I’m Not Stupid Nor Am I Confused (3-6-2014)

For the past 20 years or so, but mostly in the last 15, I’ve felt like I was slowly going crazy. I come across as being of at least normal intelligence (being modest here) until I open my mouth. No, I’m not that bad, but I will try to explain. I cannot remember names. Even worse, I frequently call things by the wrong names. A good example of that is about 2 days ago, I asked Stitch to get my clothes out of the oven. The word I needed, and couldn’t remember, was “washer”, I didn’t struggle when I said “oven”, but I knew I used the wrong name right after I said it. I’ve called the kitchen the garage, the garage the bedroom etc. Ad nauseam. I cannot remember the names of people either. Normally, it’s not a problem, and I can wing it, but imagine my horror last month when I had out of town guests to introduce and couldn’t remember Shilo’s name! He’s my husband! I just kept talking, struggling to remember his name, so I could introduce him to them. Finally, he picked up on my discomfort and introduced himself.

Sometimes, I just feel like crying or want to die of embarrassment over it. People don’t understand because I don’t look or act impaired, and there have been times when I wished I looked or acted “different” so people wouldn’t judge me so harshly. On really bad days, I avoid speaking to anyone but Shilo or Stitch because the stress of having to remember a person’s name is too much for me. I ignore people at parties so I don’t have to struggle to remember their name. It can be a very isolating experience. When it comes to writing or public speaking, I manage to look polished because I can “look up” a word, or even ask someone at home what the word I want is. Once I’ve written it down, all I have to do is read it, and nobody knows that I’m unable to remember the name of the thing I drive (car) or the thing that water comes out of (faucet) or the name of the place I cook dinner (kitchen) or even my home address. I can’t even remember the name of the disorder, but I wrote it down earlier. It’s called Anomic Aphasia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anomic_aphasia). I have what I would consider a mild case, because most of the time, I remember and can say the correct words of things, but places and names are a constant thorn in my side.

Please understand. This is not a pity party. This is me sharing and explaining why I am the way I am. It’s me asking that you laugh with me and at me when the wrong words come out, and, instead of correcting me if you know what I meant to say, just act like I said the correct word. Trust me, I know when I’ve used the wrong word, so there’s really no need to embarrass me further unless you’re just petty and/or cruel. Also, in the remote possibility that I made no sense at all to you, politely ask me to repeat myself. I won’t be angry or offended if you say you didn’t understand me. All I ask for is a little kindness. Thank you.

Why?

Why? is a frequently asked question in my household, especially by Shilo. He doesn't ask because he is obnoxious or obstinate, although he can be both. No, he asks because is naturally curious, and he feels that everything must have a logical reason. I work very hard to give him logical reasons for my actions and desires, but I occasionally fail. After all, I'm human.

Oh, there are other questions, of course, but I don't always feel up to answering them. Sometimes I avoid them by distraction or giving a non-answer, or even asking a question of my own. I feel justified in those reactions for many reasons. I mean, answering "Because I'm the Mistress" should be enough for anyone, especially Shilo. No, it doesn't "work" that way, but one could always hope.

Frequently asked questions (with standard answer)

1. Where are you going? (Out.)

2. What's for dinner? (Food.)

3. How is/was__________? (Fine.)

Yes, I realize that some of those answers are kind of snarky. I can't help it. I've got deep-seated reasons why I answer those questions that way, and I really don't feel like talking about it, especially at that moment.

Starting with question #3. I usually revert to that answer when I don't feel like discussing the event. It could be that it was horrible or rotten, and I'm not up to a long drawn out conversation. On the other hand, it could just be that it was fine.

Question #2 isn't as frequently asked as it used to be, but it goes back to a time when I had very little food, and/or I was unable to decide at that moment. Food, especially dinner, tends to be rather last-minute, so I often don't have an acceptable answer. By saying "Food" I've made it clear I don't want to discuss it, or I'm still deciding.

Now, question #1 is a "trigger" question. I was in an abusive relationship where my every move was watched, and I resented that question. I felt like I was distrusted, and that made me resentful of my former husband. After I finally left him, I enjoyed my freedom, but then my older sister moved in, and suddenly, all I ever heard was that question. I felt that if my mom knew, nobody else needed to know, especially not my older sister. The whole "Where are you going?" question was a thorn in my side. My theory is that I'm an adult and I can do what I want and go where I want. I realize this can cause problems, especially with Shilo,who is, more often than not, just curious or genuinely concerned about me.

