Time to take time off

And once again, just in time for me to have bills piling up and overdue, and my emotions a wreck and needing to be soothed, just in time to start the hard work of getting through my stupid probation issue, just in time... I get my period.

Sometimes I really hate being a woman in my "childbearing years." Especially since I don't intend to have any more than the Wildflower Child. I can't afford to take this time off of the cam site since my paid time has been so low lately. This simply sucks.

After I had my daughter, I was period free for 14 months. I wept like you would not believe the first time it came back. Like ugly sobbing. I'm in no rush to start menopause, but I sure didn't mind not having this happen every 26 to 27 days. Plus I just get so damn worn out. I could sleep for a week, I swear.

So besides the fun physical stuff going on, tonight on the ride to work, my hubby asked me if the corporation he works for asked him to move to Canada, would he be able to say yes with my blessing?

Canada

I have friends or family in virtually every region of the United States. But I have no ties in Canada.

Would the cats be able to come? What would we do about citizenship? Would I be able to travel to see people easily? What would I do? In general, what would I do?

I have to think about this. And considering I've personally never been west of the Mississippi River, I feel like there is so much here I haven't done yet.

I don't know.

In other news, before we got in the car and had this conversation, my supportive Hubby (he had a great day today and it shows) told me I should get online and get my "fuck on" with good members tonight. Which was so sweet I burst out laughing.

Then I got my goddamn period.

Fuck.

There is a time and a place

One of my points of pride about my cam room is how friendly and random it can be. I try to welcome everyone, regardless of how ridiculous the handle is.

"Hi BiggerThenABreadBasket. How are you? Can I call you 'Bread?'"

"Hey HARDnHRNY, what are you up to tonight?"

"So, Bored'nFantastic, I'd ask how you are, but I think you just told me."

Once we get past the introductions, if someone stays, I try to engage them in conversation. A little flirty getting to know you, otherwise I might get whisked off to a private session that isn't right for either of us.

Some nights my room is full of people I've known for months. We can joke and have fun, sometimes go private, but mostly they chat and help me get new members and new sessions. I hope anyway. Earnings have been very very slim on the cam site lately. But sometimes I only see new people and worse, few of them at that. I've heard all the models are suffering the same way, I just am newer, older, and less disinhibited than your average porn star or 18-year-old European nymphette.

Last night I had conversations with a whopping two new people. And I think my conversation with one of them actually lost me a session with a longer time member because I was trying to feel him out. Dammit.

The first new individual identified himself as being 18-year-old. This made me leery on many levels. First of all, is he really? Then, I think it is creepy that I could actually be old enough to be his mother. Then I worry because so many of the "milf chasers" I get are just rude. He wasn't rude, just a bit awkward. Eventually he told me he was Egyptian but living in Canada.

And then the member I thought would take me private left and I was just annoyed.

Next person came in with a handle based on a 90's long haired rock singer (his most famous bandmate wears a top hat and shades) and proceeded to "scream" (all caps) at me, the lyrics of one of the most famous wailing songs of said musician.

Followed quickly by pick-up puns so old they needed to be recycled. But then he asked if he at least had gotten me to smile and I thought perhaps, maybe, I might have a session coming up. This one also identified as Canadian.

So we talked movies a bit and music and other inconsequential topics, and my feet got colder and I felt a little bit more awkward by the second. And then, member #2 asks "So what are your thoughts on gun control?"

And I answered honestly, in that I believe there should be more. And left it at that.

This is my opinion; as the daughter, grand-daughter, niece, and sister-in-law of police officers, as well as a prior police applicant myself - no one in the general public needs high capacity magazines or military style assault weaponry. For any reason. Shoot deer and birds with hunting rifles and shot guns, and then you better eat them. Protect your home and your property with small caliber handguns or those same hunting guns. If you feel the need to have something bigger and more powerful, you might want to investigate why you feel that way. This is my opinion.

His response?

"Wrong answer."

And that's when I knew my time at the cam site was going to shit.

Seriously, you come to a site where you can see women (and men, and transexuals) get naked and perform for your sexual pleasure, and this is what you come up with?

And it went on from there. Every third statement was "I don't mean to preach but..." while he railed at me about the evils of government and how every case of strict gun control resulted in atrocities.

I left.

No money for me from the cam site last night.

Thank you very much.

There is a time and a place for political discourse, and unless you want to take me private and rant your personal beliefs at me while paying me $1.99 per minute, my cam site is not either.

Why I randomly fall over

I have been dealing with vertigo as a chronic condition for almost six years now. I also had singular attacks of BPPV (Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo) twice before the onset of the chronic vestibular disorder. I've had more brain scans than I would like to admit, but they were all looking for gross abnormalities, not fine visualizations of my inner ear structures. So while I have a vague diagnosis I don't have anything more specific.

