times in the same spot, it causes physical pain. A gentle bump, a change of temperature or even ongoing pressure like leaning on one’s hand can be enough to cause trouble.

This raises a big question: How does one manage these nerve issues when you’re kinky as hell?

One of the things that got me thinking last night was that my nerve issues mean that I’m pretty different to most people and it’s a lot more pronounced in the kink scene, especially when a lot of ‘play’ involves setting nerves off with various sensations.

While last night was a wonderful experience, at one point I ended up getting the business end of manthing’s riding crop across my back side. Now, this in itself was a novel experience as it’s the first time I’ve bared my bottom to a room full of strangers. It was by no means a “show and tell” event – everyone was going about their own business – but there were a handful of people in the room. Some would unabashedly stare at the unfolding scene and others would look over from their conversation with varying degrees of amusement and curiosity before going back to their discussion. I’m rather self conscious, so having strangers analyse my bare cheeks (as I’m convinced that is what they were doing!) is a bit of a terrifying prospect. However, the sharp impact of a riding crop makes for a fantastic distraction from this line of thought.

Now, being my horrible cheeky self, I wriggled my bum. I do that when I’m pleased. Kind of like a little bit of a tail wag and a grin. Unfortunately this time it was poorly timed on my part and meant that manthing’s swing of the crop landed outside of his target zone. As a matter of fact, I was the unwilling recipient of leather right to the… well, the butt hole. For a brief moment, it felt like Satan himself had violated me. I squealed like a stuck pig and clutched my bum. Once manthing worked out what had happened, he (and the people around us) laughed. I was laughing albeit in a “oh god, did that just happen?” way.

There was a woman sitting next to the chair I was leaning over, highly entertained by all of this. When I leaned back over the chair to submit myself to another round of buttock-beating, this time without the assault of my chocolate starfish, I had a playful bitch about manthing being more gentle this time. Now, he knew well that I was merely poking fun at the situation and smiled. However, the woman next to me responded with “Just bend over and take it already! Stop complaining!”

In hindsight, I’m sure she was only trying to do the same – make light of the events that had unfolded. To put it bluntly, shit happens and it’s a real test of character as to how you deal with an accident like this one. I wasn’t badly hurt or bleeding, I wasn’t in tears. I was just very self conscious and had my pride rather battered. When I heard her comment, a thought occurred to me: These people don’t know about my nerve issues. They probably think I’m a complete bitch and can’t handle even light pain.

From that moment, the fun stopped. I immediately felt like shit. Manthing and I stopped playing and, though I was still smiling and laughing, internally I felt awful. Like I was some kind of fake for having put on that little impromptu display. I sat back down in my chair and reserved myself to quietly watching the faces and actions of other people in the room like I could somehow gauge their thoughts of me from what I could see. The woman that had made the comment got up and walked off without a second thought. It was an offhand remark that was of no more consequence than that friendly nod she made to a familiar face as she walked off down the stairs.

I fretted.

So many thoughts flooded my head. What’s the point of even playing with manthing if my nerves cause me so much trouble? Surely he can’t be having any fun. How can I engage in any impact play if this is the result? How on earth can I then handle needle play? It doesn’t make sense. Has this issue been affecting my relationship with manthing this whole time? I feel like shit because of all of this. Surely I have to deserve the feeling, right? How will I ever be able to play with someone outside manthing? Would anyone even be willing to understand my issues?

I’d be too much work.

So, I sat in the corner and went through what was bothering me. For one, manthing wouldn’t play with me in the first place if he didn’t get enjoyment out of it. Yes, he has to be careful and yes, I do have some limitations that vary from day to day. But this has never made him go “No, I don’t want to do this with you.” I trust him enough that if something like that came up, he’d talk to me about it.

Needle play? Impact play? Any kind of kink activity that involves stimulating nerves needs to be approached differently with me. I can look at this issue one of two ways. On one hand I can adopt the “Life and everything sucks” attitude where I look at how my condition impacts me negatively – like only being able to take so many floggings, or having areas that make me cry and others I can barely feel. OR, I can be a champion and look at things this way:

I’m different. I am fun. If you learn about my nerves, you can have me utterly melting with a single nail to a nerve line. If you take the time to appreciate and learn how different I am, we can both have SO much fun! I have a nerve between my legs that, when hit, makes my entire right leg twitch. It’s hilarious and enough to drive me nuts in a good way.

I’m the one being hard on myself here. Frankly, the opinions of the people in the room don’t count for shit. I’m not in a relationship with them. They have NO impact on my life at the moment and since they didn’t even take the time to say hi or ask my name, they can go and rotate. The woman that made the remark doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know how amazing I am. She will likely never know how fantastic and incredible my body is because I’m so different. Balls to her. All the balls. Big, sweaty, hairy ones on her forehead.

The same thing goes for potential play partners. I won’t have time for anyone that won’t spend a while learning about me and the way I function. If they don’t want to learn, then that’s it. I have no obligation whatsoever to play with anyone I don’t feel safe or comfortable with and, in this situation safety involves knowing ME. It’s about more than just being able to swing a crop. It’s about developing a connection with your play partner and making sure ALL parties involved are having fun.

Now, thanks to a weather change here, I feel awful. I’ve been hit by a truck at some point today and due to the lack of sleep, my painkillers are making me feel pretty close to drunk so I’m not really certain how articulate I am right now, or whether anything I’ve said makes sense. Point is, I feel good about myself and I managed to put down an entire blog post today.

Yay me 😀

Spring is here!

It is now Spring here in Australia. What better excuse for a fresh start?

 

It’s been a while since I last updated this blog. For many reasons, it’s a very good thing. It gave me a chance to think a lot of things over without just simply venting them. It gave me a chance to work out what I’d like to do with this blog and how I’d like other people to relate to it. It also gave me more motivation to actually do something about this.

 

So, without further ado, I’d like to make this blog a bit of a light-hearted point for people with chronic illnesses to come along and have a laugh. I’d like to be able to have a weekly video blog about my life, my business and my little achievements. Things that made me smile. I’ll still be drawing those comics. Right now, I’m aiming for one a week, or one every few days. Eventually, I’d like to get back into making one a day and hopefully go about improving my art skills while I’m at it. Most importantly, I want to be able to share what it’s like to live in my life. I want to have a place to share my good days and the little bits that make me proud, but I also want a place where I can express frustration, anger or sadness over some of the trials day-to-day life brings me.

 

I want to be able to connect with the community here and the greater community across other sites, those that are in the same crap boat as I am, those that are curious as to what it’s like living with a chronic illness or those that just want to come along and follow a little bit of my life. I encourage readers to ask questions, to respond to things that resonate with them and to just share something that might make them laugh 🙂

 

So, I’ve made a deal with myself about this and I very much plan on sticking to it. Who knows where this could lead…