A Taste of Things to Come.

Been a while since I last wrote… Lots of stuff going on. I’m home (finally) on a somewhat stunning thursday evening. Just finished my first week back at school. (Can I just say what a trip?) What a trip. I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I am by it. Every class offsets the others beautifully. They compliment one another; some have very little writing but a good deal of reading, while others are mostly reading and very little writing.

Speaking of writing I’m finding it difficult to write right now. Not exactly sure why… Editing myself I suppose, self conscious maybe, too long between entries? Beats me.

I’m hungry. Paced the house. Open the fridge… nothing looks good… let me rephrase that… what little there is in the fridge doesn’t look appetizing. Cheesy goodness sounds tempting but with what shall I eat the cheese? That is the question. Had lunch with a friend at noon, the only thing I’ve eaten today. Now that I’ve held still long enough to notice, I’m starving. Licked the last of salty crumbs from a bag of corn chips… don’t normally eat them but it’s been a corn chip kind of week.

Month really.

I’m back at work, five days a week, though only three and a half hours at a stretch. It’s liberating to be on  some sort of schedule, (the first time in months). Breaking my arm took me out of the game alright. And not having had school this summer I feel as though I’ve done nothing but drift. Jumping back into things is a bit like being swept up by the tide while swimming strongly back to shore. I’m moving quickly and the effort is a relief. Land at last. Grounding, a direction for energy to move, at long last.

This semester I’ve got Anthropology of Power, how sweet is that? Pretty damn cool so far and it’s only just begun. (I find it especially fascinating as one of my primary interests is social power dynamics, in shorthand D/s). I’m also taking Grammar and Stylistics to refine my writing skills. (I’ve got remedial grammar sort of stuff I need to learn. I also want to hone my use of language and get a better grasp on voice as I’d like to be heard, not dismissed out of hand).

To top it off the icing on the cake is Diversity and Health. Not a bland or tame class by any means regardless of how dry the title might appear. Its going to be down and dirty. Pulling up the pavement kind of dirty. Raiding the closet kind of dirty. I feel right at home with the material. And, the instructor is something to behold. She’s wonderful, funny, and oh so capable of avoiding being PC meal-mouthed while respectfully drawing attention to the hard to look at stuff, the nastiness that makes up social injustice/inequality and its effects on the health of individuals and their communities.

All in all its going to be a hot time in the old town tonight.

Signing off in search of food.

Make Way.

I’m pacing the house (as I often do). It’s a late summer day. Clear and cooler than it has been. My backyard has been tilled under to prepare for garden planting next spring. My brother-in-law set up a chicken coop in the farthest corner from the house. My other brother-in-law has promised me some chicks when I’m ready.

Owls stuff is getting settled in nicely, there are new bookshelves, (still not nearly enough shelf space for all the books we own between the two of us). I took two for my room, one holds all my fiction and fantasy, and the other kink gear.

It was quite the debate; wether or not to have some of my kink stuff boldly laid out for people to see. How scary is a collection of paraffin candles, baby oil, various gloves, chucks, bk, iodine, and alcohol wipes, needles, (lots of needles), sharps container, Techni-Care, Barbicide, safety scissors, multiple rolls of different colored saran-wrap, rolls of vet wrap and tape, first-aid goodies, condoms, lube, vacutainers, and plastic painter drops? How likely is it that I’d bring someone to my room and they’d run for the door? I stood staring at empty shelves.

Eventually I shrugged and got the above stuff out of my closet and organized onto the small, three shelved, black bookcase. Which in turn allowed me to move some fetish wear out of the living room closet into the bedroom. Freeing closet space for some of Owls clothes. The removal of my fiction and fantasy  books from the pantry/laundry room made space for the fabrics from the basement to come up, and empty boxes and such retired to the basement. Cooking books and magazines also moved from the panty to the tall bookshelf in the living room…

Ummm… sorry you probably aren’t interested in all the boring little details.

Short version: I’ve started on the fall sorting and cleaning. Making space for the new, rearranging and sorting the old, displaying the works of art and the tools that make such things possible. Nesting stuff in other words.

I’m all registered for fall semester. I’ve got an interesting set of classes I can’t wait to start. All the same it’s hard for me to believe summer will be at an end in just a few short weeks.

My broken arm is all but healed. After just two months I’ve got full range of motion and am able to do light weight lifting. So long as I don’t run afoul of any rugby teams I should be fine. Pretty damn lucky and blessed if you ask me. It could have been worse.

I’ve gone back to work, (if you call 15 hours a week working). I play with books, doesn’t feel like much work to me as long as I’m left to myself. Speaking of work I’ve got to be in early so I’m going to cut this short… just didn’t want you to think I had disapeared or something.

Agog and Gag-less.

I had lunch with my father today. Even though we live a half an hour away from each other I see him rarely, about twice a year. We talk every other month or so. It’s always a bit strange for me to spend time with him. Generally brings up lots of stuff and it takes me a couple of days to recover, less time then it used to.

I tend to get uptight before he comes over, tense. I mentally prepare my personal boundaries for assault. I can count on my father bringing up his sexual fantasies and interests. Goes way beyond sharing. I’ve come to realize how uncomfortable it makes me. I don’t want to know and I’m tired of having the same creepy conversation.

Its as though he’s looking for some sort of absolution from me. Some sort of permission to be a pervert. Course the irony is I’m all for perversion; I just don’t want to know those sorts of things about my father. I’m his daughter, not his mistress, or his therapist. I wonder sometimes if he understands how terribly inappropriate he can be.

Over strawberry crapes and coffee I filled him in on the past five or six months. He did the same, like I said we don’t see each other often.

The funny thing is my relationship with my father is affectionate, if mostly estranged. I have a great deal of compassion for him. He brought me up with a thirst for knowledge, a love of learning. He taught me to read. I inherited his passion for music, for the written word. The beauty of the things my father gave me are equally matched with the level of disfunction I’ve had to unlearn. I think its part of the package deal of being an adult child of the mentally ill. It’s a blessing and a curse.

I’ve spent the past few years modifying my behavior, learning healthy boundaries; what they are and how to maintain them. Today at lunch when my father mentioned that it had crossed his mind once or twice to ask me to hook him up with one of my ‘friends’, find him some young thing… (yuck) seriously. Wish I were making this up.

I decided at that point to let him know, kindly but way firm-like, “Dad. I don’t want to know about your sexual interests or fantasies. I don’t need to know. I don’t want to know. There’s nothing wrong with having them. I just don’t want to discuss yours with you.” Not appropriate. Not okay. Yay for me standing my ground. Hears to me being healthy enough to know how not okay it is and doing something about it. I explained how and why it was over-sharing and how uncomfortable I feel when he does it.

I know I live an interesting lifestyle but it doesn’t make it alright to bypass niceties and politeness. I’m out of the BDSM/Kink closet with family and friends, and I’m somewhat open about my areas of interest and studies in polite society. And yet, there are times when the character assumptions people make of me leave me speechless and agog.

It’s too bad gags aren’t more in fashion.