Having an invisible condition like this means many people don't understand why I can't do certain things or why I am hesitant or uncomfortable in certain situations. Or why I almost never wore high heels for the last six years. I am much better than I was six years ago, most of the time I can drive, walk a straight-ish line, and sit upright. There are times though that I turn to look at my daughter, or to take a step, or stand up, or see something on the tv, or hear a loud sound, and I fall over. And then I'm done for a while. I see the eye rolls and sighs from friends and family when I mention that I'm having trouble.  I'm sure it gets old. And most of my family has no idea how it feels.

This morning I got a text from my kid sister, she had to go to ER yesterday, for vertigo. She's been diagnosed with BPPV. And she was so sweet and understanding, while asking for advice and help. I felt like such a shit for being glad that she finally gets it! She was so funny (she really is a funny person)  when she asked "how do you deal?"

Honestly?

Practice.

I've been doing this so long that I just compensate, all the time. I know that I need to stay fairly close to walls or furniture if I'm feeling unsteady. I know when to say I can't drive. I know when not to wear heels. I know when to sit down and put my arms on the table or arms of the chair to give my body as much surface area as possible from which to receive positional data. I also know that some things are more likely going to trigger an attack than others. Loud sharp sounds, flashing lights, quickly moving visual stimuli, dehydration, stress... Even my vestibular therapy exercises can set me off, but I have to try to keep up on them to reset my brain to read the damaged signals as "normal" to make me more steady.

I'm not talking about this to get pity. Just to explain why sometimes I am so tired I can barely think, even if I've been laying down for ten hours or more. My body is virtually constantly fighting to maintain balance in a world that feels like it is perpetually moving. Muscles I don't even know exist are adjusting and compensating at all times, just to keep me upright. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, I am almost symptom free, and I feel fucking FANTASTIC. I wish those times were more common. Most of the time I feel a little fragile, just that tiniest bit dizzy or lightheaded or unsteady. Just a little bit, enough to feel "not quite normal." Sometimes I'm absolutely debilitated by the spinning and nausea. Luckily that isn't as often as it used to be.

Yesterday, my daughter was standing on a stool in the kitchen and said "Mama, look at this! The kitchen is moving!"

I stopped everything and ran to her. Put her on the floor and asked her to follow my finger with her eyes (try doing that with a 3-year-old), asked her if the room was still moving or if it only moved when she was on the stool. She was giggling and I asked "was the room really moving or where you pretending?" "Pretendin' Mama."

Oh thank you Universe! 

When I was pregnant I was so worried that my child would have vertigo. I would absolutely sob thinking that I could pass this on.

So far so good. She is only 3-years-old. But I'm crossing my fingers. At least if she does end up with a vestibular condition, she will have a Mama who understands.

Monday

I know that technically the week starts on Sunday, but I always feel like it really truly starts Monday morning. When I am snuggled deep under the covers (and some cats) trying to avoid getting up as the Wildflower Child stirs, then snuggles, then gets up and starts playing, and eventually steps on my head as she climbs over me and tries to push me out of bed. This is a process that can last anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour and a half.

The last several Mondays all I have really accomplished is getting breakfast for the child and relocating my carcass from the bed to the daybed, where I commence the snuggling under covers (and cats) for as long as possible until I have to get ready for the "day job."

This is truly not something of which I'm proud. I read books to Wildflower Child when she brings them to me. We snuggle and play with toys on the daybed. I get her numerous snacks and meals and beverages. And then I doze again. Sometimes I spend a bit of time online, but mostly, I nap.

This isn't just Monday's either, but they are the easiest to look at and say "See? There is a distinct lack of motivation to do anything productive there..."

I have a half finished painting sitting on an easel less than five feet from where I am sitting. There are ingredients for meals in the kitchen and refrigerator. I just don't have the energy to create anything right now.

The major difference between the last several Mondays and today? I did laundry. And it isn't even 2:00 p.m. and I have my clothes picked out for work tonight. And I know what lingerie I will wear for work later. So I'm way ahead of the game. I read a story to the Wildflower Child and have fed her twice. And later, she'll get a bath when I'm done with my shower and keep me company while I experiment with my hair. Oh and I painted my nails. Because that's really important.

I wish I could find a switch that keeps my motivation and energy levels "on." Unfortunately I seem to be primarily stuck on "off" with sputtering moments of creativity and production. Even trying to write a blog post today has my brain moving sluggishly and dreaming of a nap.

The daybed is calling and I have about an hour before I need to start getting ready. Might go close my eyes. Just for a minute.

Two rules by which to live

I have decided that there are two relatively simple rules by which I am going to try to live.

"Don't be a dick." Wil Wheaton's sage advice to all.

"Don't be creepy." R's mantra in the film version of "Warm Bodies."

I would love to think that I've got "don't be a dick" pretty much down, but to be fair, I have my moments. I have very few outlets for frustation or anger in my world. I'm generally either here at home, or at work. With some outings to see family thrown in. On rare occasions I might go to church (Unitarian Universalist Pagan right here) or even more rarely, the movies with the hubby. I have no life.

So imagine if you will, who bears the brunt of my frustration and stress and moments of dickishness.
If you thought "oh god her poor husband," you would be right.

