Day Dreaming

It's 8:25 a.m. and my work day hasn't even begun yet I'm ready to head home.  I have craft projects I would rather be doing.  Things that I can't exactly bring to work. *chuckles*

 

I'm working on perfecting a pair of rope floggers for Alan so he's got a nice matched pair for the demo we're attending on the 29th.  I'm also going to make him a new set of knotted end rope floggers to maybe enhance or replace the pair we already have.  I'm eager to get these done for him, they'll take a little while to finish.  Being the anal retentive perfectionist I am, they'll take even longer.

 

I'm restless, I want to get out and DO something.  It's Ostara today, the spring equinox, and I just want to be OUT!

 

I'm itching to get all sorts of things done that I don't have time to do otherwise.  I'm craving some time in the sun, just soaking it into my pores, as well as crafting for Alan.  Sometimes having youngins at home makes that difficult.  I can't just decide to go sit out back and craft for obvious reasons.  I can't sit in the living room to craft for those very same reasons.  It's frustrating sometimes, trying to live both lives as seamlessly as possible.  I hate compartmentalizing my life, I'd rather it be one whole piece.  I'd LOVE to be able to tell vanilla folks that I've got to check with Master before I make plans.  That's probably why I avoid vanilla friendships.  I have one and we rarely talk because our lives are so different.

 

I'm uncomfortable and somewhat fearful around vanilla people sometimes, especially when I have visible bruising or marks from SM play.  I had a rug burn on my elbow last year that drew some attention from my co-workers and I had to explain it away.  How much different would it be if I could have said, "Well over the weekend my Master and a close dominant friend of ours did a takedown scene and I got a little rug burn in the process."?

 

How much different would it be if I could tell my doctors that the 'A' carved into my right buttock was a mark of ownership from my Master?  That the "scratches" were from a night of torture and pleasure with my favorite toy, cold steel, sharp knives.

 

How much different would it be if I didn't have to worry about my Master being carted away in handcuffs for spousal abuse if someone overheard our playing.  Or that our children would think he was abusive by seeing my service to him or overhearing our play?  How much better would it be if I could simply confess to them how happy this way of life makes me?  That I've never felt more loved and cherished than I do right now?  That the things he does to me I've volunteered for and generally love, even if I hate them?

 

Yep, I'm ready for the work day to be over and my long weekend to begin!