| a fascinating excursion. |
[Mar. 3rd, 2003|12:09 am] |
Well, I missed a post-day. Shit. I'm tired, too, and need to get up pretty early in the morning. My father's supposed to take me out skiing, then back for that blood draw and office hours. The kids will want their piddly little homework points, of course. But I am the sole arbiter. I like that word---arbiter.
Maybe my father and I will have "Buffy"-watching time this semester. I tell him stories when I see him; he's expressed an interest. Maybe we'll pop over to the math department on a regular basis and watch a couple of eps on the big projector. I'd like that; he's got some great storytelling ahead of him. (Yes, I'm going to make him sit through "I Robot You Jane" and "Reptile Boy" too. It's only fair.)
I hadn't talked with Lee in a few days, so I was a little surprised when she showed up and asked where that copy of "The Twelve Chairs" I'd ripped for her had gone. I'd sent it around a month ago, and she had decided to watch it last night. Popcorn popped and everything. Unfortunately for her, I'd deleted it to make room for other stuff. She was upset, and there was very, very little I could do about it. I spent this morning sending her the movie again and devising a typically overspecified system for the use of her space. It remains to be seen how well it will work.
I fucked up today. Chris and Cubes showed up at my door, and we got dinner. They had cream of broccoli soup. I like soup, especially that kind. I liked it so much that I didn't realize until I'd had a small bowl that I'm forbidden from having it. Caffeine study and all; cruciferous veggies affect caffeine metabolism. Shit. We'll see what they do to me in the morning. Maybe presenting them with a large jug of urine will assuage their sorrow, but probably not.
My father had wanted to see me, so I made an appearance. We went on a field trip to the hospital; an hour in the car to spend two minutes checking a patient's chart. I'm not sure why this asinine policy was implemented, but he has to make an appearance once every twenty-four hours and check the chart in person. At least we got to talk in the car. Yes, chats with my father are one of the things I'll miss most when I move out.
Speaking of. My mother called me and suggested I try a one-year MBA program. In some senses, it would be perfect. It doesn't preclude reapplication to the school of my choice, I can try to get residency status in California and it's not a waste of my time. As long as I don't have to get too close to those skeevy marketing or sales types, it could just possibly work.
Had a couple of thoughts, spurred by an article (over here) about people getting into BDSM for the wrong reasons. I thought back on my first times out to the club, how I didn't really like all the symbolism-for-its-own-sake and the ridiculously femme outfits. I remember thinking that the mistress was kinda scary. And thinking that maybe I'd made some kind of mistake---I'm supposed to like this, right? Where's that genuine arousal that's supposed to come with it? Am I faking? Can they all smell me, detect that I don't belong?
(That's a recurring daydream I have. Suddenly everyone around turns to me, like they're seeing past my outer shell, boring into me. They look at me and say with their eyes, "You don't belong here." And, of course, they're right. I've been pretending, trying to avoid detection, and now I've been unmasked as a fraud.)
I remember learning to be much more at ease with nudity... this was more valuable to me than being around all those boobs, even. Yes, the boobs were a factor, but I think the casual nudity made a positive difference in my body image. But... yeah, that's positive, but that doesn't mean I'm not some kind of fake.
Ah, now I see. Remember reading "The List" and having these silly adolescent romantic ideas about BDSM. I think my perception of BDSM has evolved in parallel with my thoughts on sex---I wasn't particularly wise about either back in high school. I remember fusing soft nylon ropes with a candle and making Lee an elementary (very bad) shinju harness. And then there was the awakening of my dominant side... it was during one of Lee's spring visits, and it was completely spontaneous, fully clothed and not at all complicated. But I felt it. It was that feeling which would bloom when I played with Rek last year. It was arousal, but in certain ways orthogonal to sex.
Symbolism and such never did it for me. Wearing black is more than enough; leather is overkill for me. All that kneeling and ritual nonsense makes me giggle. My power---yeah, I'm going to use the word power---needs nothing but my hands to express itself. That's why it was so fucking great when Nicole (way back when) said that someone had tried to top her before, but it had just seemed silly. I had no talismans, no symbols, and I made it work.
Maybe I'll trace the roots of my polyamory next, but I doubt they'll be as interesting. I'm bloody tired, in any case. Bonding time with my father is always worth missing a day of posting, though. |
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