And yes, he has his share of dick moves, you've seen the most impresive of them in these posts. But he also weathers the storms of my rage and frustration and batcrap crazy episodes. Not necessarily well, but he does manage to stick around. So let's give him points for steadfastness today.

I'm a really a great friend though. I can't necessarily help you move (never have a car, always have a toddler), or bail you out of jail (no money), but dammit if I won't be the one to talk you down at 1:00 a.m., or help you suss out the appropriateness of your romantic relationship, or just listen while you rant about, well, anything. I've been told I'm a fantastic therapist. And even if it is on the cam site I'm cheaper than conventional therapy.

I can be sarcastic, snarky or the Devil's Advocate. But I'm rarely a dick.

I seem to have a slightly harder time not being creepy.

If you haven't noticed, I can get a little bit obsessive. I get an idea in my head, or attached to something, and it consumes me for a while. Like the time I spent almost an entire week trying to find youtube tutorials on painting with acrylics. Or how often I reference, or tweet to, Isaac Marion. Or when I named my dildo after Daryl Dixon.

If I'm interested in something or someone I will try to learn everything I can about them. I'm very detail oriented and will notice things that many people might not. With long time cam playmates (never on the first session) I might comment on something in the environment that I can see or remember a random detail. This is how I found some outstanding music. Or figured out that another playmate is a physical trainer.

I swear I am not a stalker. Although as it was pointed out to me earlier this week, a stalker probably wouldn't admit to it.

Still, I'm not a stalker.

What I am, is interested. And lonely.

I've made more connections with people who pay to see me naked and orgasming in the last six months, then I have with anyone in the "real world." And I've been absolutely and completely blessed that some of these people actually appear to care about me. As a person. Not just a pussy they can fantasize about fucking. But an entire person with a mind and heart and feelings and yes, sexuality, but all of it together. As well as nice sexy fantasies about fucking. I like those too.

This is fucking fantastic!

And to be honest, I tend to over share. I mean this entire blog is about over sharing. So people learn so much about me, and then I feel a knowledge vacuum. And I start to seek out details. I'm not demanding, and if I don't manage to learn anything it doesn't distress me. I don't get all depressed about not knowing real names or where people are from or what they do. It is simply a bonus. A few of my friends I know quite a lot about, not everything, but a lot. A few of them I'm even in touch with as friends, not just playmates.

I'm really trying to not be creepy.

And then there's my love of insects, zombies, gross medical stuff, cats (yes I have 9), body modification and ritual and true crime stories.

There's absolutely nothing creepy there.

I mean this is just gorgeous right?

Blue Mud Dauber Wasp
They feed black widow spiders to their young!

How can you not love an iridescent blue wasp that specializes in killing black widow spiders? That's not creepy, that's just obvious.

I explained my love of zombies in this post a while ago. But to recap, zombie stories are ultimately about survival and being connected to those around you. If you don't have a good team, you will not live. These tales are accessible and in some cases remotely plausible and just damn good. Also even the CDC thinks you should always prepare for the zombie apocalypse. (No, I'm not even close to prepared for the zombie apocalypse. Anyone want to buy me an emergency kit?)

I was a veterinary technician for three years. Early on in my tenure as a vet tech, a dog came in carried by her human. He was yelling and sobbing for us to help her as blood absolutely poured out of the dog's mangled front paw. He had been mowing the lawn on his rider mower, and she ran up to it to reach under for a ball he hadn't seen. We ran her back to surgery prep to stop the bleeding and asses the damage. As the vet probed and prodded what was left of the paw, I kept pressure on the leg and held it out in front of her as other nurses monitored her life signs and anesthetized her. At one point, an almost completely severed toe was clipped off by the vet, and landed in my shoe. Where it stayed, until we the doctor had the foot bandaged for the time being until x-rays and further evaluation could take place. 

That day was awesome. 

There was blood behind my ears, and a toe that wasn't mine in my shoe, but that dog healed beautifully minus a bit of her foot and was up and wagging her tail in days. She was a very sweet dog and I'm so glad we were able to help her. 

Also, abscesses are awesome. I once helped drain one the size of a lemon, on a guinea pig. Seriously. So fucking cool. 

As for cats, come on! What would the internet be without cute cat images and videos? I just get to live that every day. And I don't have double digit numbers of cats. Just nine. And of those nine, four are a mother and her three kittens that I couldn't find homes for, three are sisters abandoned at the veterinary hospital, and two are singles. All are rescues. All are spayed or neutered. All are inside only. All are loved. And I used to have more. So this is an improvement. And I think you would have known I'm a cat lady if you've seen my show based on the very large tattoo on my right leg. 

My famous tattoo

Those are two of my cats. The one on the bottom is still alive. She is one of the three sisters. Her name is Penelope Jane. I know you didn't need to know that. But I can talk about my cats all day.

