Retrospective -- March, 2009

Reviewing March was an interesting exercise. We were so caught up in the preparations for and immediate aftermath of the bariatric surgeries -- and your kind and supportive comments were so ubiquitously a part of that journey. I know that we were too busy in those early days to really say "thank you," the way we ought to have done. Please know now how very much your care and support meant to all of us, and know too that we will never forget the kindness you showed our family...

We are continuing to be who we are and to deal with our lives as we always do. The immensity of the huge change and the extensive ordeal that is on the horizon is simply consuming all our collective energy * * * The red paddle remains a fixture at the heart of our sessions these days. He is all wrapped up in it -- loving just about everything about it. I am getting better with it as time goes on, but there is a point that comes up everytime we play with it, where I am simply desperate, frightened and miserable, and convinced that I have somehow, by reaching that point, failed miserably. That is a very emotional place for me. It reduces me to tears. Not so much from the pain itself, but from the sense of not being what He wants me to be... Except that it really isn't that way at all. He likes that place where I suffer. He told me this morning, "You are a sadist's dream." I understand that intellectually, but I struggle to comprehend it emotionally * * * We know that is one of the realities with which we will have to cope as we approach and then recover from this very serious surgery. We've gone through periods before when there was no possibility of play, and it is never easy to contemplate or live with. We also know though, that healing occurs and things do come back around * * * I find it ironic, and more than a little frustrating that this particular bit of perverted fantasizing is making its appearance now when we are all fully wrapped up * * * Except that I am just not willing to open the doors that wide. I understand this is a public place, and it has become our custom and habit to welcome a host of "strangers" and on-lookers into our lives. Many of those strangers have grown into friends, and it is good. Our welcome is not unlimited however. We do reserve the right to simply refuse to deal with people who come here with less than honest or respectful intent. Further we preserve some of the inner workings of our dynamic and our relating for ourselves. We do not share details that might cause discomfort or emotional upset for one another * * * each person's kink is unique unto them self, like a fingerprint, and that when we think we see the same or similar practice in another we are in fact noticing that theirs is like our own, but that similarity may only be superficial. Ours is unique as is theirs. That being accepted then, each relationship would have a "joint fingerprint" that would represent the confluence of those (however many) "fingerprints" dynamically interacting * * * It is almost 10:00 in the evening. Time for bed soon * * * I know that taxes are not sexy, and a slave that prepares taxes isn't the stuff that fantasies are made of, but our taxes are completed * * * I can remember the date we married (6/16), the date of the reception (9/22), our first date (Sunday after Bird-Day).....but this one seems to get me every time. Tom always remembers every date. Hell, he probably remembers the first time he pee'd as an infant! But I never can remember. But today, is more important than all of those other dates. Today is the anniversary of the day he made me His * * * Now we just need the stars to align. We need grandpa to be found to be basically well. We need the doctor to do his work with skill and compassion. We need to find our way to the other side so we can begin to live the rest of our lives * * * I imagine I'll remember, quite vividly, just who I belong to as I wait for Him and T in the hospital tomorrow morning. I am feeling warm, stronger, safe, better equipped to make the journey ahead * * * That is a foundational reality that goes with our dynamic. It very seldom comes up, and I don't usually smack into the fact of that truth. Most of the time, we converse and banter and debate, and my opinions and ideas get weighed into the mix, and it is easy to believe that I have an equal say. It isn't true * * * Every now and then, sitting there watching the whole business, something will strike me as meaningful. Not necessarily meaningful in the way that is intended, but with a message that speaks to my heart in the moment. That has been the case in the last week, with a hymn that is being sung during this season of Lent. The music line is particularly evocative -- and it does seem to be stuck in my brain, but the words speak to me about my life; about our lives * * * Both Master and T came through the surgery just fine. Both are resting. T seems more comfortable at this point than Master -- He seems to have some pretty significant pain * * * At first, I found it just annoying and frustrating, but I'm working my way up to fullblown anger over it all. I might be less angry if their policy statement simply made it clear that they are praticing moralistic, judgemental censorship that declares that their choices are more right than those that others might make. But they are at great pains to claim that they respect all people and value differences. Since that is part of their organizational value system, I wonder why I don't feel respected or valued * * * I think we ought to be able to insist that we are human, polite, responsible, educated, honest, committed ... and that those things ought to commend us. It ought to be enough. It probably won't be enough, and it is likely that we'll need to fight for a very long time before we are allowed to live openly and safely in the communities that are our homes, but I hope we never lose sight of those qualities of character that commend us * * * Service, in these difficult days, is even more vital, even more appreciated, even more needed than it is when He is well and strong. I have carried endless pitchers of ice; poured cup after cup of juice and tea and cool water. I've cleaned up the messes -- the vomit, the urine, the feces, the pus. I've bathed Him, kept clean linen on His bed, fluffed His pillows, straightened His blankets. I've opened and closed the window to His room, and adjusted the fan -- now on, now off, now on again. I've watched the care He is given and questioned when I didn't understand or didn't like what I was seeing -- keeping a running list in my head of the medications, the vital signs, the visible extent of the infection, the foods consumed (or not). It isn't my role to play "cheerleader," but it is important that I am there with Him, believing in what He cannot presently see of the future, supporting, holding, listening, advocating