Well, I hope this is helpful.

A Public Service Announcement

I've become my mother! Please stay with me and my thoughts. I haven't really become my mother, what I have become is a little bit more observant when it comes to other people. I notice things I never paid attention to before. Things I might have ignored, or (heaven forbid!) actually done myself! I try hard to be tolerant. I really do, but some things are intolerable, much like those men who wear sandals and black socks, you try to look away, to ignore it, but you just can't! The error, the atrocity of it, is just overwhelming. 

So, what has my panties in a bunch? I will share: High Heels. Honestly, I have nothing against high heels. They can be sexy on nearly anyone, and, when chosen properly, they can be worn all day, and all night without a problem. BUT There is a problem, and it isn't just young women. I see older women (such as myself, or even older) doing it too, and it's time someone knocked some sense into these women! It's funny that men in high heels aren't guilty of this, but I suspect that they know better than most women, and this irritates me most of all.

Women, you know you look sexy in those heels, and that people go wild over your sexy legs, so PLEASE do yourself a favor. Buy those sexy heels, put them on in the privacy of your own home, and (are you ready for it?) Practice (yes, practice!) walking in them! Look at yourself in the mirror! If you look like a newborn foal, then DON'T WEAR THEM IN PUBLIC!!! Just don't! You practice walking in them until you glide across the floor! Then, and only then, wear them in public, wear them to the club, the grocery store, the 99 cents store, or even Wal-Mart.

Please save me from getting arrested for assault! One day, I just might get crazy enough to stop one of these girls (or women) and tell them myself, and it might get ugly, so please, tell your daughters, tell your wives, your girlfriends, your subs, slaves and Mistresses, tell them all to practice wearing those sexy heels so I don't have to!

Thank you!

One Year and Two Days Later

I’ve waited till now to write this because I was reluctant to write it any sooner. Losing my mother and coping with her sudden unexpected death was the hardest thing I ever had to do. Yes, there were things that I mourned over that I has more of a reaction to (Mom would understand) since her death, but she is who and what I miss most in my life. I have almost constant reminders of her, and now that I have my own place, my own home, I find little reminders of her in the strangest spots. Sometimes, I manage to smile or even laugh. Other times, I fall apart and cry loudly, but, mostly, my reactions are somewhere in between.

The Christmas tree: It was in a box on storage, and we emptied the storage earlier this month. It’s been in a box in the garage since then. Shilo finally broached the subject last week. I told him he could put it up. He did it on the one year anniversary of her death while I was out for the day. Seeing the lights through the living room window caused me to smile, but I haven’t put on the decorations or turned on the lights. I can’t. It’s just too hard right now. The nativity scene is still boxed up somewhere. Mom Loved it, and was a perfectionist in setting it up ‘just so.’ How can I possibly do it justice? How can I do any of this and give her honor? The sad truth is that I’m still feeling lost about it all. I need to figure it all out on my own, and I don’t have a map. I don’t even have a navigator. It’s just me, lost in a sea of darkness. Okay, maybe it’s not really that horrible, but it does feel like that at times, and while I try to fill these days just before Christmas, I avoid everything to do with it.

Avoiding everything: Christmas Carols at the stores… I run in and get out as quickly as possible when going to the mall. I went this past Friday and bought gifts for Stitch and Shilo. Total time: 25 minutes, most of which was spent in line to pay. I went again Saturday evening with Stitch to look for a dress but came home with nothing. I spent 45 minutes total in the stores that time. Running errands in other stores Saturday evening was an adventure. I was so preoccupied in my search that I didn’t notice the music if there was any. I’ve avoided Christmas specials on TV, but I did record “Rudolph” because it is my favorite program. I’ve not watched it yet. Not sure if I can get through it without crying. Lastly, the radio… I quickly change the station when I hear the beginning of any Christmas song. In fact, over the past month, I’ve only heard three songs, none of which caused me to cry.

I feel almost Grinch-like in my actions to the outside world, but, unlike the Grinch, I already know that Christmas is here, it’s coming fast, and I can’t stop it. It’s in the heart, and while it breaks mine to be without my mother, I know that there are children experiencing the wonder and joy of it for the very first time. Not one year olds, I mean slightly older, when they finally have a grasp of it. I try to be happy for them. Sunshine will hopefully always have that, but she’s not even interested in seeing Santa Claus this time. Yes, she’s sad too. She even hijacked my body for most of the weekend, but was kind enough to leave a few memories. I guess she was worried about me. Either way, I’m either sad or numb. NOT a good thing. I know it will eventually be easier, but I’m not there yet.