Body modification and ritual is a very important part of my life, but it makes some people squeamish. I'm obviously tattooed. But I'm also branded on my upper right thigh and I've performed two suspensions and I lost track of how many flesh pulls before I had the Wildflower Child. And I would do it again in a heartbeat. Pushing my body to those limits allows me to stop thinking so much and just feel. To strip away all the bullshit and pain and frustration, and just be in that moment, supported by the ropes and hooks, and the group that has made the ritual possible, and whatever friends I have around me, but most of all supported by myself because only I can make it through the ritual to the other side. It is a cathartic and healing experience that I love. Another topic I can talk about all day. 

And last but not least, my love of all things true crime. I'm the daughter of a retired police officer. Seven years ago I actually applied to become a police officer. Would have made it too if it weren't for a lung infection that killed my ability to run. I think it was a response to having a father that was a police officer, to absorb anything I could about famous crimes, trying to make sense of why people do such horrible things. I've gotten away from it a little bit since becoming a mother, but it is still something I find fascinating. 

So. How am I doing? Am I a dick? Am I creepy? 

A piece of advice

Okay folks, here's the best piece of advice I can offer up today.

If you have been looking at your lover with expressions ranging from disapproval to rage for the last 24 hours, and you have not somehow made up or made amends, I highly recommend you do not try to touch them in a sexual manner. I cannot express this enough. It is the wrong thing to do, in every instance. There in no way in which this is the right move. Ever. NEVER FUCKING EVER!

If you have read even a handful of my blog posts it is probably more than abundantly clear that I have anxiety issues. If you didn't figure that out, you might want to check upon your reading comprehension skills and go back over the previous posts. Also, I have anxiety issues. Lots of them. In addition I have an incredibly, unrelentingly, unfuckingbelievably stressful life. I'm sure there are many many people who can say "but you don't have it that bad..." and you can shut up and go read someone else's blog because this is about me and my issues and my life and I'm really fucking stressed. (Honestly I'm generally not this selfish, but dammit I have had a shitty couple of days.)

I know I wrote about how Monday went to total crap right? All because I tried to avoid triggering my own anxiety issues further and removed myself from what I was perceiving to be a stressful and crowded situation. Because by doing so I would hopefully alleviate some of my own symptoms, avoid negatively impacting my family, and make a nice dinner. The response I got to every single one of my efforts from my husband ranged from scowls and sneers to falling asleep while I was trying to clean up and get the Wildflower Child ready for bed. Also, I almost impaled myself on a chef's knife.

Yesterday he decides to tell me he had a migraine Monday night, but didn't want to tell me because everything he was doing was pissing me off. What? I was pissed because everything I was doing appeared to be pissing him off! It would have helped tremendously to know that little tidbit of information so I could try even fucking harder to be thoughtful about his feelings. Because apparently I should know by now that when I get stressed (have fun following this folks), he feels inadequate and frustrated so he gets angry at the situation and takes it out on me.

What?

Welcome to the selfish mind of my husband.

So not only do I get to deal with my own mental and emotional issues, but then I have to remember, in the middle of an episode, that my mood is going to cause him to get anxious and frustrated and angry with me and I should try to make him feel better because he can't make me feel better.

It is such a good thing he's not like this all the time. Because I have done so much to modulate my behavior, my tone, my language, my body language and my approach to make him feel better. And that's the thanks I get in the middle of an anxiety attack.

And then, when I spend an hour watching "Weeds" with him and try to get him to bed at a reasonable time because he is coming down from a migraine and needs to get up in just over 5 hours, he tries to undo my pajama top and cop a feel.

NO!

But did I slap his hand away and scream at him to not fucking touch me?

No, I did not.

I asked him "Please honey, don't do that. You have to get some sleep and I have to get ready." Gently. Calmly. I then carefully extricated myself from the daybed we had been laying on, not crushing either him or the four cats that had piled on us, and went to tickle the ears of the cat on the chair across the room while he lurched up into a sitting position. Apparently, from what he told me later, I was edging away from him and staying as far away as possible.

I was clearly petting the cat.

Also, if you saw the look on his face, you wouldn't blame me for not sitting in his lap.

No he's never hit me, nor will he, but damn he can look violently pissed.

Next thing you know, we are in an argument about whether or not he needs the bathroom before I start getting ready to go to work on the cam site. And heaven forbid I jokingly say "if you need the bathroom, take the fucking bathroom!" Seriously, I was joking. Yes "fuck" is my favorite word. He exploded at me "how is THAT supposed to help?"

I tried. I really tried to work last night. Got dressed up, turned on the computer, got halfway there. And then I could hear him stamping around upstairs and couldn't do it. So I went back upstairs and proceeded to hash it out with him at 1:00 a.m. Because my life is awesome.

I don't know if we resolved anything. I stayed calm and quiet. He yelled at me a few times. I tried not to interrupt him ever. He cut me off several times. Eventually we watched another episode of "Weeds" and when he started to fall asleep I went to bed. He made me kiss him goodnight.

I'm so sick of this. I'm so sick of having to negotiate his feelings while losing control of my own mind and emotions and coping skills. I'm so sick of the people around me thinking that if I just tried harder I would be able to control these feelings and fears and wouldn't be so scared. I'm so sick of him blaming my mental issues for his.

