Sadly, I appear to be a crap house keeper. Many, many years ago, I walked out on a life I hated. I felt like Tina Turner, I walked away with just my name. It was the only time in my life when I was a complete door mat. Ha ha, look how that turned out.
My ex still manages to find new ways to annoy me. Some people really need a hobby. However, I manage to annoy myself by pandering to the crap. I wonder why I do? I suspect it’s probably just habit. The only reason that man even comes up on my radar is that we managed to produce some wonderful offspring – the only good thing to come out of my door mat era.
The list of threats is often quite entertaining
- Legal action – I’d like to see him find suitable grounds
- Prevent contact with the children – they have a say in things
- Making things difficult to me – like they could be any harder?
I am weary. I am weary of banality and mediocrity. I am weary of the life I never seem able to leave behind. I am weary of those who use, manipulate and abuse. I am weary of small-minded, parochial people who have nothing else to do than gossip. I just need to cane someone REALLY REALLY hard!
Earlier in the year, a close friend passed away peacefully. It is strange how different people react to bereavement. Looking back, I probably became very withdrawn in an effort to blot out the loss. If I don’t think about it, it did not happen. Sometimes I use the same mentality with annoying slaves – if I put them in the cupboard, I can’t see them and they can’t annoy me.
Over the last few months, the usual observations have been made of me. Apparently I am……
- Independent – sometimes too independent
- Cold (yes and I wear big jumpers too)
- Distant (probably because I’m trying to get away from you)
- Hard work – really? Well you are hardly a barrel of laughs
- Cheesy – that’s a new one, I have yet to come up with a suitable retort
I am most of those things, I agree, but like I said before, walk a mile in my shoes – I seriously challenge anyone to walk a mile in my killer heels and still smile at the end. I am always up front about my nature. Apparently women marry men hoping to change them and men marry women hoping they won’t change. I’ll NEVER change and don’t even get me started on the idea of compromise.
The strange thing about someone dying is that their life becomes reduced to mundane minutiae and legal documents. The house that this person resided in needed to be emptied. I agreed to help. It was surreal having to go through someone else’s intimate spaces and be objective. Note to self: Make sure someone has a key to my house in the event of my demise to get rid of any incriminating evidence before my family turn up!
I am and have always been a very organised person. I like order, structure, discipline, lists, categories. My sock drawer is always tidy but even still, I feel very uncomfortable thinking that someone may have to go through it someday. I’ll be dead at that point so I should not really care. Maybe I should leave a huge mess behind just to annoy everyone!
Walk a mile in my shoes – then you are a mile away, you have my shoes and I am unlikely to go after you.
The expression comes from seeing things from someone else’s perspective – a talent I have yet to possess. I am an extremely independent woman with a schedule that would make even Barack Obama feel tired. Sadly I don’t possess a team of people chasing around after me pandering to my every whim. I don’t really have whims anyway, I have terms and conditions.
The ordinary me is quite ordinary. I don’t live in an ivory tower or on a pedestal – don’t blame me if you put me there yourself. The stairs in those towers are just too hard to manage in stilettoes. Kirsty MacCall put it in her own unique way with her wonderful song – “In these shoes?”. I’m not long back from a fabulous trip to an overseas club with an amazing metal winding stair case – I was in awe of a gorgeous female sub who managed the stairs in ENORMOUS heels, a skin tight, very restrictive dress and a head collar.
For so many reasons, my professional dominant life is still in the cupboard. I cannot change my personality but I can temporarily change my profession, my living environment and the country I reside in. The past few years have been incredibly turbulent. My once black hair now has its own natural highlights. I think I might cultivate my grey steak like Morticia Addams. I envy Rip Van Winkle – he slept through his problems.
I have been officially banned from running! The pain in my ankles finally got so bad, I thought I’d better do something about it. It turned into a case of “why do you hit your head against the wall? ” Answer – “because it feels so good when I stop!” I’d be prouder if I had been banned for cheating or using illegal substances. An injury is a bit of a pathetic excuse.
I love running, always handy to be fit in case you have to make a swift exit. The ban is official for about 3 months. Quite amazing how tempting and desirable something becomes once it’s a forbidden activity. Ironically, most of the problems have been caused from wearing heels – although I have not been able to wear heels for many months. I am banned from Dominatrix style footwear also – jeez not many pleasures left in life.
I shall to satisfy myself with simply resting my old-lady legs on my slave’s back and, maybe for a change, actually doing what I’m supposed to do. Lets see how long that lasts!
I am often fascinated by alternative purposes for ordinary, every day household items. A stroll through the aisles of B&Q can be enough to furnish a dungeon from floor to ceiling, without minimum outlay. I thought I had seen and used most every day things. I like being able to have my “dungeon” on display.
Can you imagine my delight when I found yet another wonderful item to add to my armory? The humble (well not so humble) body roller. What a simple and quite compact item but what pain it can inflict as I discovered to my chagrin.
After a particularly taxing exercise class, we were instructed to simply roll our bodies over the roller – how hard could it be? At one point, I felt like someone was sticking a red hot poker into my leg! With a little imagination, this unassuming item can inflict the most unbelievable and blissful pain on a consenting slave and I can relax in the knowledge that it is actually good for them.
I have to borrow a client’s glasses to read the menu and review the marks left behind on their ass.
I look wistfully at my stilettos and then have to settle for flat riding boots instead.
I start designing my own range of thermal fetish wear.
I start moaning about draughts – see above.
I notice my PCV cat suit seems a bit more snug recently.
I prefix sentences with “In my day, slaves did this……..”
slaves keep looking younger.
I complain about the price of rubber.
I can’t remember where I left my last slave!
I have often pondered upon the mindset of a submissive; how pleasure is gleaned from being humiliated and tortured. It is a world that I simply do not understand but I am always happy to be the torturer.
However, the shoe was very much on the other foot recently. I have picked up two rather frustrating sports injuries and close to despair, I finally sought out the help of a physical therapist. It is rare for me to use expletives, needless to say, this poor girl had to listen to my gutter language as she manipulated my ankles. According to her, she was being gentle. I have used such words and lied through my teeth.
If she had issued me with a safe word, I would have used it over and over. I was subjected to walking around in my underwear and socks – trust me, not a glamorous look as she surveyed my posture and locomotion. Then I was instructed to submit myself to her hands and hope for the best.
I’m still hobbling around and have to ensure several more sessions. She could earn so much more by simply changing her outfit. I’ll bring a leather belt to bite down on next time.
I keep humming Andy Williams, Almost There in my head these days. I am almost there with another major research project, hence the long silence.
In order to keep my trusted computer running smoothly, I keep an eye on the crap that invades my hard drive and uninstall it with surgical precision. Why can I not apply the same ruthlessness to a stupid t*sser ex-boyfriend of several years that keeps invading my inbox?
My strategy has been thus so far
Ignore the emails – does not work
Reply with hostility – does not work
Reply with pragmatic reasoning – does not work
Ask someone else to reply on my behalf – does not work
Report to the authorities – does not work
Mark as spam – does not work
Suggestions are most welcome.
Fortunately since dumping this loser several years ago, I have moved so at least I can rest somewhat assured that I won’t be waking up to some nutter on the doorstep (yet again).