The victims: Yes, there are victims. Sunshine, who mourns mom’s death so greatly, more than I ever could. Stitch, because he loved her so much, and she was good to him. I’m not exactly sure how he feels, because I’m in my own bubble when it comes to this, but I’ll say that there have been more than a few times when we cried together. Finally, there is Shilo. Sweet Shilo came into this after the fact. He was told about all this in the beginning, but I feel like sometimes the entire situation is overwhelming. He’s comforted us (both Sunshine and me) in the car, the van, the grocery store, church, the mall, you name it, and he’s done so with such graciousness, kindness and Love, that I feel so very grateful to have him in my life. I also understand that mom had to die for me to have him in my life, and that I wouldn’t have the good things that I have in my life right now if mom hadn’t died (cause and effect) so I face that reality too.

Soo… Two days till Christmas and I’m still fighting myself, avoiding the places that mom and I would go to just so I won’t fall apart and cry. The psychologist in me tells me to go there because it would be cathartic, and the rest of me fights it,  not wanting to re-open those wounds, I’m not sure who will win, but I know that I’d better decide quickly, because time is running out and I actually need to get those things.

For those of you who celebrate, I hope your Christmas is happy and full of Joy. For the rest of you: Enjoy your hump day. I think I’ll survive.

Doing It Wrong… A Confession

Oh, where do I begin? The beginning is too soon, the middle seems a little late, and the end? Well. It’s not happened yet, and, with a little luck, it will be a very long time from now.

Let’s start by establishing a few things. I am ‘scattered,’ I can’t help it. Keeping things and myself together is nearly impossible. It’s something I do my best to explain to people, but very few understand it, until, one day, I’m particularly so, and then they tell me (as if I didn’t know) “You are scattered.” Thank you! Now that we’ve established that, can we please continue with our coffee and conversation, or whatever else we were doing?? I’m a closeted perfectionist. I want things the way I want them, but I will also look at a task and decide whether or not I think I can do it. If I feel it’s impossible (or improbable) I won’t do it. There’s no need or use for me to extend my energies on something that I can’t do perfectly. I detest failure. Specifically, my failure. Your failure is yours, and, while I might point it out, or complain, it’s quickly forgotten and forgiven. Some people mistake my desire for perfection, and refusal to do something I feel I won’t succeed at as laziness, but I don’t care what others think, unless I’m having a personal crisis, and then everything matters. So… I am flawed and a perfectionist. Some might say I’m doomed to fail, but they don’t know me. My redeeming quality in all this is that I’m honest. I tell the truth. Yes, it’s MY truth, but still the truth. My mouth often gets me into trouble, and I pay the consequences.

I can’t really talk about Shilo’s qualities without mentioning Stitch. It wouldn’t be fair. Stitch is loving and caring and, whatever he does, he means well. He’s always anticipating my next move, and will often go above and beyond what is expected/requested of him, often to his own detriment. It’s endearing and irritating. Shilo, on the other hand, is self-assured, and is a pretty good judge of character. He has a low tolerance for people who whine, and he gets things done right the first time without prompting. Where Stitch guesses, Shilo knows, and if I give him something to do, it will be done right. Both Stitch and Shilo have one similar fault: If I notice something awry and happen to mention it, they both take it personally. Stitch will object loudly, and Shilo will shut down. I don’t enjoy fighting/arguing, but if Stitch gets loud, I get loud right along with him, and we often wind up laughing. When Shilo gets upset (and he does so on a regular basis) I wind up with a stony-cold silent man. I can’t handle that very well, and, many times, I’m not exactly sure what set it off. All I know is that something went wrong somewhere and I have to guess. It’s frustrating, and if I ask him directly, he often won’t answer. If it wasn’t for his journal entries, I’d have no clue what went wrong 80% of the time. He holds grudges (just like me… I said I had flaws!) and does things to his own detriment to prove a point. 