I'm so sick of him not admitting he's an alcoholic. And not using the AA program. He's been sober for a year. (As far as I know.) But can't get a chip because he doesn't work the program. And actively resents it. And claims he can drink someday if he wants to.

And treats me like an alcoholic.

And today he will apologize and be contrite and I'll say "okay" and hug and kiss him and pretend it will never happen again.

Until it does.

Quiet

Sometimes, when there is too much going on in my head, when thoughts trip and stumble and run in chaotic circles wearing ruts in my psyche and solving nothing, sometimes I need to be quiet. Paint the landscape of my inner eye gray, lock the doors and shutter the windows, partake in the minimally necessary tasks of daily life, rest my imagination and retreat into silence.

The unfortunate part of this coping mechanism is how utterly unappreciated it is by those not inside my head. What is comforting and healing, or at least balming, to me, appears unresponsive or even rude, to those around me. Which in my life generally results in things getting much much worse.

Today all I wanted to do all day was sleep and grey out and be quiet. I had the day off from the telemarketing job, so other than having to take care of a pet sitting gig, my schedule was non-existant. All I had to do was keep the wildflower child amused and alive and I was okay. I've had a rough few days. Saturday morning I had a lapse of judgement and allowed a new member to have a Skype show, with the understanding that I would be sending a bill for service once completed. After a marathon session that meant I would get no sleep before my morning shift at the telemarketing job, he told me "I thought this was just for fun. I normally pre-pay if it is for pay." He had no interest in paying me. Never did. I lost what should have been $50-60. This made me feel foolish and weak and used. Saturday night I barely had any private time on the cam site. Made only about $21.00. Yesterday I had to go over our finances with my husband and my father and found out that we are looking at about $37.00 in the checking account for the next two weeks and I barely have anything coming in from the cam site due to the rough couple of weeks prior. Then last night I signed on for an hour and had absolutely nothing. People stopping by to chat and keep me company, but absolutely no private time. By 2:00 a.m. I just wanted to cry. What am I doing wrong? Why do I get the charming and complementary members with no money? As much as I love being told how sexy and fantastic I am, I can't pay my bills with sweet words. And the longer I sit in my basement, barely dressed, posing, with my feet going numb and my hands stiff with cold, the less confident I feel about performing, the less sensual and sexual I feel, the more desperate and scared and confused I feel.

So after this weekend, today I needed a mental break. As I mentioned I had a pet sitting appointment I had to take care of, and since my license is suspended, my husband had to take me over (with the Wildflower Child). We made the 25 minute drive there, I took care of the animals and we came home. Hubby wanted to show me stuff in the yard, but I was not dressed for it and it is brutally cold here right now. Highs in the low 30's and windy and I don't have a coat. I asked him why now, when it is so cold and I'm not dressed for it, does he need me to stay outside to count praying mantis egg cases? They aren't going to hatch until late spring anyway. So I came inside to feed the cats and start cleaning the kitchen. Trying to be nice when they came inside, my husband started helping empty out the dishwasher, but there was now all three of us in my small kitchen and it was claustrophobic, so I said it was "too crowded" and switched to sweeping. His response? "It's not crowded, it's your family."

I know logically he was trying to be nice, but anxiety is anxiety and I had just said that it was too crowded, meaning I felt it was too crowded, meaning I was uncomfortable. And then he denied the validity of my feelings and told me I was wrong. He'll never see it that way. And if I point it out, he gets defensive. But being the stubborn idiot I am, I tried. And then the night went to shit.

He left the kitchen and I kept cleaning, eventually able to start cooking dinner. But initially it seemed like every two minutes he or the Wildflower Child was calling me out of the kitchen for some reason or another, even though he knew I was cooking. At one point I came out holding the chef's knife I was using, he just wanted me to answer some question in the affirmative and I fell off the dinning room step down into the living room and slammed my hip into the loveseat. Remember I had a chef's knife in my hand that I dropped instinctively when I fell to keep myself from impaling myself on it. There is no reason I have to get called out of the kitchen every few minutes while cooking, but it happens every single time.

I'm bitching I know. I just sometimes need some quiet and space and grayness and understanding.

Also I need to make fucking money.

Seriously.

Yet another Isaac Marion reference

Okay so I'm a little obsessed, but he's talented and funny and has a cat and an RV and damn it, he writes things that just resonate with me!

"Nothing is permanent. Not even the end of the world." Isaac Marion "The New Hunger"

I read that this morning at almost 5:00 a.m. and it hit me like a meteor. Now I have two ideas rotating around in my brain. The image of a mobius strip, and the concept of all things being impermanent. Finite and infinite. And I'm comfortable in this moment balancing between those two thoughts.

"Nothing endures but change." Heraclitus

Ironically, I absolutely hate change in general. I am a creature of habit. A bit obsessive about my habits actually. Okay, perhaps more than a bit... But for some reason, this idea that only change is constant, that nothing is permanent, is comforting. I can look at the mobius strip in my head and trace its contours and know that each pathway I see and navigate is slightly different because I'm different, the moment is different.

