Gray with spots of blue

Woke up to a cloudy day but as things are progressing it looks like it may be nice after all. I'll emerge from the cocoon of the apartment shortly. I called in sick, having a bit of a minor (I hope!) stomach virus. I lay down on the couch for an extra half hour of sleep. Buster kitty was on my stomach where he should be, and the combination of physical warmth and "psychological" comfort helped me feel a bit better. Then I finally arose to make the call to the office.

I hate making that call. No matter if I'm taking the day for some other reason, needing a mental health day, sick, or REALLY sick, there's always this fear inside that says, "They won't believe me." Some days the fear is reasonable because I'm not really sick. I try not to say, then, that I'm sick. I'll say, "I'm not feeling well and I've made an appointment." If I have something planned, that covers the "appointment" part of that statement. And "I'm not feeling well" ... well, there's always my constant sinus issues, or runny nose, or mental anxiety, or stress, or ...

I posit anyone, anywhere, can call in sick and not tell a lie!

I actually tend to feel MORE guilty when I'm actually sick. Tell me how THAT makes any sense. My coworkers, even my boss, told me to use my sick days because if I don't I will lose them. I didn't use them all last year, that's just the way I am, I need to get stuff done and if I don't feel like someone can step in and do it, I'll try to be at the office even when I'm sick. Hopefully, as I approach my three-year anniversary on this job, I'll feel more relaxed and can take a break when necessary. Today was a "good day" to cash in a sick day -- we weren't that busy at the office.

Now, I'm either going to finish a few more pages of writing OR I'll update the news section on my website OR I'll go lie down and get more rest. Update, write, then rest? Write, update, rest ... pick up the book I'm trying to finish ... ? No!

Old friends

[Picture by "T," model is "S," spanking by Cassandra]

Yesterday, I had mentioned getting spanked (and paddled) last Saturday night by an old friend. M. always was one of the best spankers/doms I knew, and we hadn't played in a long time. Well, I hadn't asked; I'd figured he wasn't that interested anymore. (I was also afraid of rejection.) I hadn't seen him out in in public much, and the last few times I had seen him he had seemed headed in a different direction. He seemed less into spanking, and more into edgier play. I'm not sure he knew that I sometimes enjoy edgier play, too -- the occasional "safe" breath play, punching, take-down scenes, knife play.

He seemed very happy to see me on Saturday night. Oddly, he always remembers the date of the first time we played, for two reasons: first, I had written him a gushy letter (which was dated) about our scene; and second, it was Sept. 8, 2001 -- the Saturday right before the Twin Towers fell. Everyone seems to remember where they were just before, and the day itself...

It was at Paddles NYC, at one of Ms. Margarat Davis' SCONY parties. I thought M. was cute, and we eyed each other across the room. Once, I passed him on my way from one spot to another just to make sure he knew I was noticing him. He may have complimented me on my schoolgirl uniform. Which of us did the asking? I'd have to verify that, but I have a feeling it was me asking him. Wish it were the other way around, it is so much more romantic when the guys ask (hint, hint).

And then we played. He made sure I knew he was in charge and then I was over his knee about to get my ass whupped. Wow. He was one of the few, in all the years I've played, where I came close to saying a safe word, where I didn't think I could go any further and he made me go further. He used his hand for much of the scene but then there were paddles and straps; oh, I couldn't even tell you what he used.

I remember M. used to say, "I don't want to see any of those crocodile tears," whenever I'd start to struggle and have a hard time with the pain. He also would react very strongly when I'D get angry at him -- this happened on occasion when I felt he was pushing me further than I could handle. I would be struggling to break position. He'd tell me to simply do whatever I needed to do to maintain my position. He usually let me yell my head off as long as I held still. All of this play was difficult while it was happening, but a beautiful memory and fantasy later on.

Saturday's reunion spanking was delicious as always. He made sure I knew HE was in charge, then he spanked me very, very hard, and then he used one of my own paddles to paddle me very, very hard. DAMN! I hated it, wished for it to be over, struggled, loved it. He still had the magic touch. Can't wait to do it again.

Now I have to write him and tell him. And I still have the same old fears ...

I'm waking up

My brain and my writing fingers have been asleep; a long, long sleep, but I'm hoping they are finally waking up. Certain people feel that I should be punished for this, and perhaps they are right, but not everyone can punish me and if the punishment for not writing isn't going to get me writing, I don't quite see the point. It has to really come from within.

It's like wanting to lose weight or quit smoking. I can go see a disciplinarian for these bad habits, but if I'm not ready to quit, if I'm still active in these habits, the discipline is simply going to make me depressed -- I failed again; time for my paddling.

On the other hand, one gentleman, a switch who lives in Brooklyn, is a published writer and he said he sees some potential in my previous work, some of which WAS published (Why do I have to keep reminding myself of that?). He wants to discipline me PLUS go over my writing and give me some pointers. I think it will be a good thing to do.

On top of the writing, I'm also getting back into physical activity. I'd been slacking off. With spring coming I don't want to keep slacking off. I signed up for an eight-week martial arts/self-defense course at the local community college. Today was my second class and it was fantastic. We did a lot of moves; I really pushed myself hard. The instructor said I was good at getting out of holds, although of course he was holding back. I got to kick, punch, do a strangle hold, wrestle a bit. All lots of fun. It reminded me of wrestling with my brothers when I was younger; got me very energized.

Tomorrow I'll try to write about some of my recent play, which has also been pretty exciting.