Occasionally, I’ll think things are just fine and smooth sailing till I read his journal. Things I thought were resolved this weekend apparently were not according to what he wrote, and so, while he has no idea that I read his entries as soon as I woke up this morning, I already know that he’s still a little (a lot?) upset over some things I said that were meant to be corrections. Which, by the way, once I said them and felt they were resolved, I forgot about them… well, until I read about them this morning. Now I just feel like crap, because he’s still hurting, and it’s a failure on my part. So… what do I do? What can I do? I guess I could try to repeat what I said over the weekend to him, but I can’t remember half of what I told him. I could play stupid and act like everything is fine, but that will eventually blow up in my face in a very bad way. I could try to get him to talk (I fail nearly all the time on that) or I could write this, and tell him that I Love him, I appreciate him, and that he’s perfect for me. The things he’s held onto are things that we discussed, and it’s over with. I'm no longer upset.

We’re from completely different environments, and I panic because I’m so used to doing without that when I have, I treat it like it’s precious and I want to make it last. It’s going to be a while for me to adjust to “having” so please be patient with me. You are my Superman, my Knight in Shining armor. Yes, there’s kryptonite and chinks in your armor, but that’s okay. Love makes all that inconsequential. Just remember and remind me that I’m not in that dark hole anymore.

An Apology

For ALL to see...

Dear Shilo,

I was wrong. Yes, I’m your Mistress, and you are my slave/husband/slub, but you need to know you mean so very much to me. Yes, I get hurt and moody, but it doesn’t change my feelings. I Love you with all my heart, and you are my Joy.

I know I’m not easy to live with, I’m bitchy and demanding, and I want things the way I want them. I rarely explain myself, and I expect you to accept all of it without questioning me. Naturally, you are curious, and you need answers, but sometimes, I just can’t explain it all.

I think I’ve told you before how easy it is for you to rip me apart, and the main reason why is because of my Love for you. It doesn’t make me “soft” on you, but it does make me vulnerable. I’ve said this to you at least 100 times, but it bears repeating: I am a woman first, your Mistress second. I’m also forgetful due to the seizures etc; and I often mean to do things, and then I promptly forget to do them.  In this way, especially, you have been a Godsend to me. You’ve “rescued” me many times over the past 6 months, and I could never thank you enough.

All I had to do was remember one simple thing, and I couldn’t even do that right, and it eats at me. I could easily blame your lying to me for pushing me so far over the edge that I forgot it, and that would be partially true, but I need to be accountable for my actions, or, in this case, inactions.

I may not have forgotten your birthday, but the lack of a card and/or present obviously really upset you, and I’m really sorry about that. I’m not exactly sure how or whether I can make it up to you, but it wasn’t intentional. It’s been YEARS since Stitch and I did anything for our birthdays or even Christmas. We just do little things when we can, or I fix him a special meal or we go out. No cards or gifts. So, while it really wasn’t intentional to hurt you, I get the feeling it hurt you more than I thought, and I apologize for your hurt feelings. There are other things on my mind, too, but this is all I can fix right now.

Love,

Merry

Opinions

"Opinions are like assholes, everybody's got one" Albert Schweitzer (1875-1965)

There is the problem: We all have opinions on things, and it is good that we are all different with different opinions. Asking for help, or an opinion allows us to see things differently. The problem is when we receive unsolicited opinions from people who "think" they know better than you do. Excuse me a moment, but, if you really knew me, you would know why your way would not work for me, besides, I don't recall even asking your opinion in the first place!

I have a Mentor, I have trusted friends and acquaintances from both sides of the slash, and, when I need an opinion or insight, I can (and do) go to them and ask. Sometimes I do what they suggest, other times, I don't, but the important part is that I asked them. Little Miss (or Mister) know-it-all can kiss my ass!

There's nothing wrong with someone who has more experience taking me aside and offering me tips, especially if I know them. My problem is with complete strangers who don't know anything about me telling me or (even worse) my husband/slave what I (or he) should be doing. Shilo is still learning how I like things, and for someone to come along and tell him things contrary to what I want or like is just plain rude.

So, what exactly has my panties in a bunch? Some random female top told him to use baby oil post-spanking. I cannot stand the feel of makeup, lotions or oils on my skin, and forget perfumes or anything else! I also have severe allergies, so I'm very careful about  what I allow in my household. Shilo didn't bother to ask me about the suggestion, instead, I was "surprised" by it when I touched him one day after he got out of the shower. Sure, it was as simple as sending him back in, but it shouldn't have happened in the first place.

I was (and still am) so very tempted to hunt her down and tell her off, but I've decided to write this instead. Don't give unsolicited advice to another woman's submissive or slave! The next Mistress/Dominant/Master you piss off may not be as nice as I am. Handle your own household, and mind your own business. Next time I may not be so nice.

As for those of you who have provided me guidance when I've asked, I thank you. You're all the best!