So often I try to convince myself that I am exactly the same person I was in college, which has been fossilized and preserved in my memory as some sort of ideal time, even though I know in fact it was as horrible as it was blessed.  There is no way I'm the same person I was back then. Superficial changes include; I'm now a vegetarian, I quit smoking, I'm a mother, I am married, I'm tattooed and branded. Internally I'm more politically active, I feel more connection to my community, I am more concerned about my spiritual growth.

I've changed. In spite of myself I've changed.

I'm facing major, huge, upheavals in my life. The kind of changes that can erode the bedrock of reality. I have to accept that there is only so much I can do to prevent or prepare for this change. For the potentiality of losing my home and having to move. As alone as I feel in this, I have to know, truly know, that I'm not. My family is doing everything they can to help us. My husband is fighting tooth and nail and to do what has to happen to give us the best chance. My daughter loves me and is fantastic. I have friends who care what happens. I am not alone. I am changing, I am facing change, but I am not alone, I am not disappearing.

"Nothing is permanent. Not even the end of the world."

And if you ever question my love of zombie stories again, just remember, they are all about survival, and that's the theme of my life right now. Survival. And apparently, change. And those two things seem pretty much like evolution to me. Guess I'm evolving somehow, into something else. Something more than Kir was yesterday. Hopefully something better.

"Nothing endures but change."

Valentine's Day

I suppose someone as mired in the world of sexuality as I am at this point cannot in good faith ignore the most sexy and romantic of holidays.

Happy Valentine's Day! Do you know what you are celebrating?

If you said, "the High Holy Church of Hallmark and Gas Station Roses." you deserve to be celibate for the rest of the year.

If you said, "I'm an idiot and need to make up for past transgressions with a huge and unaffordable gift on this arbitrary day to hide my inherent thoughtlessness." you deserve to be celibate for the rest of the year.

If you said, "I'm not celebrating, I try to tell my loved ones that I love them fully and completely every day of the year and therefore will not put my checkbook or psyche at risk of overdraft today because the candy companies want to boost their profits." we'll probably get along great.

Truthfully, St. Valentine's day is pretty mysterious. Even the The History Channel admits that there are legends and ideas, but no one knows for sure how this day got started. But the one I've always been familiar with was the idea that this day was the Christianization of Lupercalia. And I must admit that until recently I wasn't familiar with the actual details of the rites of Lupercalia, but it does bring new meaning to the term "My Bloody Valentine." 

Let's just say there is a goat and a dog and some priests...They head to a sacred cave outside Rome where Romulus and Remus were suckled by the famous she-wolf. The animals are sacrificed and the priests are purified by blood and milk. Then they run around Rome lightly flogging the crops and women with the blood soaked strips of goat hide in order to inspire fertility in the coming year. The women would jostle for the best positions in which to get slapped by the bloody hides. I'm sure this was all done gently and with great laughter and fun. And eventually lots of sex. To, you know, get going on the fertility thing. 

These days people only flog each other if they are into that kind of play to begin with, I hope anyway. Mostly gifts of candy, expensive jewelry, or cards have become the norm and there is much angst and frustration in minds and hearts of the unpaired. I think this is criminal. No matter how this holiday got started, at this point it always points to love and luck and fertility. And not one of those things means you have to be married or in a relationship.

Love: Love your family, your friends, your pets (in an appropriate way!). Love your neighborhood, your planet, your alma matter. It is more than likely you have way more love in your life than you thought possible. Take a step away from the nasty conversation hearts, and look at all the love surrounding you. And if you still think you need more, consider this tidbit from the ultimate geek Nikola Tesla: 

Excerpted from "Prodigal Genius: The Life of Nikola Tesla" by John J. O'Neill: 

"I have been feeding pigeons, thousands of them, for years; thousands of them, for who can tell --

"But there was one pigeon, a beautiful bird, pure white with light gray tips on its wings; that one was different. It was a female. I would know that pigeon anywhere.

"No matter where I was that pigeon would find me; when I wanted her I had only to wish and call her and she would come flying to me. She understood me and I understood her.

"I loved that pigeon." 

"Yes," he replied to an unasked question. "Yes, I loved that pigeon, I loved her as a man loves a woman, and she loved me. When she was ill I knew, and understood; she came to my room and I stayed beside her for days. I nursed her back to health. That pigeon was the joy of my life. If she needed me, nothing else mattered. As long as I had her, there was a purpose in my life. 

"Then one night as I was lying in my bed in the dark, solving problems, as usual, she flew in through the open window and stood on my desk. I knew she wanted me; she wanted to tell me something important so I got up and went to her.

"As I looked at her I knew she wanted to tell me -- she was dying. And then, as I got her message, there came a light from her eyes -- powerful beams of light.

"Yes," he continued, again answering an unasked questions, "it was a real light, a powerful, dazzling, blinding light, a light more intense than I had ever produced by the most powerful lamps in my laboratory.

