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Emotional train wreck? Where??

September 27th, 2010

Dear Cabbie, "With groceries" is my polite way of saying, "Get here before my burgers thaw."

I’ve got a bit of entitlement syndrome going on, lately.  You’d think a person who has so little would learn to appreciate what they have, rather than develop the belief that they’re entitled to something more.

For example, the most heard phrase in this house, of late, is “Did you really have to be nasty about it?” Out of my mouth, not M’s.  Though both of us have taken to snapping rather than speaking when we get frustrated or annoyed.  Chalk it up to the financial stress we’re under, and my new found hatred of SEO.  Because it is imperative one hate something one does not understand!

Somewhere along the line, I got the impression that I’m not allowed to have an opinion, or emotions, or get annoyed, or… Not in our relationship, but in life in general.  Probably because I’ve always responded to negative emotions with screaming, and rather than help me develop better coping mechanisms, my mother would just let me scream, and send me on my way when I was finished without helping me “fix”, for lack of a better word, my problem, and my father would refuse to listen to me until I calmed down.  But even as a child, I’d get so worked up that I couldn’t calm down, and things weren’t making sense.  

And when I do calm down, and center myself, I can’t remember what I was so upset about, because the only way I know how to center myself is to find something else to focus on.  To completely lock away what I’m upset about.  Hide it and never let it come out of its file.

I was so convinced, when I was growing up, that I was the asshole for noticing negative qualities in other people that I would actually apologize to people who wronged me (still do quite frequently), and try to get them to be my friend again, rather than telling them where they could stick it.

But I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve.  So even while I was trying to pretend what the people around me did didn’t hurt me, the second I was comfortable enough, I started lashing out.  I assumed they’d know what they did to piss me off, and come apologize.

The fact of the matter is, people rarely know they’ve done something you thought was shitty without being told.  It sucks, but everyone today is so wrapped up in themselves, they really don’t realize they’re doing something wrong most of the time.  Quite often, they were doing what they thought was best for them, at the time, and they didn’t consider, for even a second, the affect it might have on other people.

And when you start being an asshole for what, to them, seems like no reason at all, because you haven’t told them what’s bothering you, it hardly gives them incentive to fix the problem.  More often than not, it gets their hackles up, and even if they realize they fucked up, they’re not going to give, because you were just a jerk, so now they’re justified in being wrong.  Or something.

So, I’ve been trying really hard to speak up when something M does pisses me off before I get snippy or sarcastic.  Especially considering the last time I approached Him about our constant snipping, He cited my sarcasm and tendency to lash out as His reason.  Not that He was trying to excuse it, so much as point out that my complaining was a bit of that whole pot and kettle business.

I know… I know.  Some owner-types don’t give two shits what their slaves are thinking, and if they hurt their poor wittwe feelers, well, that’s just whatever.  And I should be grateful my owner wants to know what I’m thinking, and, when it strikes His fancy, and I’m not being ridiculous, He actually tries to fix whatever problem I have.

And this is where the entitlement syndrome kicks in.  But dude… He sort of fostered it with His, “I do want you to be happy.” and “I care about your feelings.” and “I want to know what you’re thinking.” and…

He says my happiness will never, and should never, come before my obedience.  And I agree with Him.  I just… I mean…


Should I never be happy because once in a while I’m snippy?

And I’m not saying He thinks that, or that I’m never happy.  I’m happy more often than not.  Most of the time, when I’m unhappy, it’s got nothing to do with M, and when it does, I wouldn’t say I’m particularly unhappy so much as annoyed.  Just like sometimes I annoy Him, sometimes He annoys me.  That’s life, dude.  Even if we didn’t spend so much time together (which is usually what people say), we’d occasionally annoy each other.

I’m saying that’s the suggestion in that theory.  That unless and until I am perfect He has no reason, and perhaps desire, to make me happy.

That’s not really true, though, in His case.  He tries to do things that make me happy.  And we argue most about our financial situation, not about His disinterest in my happiness, because it makes me feel completely helpless, and not in a good way, and there’s not a whole hell of a lot I can do about it, because He won’t let me get a job.  And I guess I don’t really want to get a job, because that will make it impossible for me to do everything I do.

