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Random (but connected) Rambling

April 25th, 2008

Had a shit day at work and I’m utterly burnt out. “Eight more hours and then I have five days off.” is the mantra playing over and over in my head but, after 94 hours with only one day off, five days seems like too small a prize. I know one thing for sure. Minimum wage employees should not be made to miss their scheduled lunch to chase around inspectors while the administrator sits on her ass in the office. ::nods emphatically:: Master’s threatened to make me quit twice today. I’ve seriously considered begging Him to.

This, too, shall pass.

The days are slipping by like wildfire. I can’t believe it’s already the end of April.

I don’t really have much to talk about today. I’ve been slacking in my fodder gathering. I suppose I could talk about the beating I got the other day. I always feel like there really isn’t much to tell or I don’t tell the story well enough or something lol

I didn’t take a single minute of it with grace. I was crying while I was putting the suspension cuffs on. I cried while He hooked the clips to the rings over the closet door. I cried when He stuffed the gag (not the burning one, though!) in my mouth. You’d think I didn’t like these things.

He started with the kangaroo flogger which is usually my favorite but I was already so convinced it was going to be way worse than I could handle that I had completely psyched myself out. I just wasn’t in a good place mentally or emotionally by that point.

He switched twice. I think once was to the heavier flogger that He made Himself and then to the knotty cat. Oddly enough, at first I was almost enjoying the knotty cat (I don’t usually. I’m all about thump and that thing stings like a motherfucker.). I had even almost pulled myself out of my funk (I typed fuck at first.), which is next to impossible when my emotional state is already that far gone. Till He changed His technique! And then I was right back where I started.

He asked me the next day why I didn’t seem into it. I told Him honestly that I really wasn’t. After I finally fessed up to having a problem. I told you I’m a stuffer.

It’s partly my father’s fault. His technique for attempting to teach me not to scream at people when I was upset was to tell me, once I was already so upset I was crying hysterically, if I couldn’t speak in a normal, even tone he didn’t want to hear it. Every time I started again if my voice was even slightly higher than whatever he considered “normal” and “even” he’d cut me off and repeat himself. So I stopped talking.

When he wasn’t around, my mom would let me scream. She’d watch me while I flipped out and pretend to take in every word I said. When it was done, it was like it never happened. She walked away content that I’d gotten whatever it was out of my system and I walked away feeling silly for screaming but better since I’d let it out.

Sometimes a girl just needs to scream. Maybe I should start going to ball games again.

Master’s so much like my father it’s sickening. It’s like the gods made two people out of the same mold eighteen years apart and then broke it.

Dad would point to that fact and say, “See? Your father’s right sometimes.”

Who needs a fucking therapist? I can tell you every tiny flaw I have, what caused it and how to fix it.

The problem lies in the fixing.

(Yes, I do have ADD… and?)

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