"When that pigeon died, something went out of my life. Up to that time I knew with a certainty that I would complete my work, no matter how ambitious my program, but when that something went out of my life I knew my life's work was finished." 

See? No matter how down on your luck in romance you may believe you are, at least you aren't romantically involved and linking your entire state of being, to a pigeon. I love pigeons and all, but there is a limit. 

Tesla's favorite white pigeon

Luck: Luck is a pretty touchy topic for me as I generally believe that if it weren't for bad luck I wouldn't have any luck at all. But the truth more than likely is that we make our own luck. And lately in some things I appear to be doing okay. Hubby and I are more loving to each other. I have great friends from the cam site with whom I enjoy playing. And I'm having a completely inappropriate Twitter relationship with Isaac Marion. So focus on the random things going well in your life and look at that as Luck being a Lady for you today. 

Fertility: Okay if you want a baby and it is a good time to conceive or get a surrogate or whatever you need to do, that's excellent. Put some extra focus on that and maybe this historically fertile time of year will be to your benefit. But "fertility" isn't always about babies. Fertility can mean overflowing with imagination or creativity. Use this time of fertility to jump start projects or ideas that have been floating around your head all winter. Or get imaginative with your Sweetie if you have one. ;-) 

So happy St. Valentine's day and Lupercalia, and Thursday (Thor's Day) to everyone. I hope you enjoy, regardless of your romantic situation. 

           

Lonely. Also the Universe hates me.

Moments ago, with absolutely no warning, the most intense, physical sensation of loneliness washed over me, making my scalp prickle, breath catch, heart race. I know my daughter is right there, right over there watching TV, but she might as well be miles away for all the connection I feel in this moment.

I should be painting or sketching, or writing something fucking epic. Instead I'm sitting on my old dining room chair in front of the computer, trembling, because I feel like I'll never connect to anyone ever again. I know this feeling will pass. I'm sure everyone has felt it at one point or another. I simply get struck down more than I would like.

The ache is making me dizzy. I want to curl around my core and hold myself like I need someone to hold me. Turn myself into a mobius strip so there is no beginning or end and everything is on the same side. My hands are shaking and I am struggling to find the words to convey these feelings without sounding trite, or completely insane.

Stomach is clenched tight, breath is shallow, loneliness is edging toward panic. I force that beast DOWN because there is no reason to panic in my dining room today. Vision swims, struggling damn hard to see the screen, need this to end. Smile and laugh when my daughter makes a joke. Chat with a friend on facebook. Be normal. Be normal. Be normal. Why the fuck did I sign up for all those stupid emails? Every time I see my phone flash I cringe because it is another notice, not a note from someone who cares. Unsubscribe. Unsubscribe. Be normal. Be normal.

Lonely.

Panic.

STOP IT!

STOP IT!

STOP! IT! DAMN IT!

This is my fucking head. My world. I smile and am cheerful when you look at me. Inside my skull I am screaming. Not always. Not necessarily often. But when I do, it is shattering.

Maybe I should have gotten more than 4 1/2 hours of sleep. Perhaps that would help. But I had such a difficult night last night. Finally, FINALLY, I was getting real, interested, appreciative, PAYING members. And in the middle of an outstanding session, the internet goes out. After trying to fix it for 20 minutes my husband called our provider and found out it was a scheduled maintenance shut down that they didn't tell us about. I had been edging in the session, so I was left on the edge, with no internet and no idea if it would come back on in time. This is a terrible sensation. I was a towering (well 5'1") inferno of frustration and rage. I managed to keep in touch with two people through my phone, and email bomb a couple others while I waited for the internet to come back up.

Then there was a spider.

We both survived. I'll leave it at that.

Eventually the internet was restored and I got back online and started making real money on the cam site, and my computer crashed. Got back online yet again. Made a bit more money. Was going to make more money and my daughter woke up. I could hear her running around upstairs. So I had to sign off and check on her. And then I couldn't sleep.

Be normal. Be normal. Be normal.

Hunger

"Hunger" has been in my life a lot lately. I'm reading "The New Hunger" by Isaac Marion, which is the most obvious way that word can be linked with my current state of being, but there is a much deeper, psychological, spiritual, visceral hunger that I am experiencing.

It is like the thousand hands pulling the dead man through Isaac Marion's dark forest in "The New Hunger." I am a walking vessel of need. I can't tell if this is part of my mental issues, or if this is has been inspired by the awakening of my sexuality and sensuality with the cam modeling. I try to contain it, not look at it too closely, sometimes let it out a little bit and have mad passionate sex with my husband or give the best cam shows of my life, but it is so big, so overwhelming that there are times when I find myself whimpering to myself like a starving person in front of a locked case of food.

At work tonight I could barely read my screen and pay attention to my calls because my thoughts were flipping back and forth between wondering when my husband will feel better and be up for sex, why he always runs out of steam in my favorite position, what my favorite members are doing and when I will see them, will we get to save the house, did I really need to order those insanely high red platform heels (YES!), should I buy more sex toys since so many of my Twitter followers are sex shops.... Each flip stoaked the fire of need and want and desire a little higher in me until I had to run off to the bathroom and just moan for a moment to contain myself.