And people keep saying, “Well, maybe you should drop something.” and that’s a thought, but dropping anything else, in my mind, would be admitting defeat, because I’ve already dropped quite a bit.

Besides, dropping anything else would mean losing money.  This here website’s generating revenue.  Not a lot, but enough to be of help.  And I’ve got you, my readers, to thank for it.  So seriously, thank you.  I can’t imagine where we’d be, right now, without even the little bit I’m making.  I don’t think we’d be treading water anymore.

And like I said the other day, I’m easily distracted.  It doesn’t help that M’s sending me pictures to look at all the time.  He’s worse than Twitter! (Make sure you look at the URL. It makes the picture.)


I’m having a serious self esteem/confidence crisis today.  I said minor when I was talking to Luna, but I kinda lied.  I’m sitting here beside M fighting tears, trying to swallow the burning sensation in my chest and…

About my writing, and my slavery, and my memory, and my body, and my hair, and my clothes, and my shoes, and things I have no control over, and…

And it went away for a minute there.  Cause my BonBon from Liberator got here, and I got all excited, and started taking pictures, and concentrated on something else for a little while.


I just almost threw my laptop across the room because it deleted an entire published-days-ago post.  Just the words, not the title or anything.  Straight panic, fighting tears (again), convinced I’d lost the whole damn thing.  And M goes, “You’ve been writing long enough, you should know WordPress has autosave and revisions.”

Er… It does?

Would ya look at that? It does.  Don’t I feel dumb?

Wanna know why I didn’t know that? Cause on my desktop? That’s never happened!

And yeah, I’ve seen the box at the bottom that says “Revisions” about a hundred times.  But I’ve never actually had to use it, so it kinda never clicked that I could use that to restore a post when I somehow do the crazy touchmouse combinations and keyboard shortcuts –which are all located where I would normally rest the heel of my hand, but because this laptop might as well have been made for a toddler, I can’t put the heel of my hand down– that delete all the words out of a post even though I type ridiculously fast, so there’s really no reason the touchmouse shouldn’t be recognizing accidental touching when it’s set to ignore accidental touching.

I think I’ve bitched about that before.

Shut up, I am not blond.

And no! I did not mean “All blonds are flighty, neurotic eggheads.”  Just the ones who huffed too much bleach.


Ooo! M’s showing me pictures of the gerbils, and I’m giggling like an idiot.  I can’t help it! They’re super cute.  I’m trying to get Him to put them somewhere I can access them.  If He does, I’ll make a picture post entitled, “No, gerbilophiles, you cannot molest my boys.”

We had all sorts of fun with them last night.  I took the shipping box my Freestyle came in, and taped three of the sides up so the gerbils couldn’t jump out, and left the other one down so they could climb up on it and come see us when they got curious, forcing them to come to us.

Jules almost fell like a hundred times, and Vincent tried to escape by chewing out the flaps.  So I taped a piece of egg carton (cardboard) over the hole.  He kept right on chewing, the little shit.


Randy fits in the BonBon.  I’ve already started the review.  I mean, there’s tons I can write about without even sitting on the thing.  But I have.  Not with a toy in it, you pervs.  And I had my clothes on, even.

But wanna know a secret?

Just sitting on it without anything in it felt really nice.  It’s gotta be something to do with the fabric.  Or maybe the shape.  Or maybe the fact that the pants I’m wearing are super thin.  I dunno.  All I know is when I bounced on it to test out the strength, and see if it would make any noise (And managed to find the one place in the entire house that doesn’t have squeaky boards!), my pussy got all sorts of wet.

I can’t wait to try all the crazy positions one can get up to with this thing.  Just as soon as I de-feather it.  Stoopid birds.

So far, that’s my only complaint.  It didn’t come with a protective outer shell like the Wedge/Ramp Combo.

I think that’s it.

Oh, look? I do suck at staying on topic.  Blah.

Oh, and, P.S.  M claims He’s gonna take pictures of me riding, probably, Randy, on the BonBon.  Do you believe Him? >.> I’m not sure I do.

P.S.S. I know.  I whine too much.  And I’m betting the “Crazy Rayne” image is quickly losing its appeal.  It’s losing its appeal with me, too.  Hence the self esteem crisis.  I promise to be more fun in the future.  Maybe.

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