Friday, May 23, 2008


Our new vintage Singer sewing table. Featuring our cats, rather than my ass. We meant to take the table upstairs and shoot in the attic. Instead, we took pictures of our cats and ate Chinese food. Please, please, wish us better luck for this weekend. Cute table, though, huh? Can't you just see me bent over it? Is it just me?

I was reprimanded by the gas station attendant this morning. It was the same man who always assists me, his bright blue eyes normally friendly and peaceful amidst the beard that is his face. This time, however, after he'd taken my debit card and my request for ten dollars regular, he returned to my car window, asking, "Did you say twenty regular?" I'd only woken up half an hour before driving up to the pump. Dazed, I responded, "Ten or twenty, either way." Obviously, that was the wrong answer. Those eyes flashed and I was actually frightened when he growled, "Well, what is it? Ten or twenty?" I ended up with ten dollars more gasoline than I wanted because I felt I had to appease the gas station gods.

I sometimes struggle with making decisions. It's not so at work, where I dislike having decisions made for me. This statement also isn't true when it comes to major life decisions, but when it comes to choosing dinner, I'd just as well be told what to eat, or even what to cook. Last night, when Mr. W asked what I wanted to do, I had no idea. I'd spent the day in supervisor mode, filling in where needed, aiding one of my employees in keeping her calm. "Supervise me," I begged him. He chose Chinese for dinner, then supervised me right over the edge of the bed. He's quite excellent at supervision.

These bouts of indecision, sadly, come from knowing exactly what I want. If I don't get what I want, I turn inwards, shutting down, hesitant to make my desires known for fear of denial. On Wednesday evening, I was to be caned. Strapped down, in fact, something I've been craving lately, and truly punished. I'll go into the reasons once the caning actually happens. The caning was to be on film; I'd even already named it and was looking forward to both the mental and physical release that was to be obtained.

I'd been thinking about it for days, but especially on Wednesday. I was having an especially difficult day at work and was so grateful that I had the evening to look forward to. I didn't allow myself to get too upset about anything because I knew I would have the catharsis I craved soon enough. In addition to the atonement I had already attached to the caning-to-be, there was now frustration with two of my employees (easily worth seven strokes each) and aggravation with three of my bosses (five strokes for two of them, ten for the third). Add it all together, and I was in for it--but desperately looking forward to it. At one point, I'd even texted Mr. W, "My soul needs this."

Unfortunately, he also had a bad day at work. The trouble is, when we've both had a bad day, and are both feeling, simply put, violent, there are safety issues at hand. My mental space is to risk my flesh for the peace of my psyche. Thank God, he thinks differently, and my bottom was spared what could have turned into an unnecessary ravaging. In retrospect it sounds delicious, but could potentially have ruined this weekend, the weekend of our first wedding anniversary.

The absent punishment turned me at first vile, then horribly complacent. By yesterday, I was a puddle of acquiescense. I wasn't about to put my own needs on anybody. By yesterday evening, when the time came round for the discipline we had post-poned, I didn't care so much. There was no passion, making it useless. I had even dressed for the occasion in a new plaid skirt and stockings, but I just didn't want it, not in a "No, sir, please don't punish me" way, but in a "Whatever. Do what you will," sort of way, which wasn't going to be fun for anybody. I'd spent the day trying not to get my hopes up because of the disappointment the day before, and perhaps that intentional lack of desire backfired. I did ask Mr. W to pull me into a scene, but he wasn't up for it either. Hence, getting yelled at by the gas station clerk this morning. If I was a puddle yesterday, I was a lake of both acquiescence and indifference today. If only he'd pulled me out of the car and over the hood. Perhaps this would be a far different blog entry...

But it's not. The good news is: long anniversary weekend! No work, no irritations, just implements, implement shopping, time to film, time to play, and time to actually be ourselves. They say the first anniversary is the paper anniversary, but for us, I'm hoping it's rattan.


  1. Congrats on the anniversary. Here's to rattan and long weekends all the way!

    I can totally relate to needing and looking forward to a good hard beating and then it not coming to pass. Completely soul-draining.

    My grandma has a sewing machine like that too. Hope you got your time bent over it quivering beneath a bit o'rattan.

  2. First off, Happy Anniversary!

    Wonderfully written post as always. I marvel at your skills as a wordsmith! :)

    Hope you have some better days at work and I'm sure you'll be your naughty abby self soon enough...


    p.s. very cute kitties.


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