This isn't "horny." This is something soul deep and insurmountable. This isn't just about sex and orgasms and the joy my playmates give me. This is about security and acceptance and safety and, well, damn it, love.

I hunger for love. LOVE. Real spiritual, sexual, emotional, intellectual, reciprocal, peaceful, passionate, friendly, filling love. Love of the neighbor, the family, the partner, the soul mate(s). I love. I love easily, too easily sometimes. I love harshly and softly, passionately, and with great tenderness. I love friends and family and lovers and pets and plants and the world. I love people I've just met and those I've known for decades. I love people I haven't seen or heard from in years. I love people who have hurt me deeply. I love people who barely know me. I love people who don't love me back. I throw my love out there, and want nothing more than it to come back to me.

I do not love myself.

I want to. I hunger to. I wish I could look at myself with joy and love and humor and acceptance. All of me. Inside and out. But all I do is judge. I forget that I am in the later half of my 30's on a regular basis and am shocked when I see the changes in my face and body. I hate my stomach when I'm sitting down. I am horrified by my upper arms and thighs and ass and neck. I hate that my brain plays tricks on me and makes me misunderstand external and internal stimuli. I fucking HATE that I have had vertigo for almost 6 years and that I might never be totally free of it. I can't understand why I can't get back to painting or drawing on a daily basis and then wonder why my art just doesn't come. I hate the nerve damage in my leg and labia that sometimes feels like ice tearing through the most tender parts of me. I hate that I want what I can't have and that I don't know how to make myself happy.

I truly, deeply, viscerally hate that I am terrified my daughter will be like me.

I want so desperately to love myself, but with all that judgement, there is no room for love. Only the hunger left by its absence.

Tumblr

For some reason I decided to add yet another way to get stuff out there to my little social media empire. I now have a Tumblr blog at Light a Fire. I'll probably use that more for photos and art and random bullshit that I think of during the course of my bizarre life.

Storm of the Century? Or just a tease?

So I'm really pissed that it stopped snowing about an hour ago. I was really hoping for a three day weekend from the telemarketing gig. When I got up this morning it was snowing nice and heavy, but nothing stuck, and now, when I should be thinking about getting ready for work, there is absolutely nothing falling from the sky, but  my hopes for a good reason to call out. Since my license is currently suspended (FML), the Hubby and Wildflower Child have to bring me to work and I do not want to risk putting her in the car during inclement weather. So snow for fuck's sake so I can call out and focus on getting my groove on tonight!

Speaking of, this week is turning out to be a little better than last week. Not so great on the cam model site, but I did get a Skype session that paid for some of the lingerie I've purchased in the last week. Also had a delightful conversation last night with a special friend that leaves me to believe I will have a wonderful week next week.

I am thinking about being completely corny and decorating my performance space next week as Valentine's Day silly, for the entire week. I haven't completely committed one way or the other, but I saw that Dollar General now takes PayPal and might be a good place to get a ton of kitschy decor and really set the place up obnoxiously. And since I do have pink and white lingerie on the way to me, and I already own red panties, I should be able to do something totally over the top love shack style.

Life is funny. I've been chatting with one of my friends through the modeling and we have so much in common including the state we are from, our age, our likes and dislikes, family situations... At multiple times throughout our lives our paths could have crossed, but they didn't, until now, until I started on the cam site. And this works, but it is just odd how the universe operates sometimes. Makes me feel small and insignificant, but also okay and content with what I have in some things.

It still isn't fucking snowing.

I should check the laundry and start thinking about putting clothes on. Also I'm going to give myself a coffee grounds face and body scrub. Seems weird, but that shit actually works. I didn't wear foundation all day yesterday until I went online. It is messy, but it works. Coffee grounds and honey, apply with hands, scrub slightly, rinse off. Works everywhere.

A new week

I'm hoping that this week, for whatever reason, will be the start of an upturn for me. Even though nature sucks and I have my period, I will be performing again in a day or two (thank you Instead Softcup!) and I hope that my clientele returns and that I get new members. Also, my missing friend is back, and that's always a good thing.

Basically, I'm feeling really good about myself.

I made commission at my shitty telemarketing job two weeks in a row, my painting is finally starting to look a little bit like what I thought it should (I've repainted sections of it three or four times already), I hit up eBay and bought six sets of bras and panties in various colours of lace (black, gray, white, lavender, pink, teal), I have thigh highs and high heels, and a new gorgeous tattoo... I should feel good about myself.

Now if I could just figure out the ideal way to set up my performance space so I'm comfortable, life would be grand. But we are in the middle of a cold snap and it is 50 degrees in my basement. That's just cruel and inhumane. I can't be naked in that temperature. I tried to make it so my space heater actually blows on me, but that required turning my futon into a couch and I end up in this deep trough, doesn't really work. I need it set up as a bed. I'll figure it out, hopefully before spring.