How to Melt an Imp
August 2nd, 2012
Sitting outside at a bar in Boise a few weeks ago, I mention to the guys I’m sitting with, that I miss bass singing voices. That there just aren’t a lot of guys with deep voices around at home. All three of them immediately launch into Swing Low Sweet Chariot… but only the intro line and I duck my head and blush, and come up giggling. It reminded me of a party a couple years ago when a guy I sorta knew wrapped his arms around my shoulders and sang into my ear. I melted. Not that he and I did anything after he stopped singing, but instant melt. It’s a daddy thing, no, not that daddy. When I was a child, I loved sitting next to my father while he sang, baritone most of the time, but some days managing the deep bass. I was always enamored of the basses in the choir, little girl crushes that never went anywhere. To this day, it still gets to me. I could easily lay my head on the chest of a bass singer for hours, and be a happy melted puddle.
Massage is another one of those melty things, I think for a lot of people. I told my first boyfriend once, that I’d do anything for a massage. He was polite enough not to test that offer. Everyone who has ever rubbed my shoulders knows I have knots that just won’t quit. I don’t have a lot of meat on my upper torso, but what’s there is knotted tight. Even the professional masseuse didn’t get very far because I’d bought a full body massage. So, I love massage, but I have to be careful. That “do anything” vibe it puts me in is rarely appropriate, and I sometimes feel a bit awkward in receiving a well-meaning rub from a friend. But when I just let go, relax and enjoy, the melting is wonderful.
Really Good Food that I didn’t have to make myself. I am such a picky eater, and my body is even pickier. That when I get a delicious meal, where everything is wonderful, and as close to perfect as can be. I’m in heaven. Freshly baked bread with soft butter. A steak right off the grill, seared but still mooing. Still warm and gooey cookies or brownies. Asparagus, grilled and lightly salted. Sea salt-crusted baked potatoes with soft and fluffy insides. Pot roast that falls apart with a fork. Light and fluffy waffles with sizzling bacon. Bright green, fresh salad with strawberries dotting the bowl. Jack Daniels chicken strips. Cheddar Bay biscuits. Crispy chicken or eggplant parmesan. Grilled pizza, deep fried turkey, juicy beef brisket or pulled pork. That perfectly ripe watermelon. Large-chunk guacamole from his wife’s recipe. Delicious food can make me melt with joy.
Adventures. There are Things that I like, Things that I want. But what I really enjoy are new experiences and adventures. Going out to hike a trail I’ve never seen before. Going to an amusement park and riding new rides (and old rides with new people). Taking a canoe down a river. Exploring a cave. Finding a new place to stargaze. Visiting other cities, states, countries. Shared joy is multiplied, and the wonder of a new experience is like nothing else in this world. Adventures melt away the ordinary and fill my heart with happiness.
I wasn’t sure where I was going with this post. I knew where I wanted to start, but I didn’t know where I was going to end. There are a lot of things that turn me on, I talk about them all the time. But that’s not what this is about. I wanted to write about the things that really get to my heart, as well as my loins. For me, melting is more about my romantic side. Which is a side I often ignore, as unimportant, or something for when there’s more time. But these are some of the things that really speak to my heart, that make me warm and fuzzy and happy. And I am fortunate and grateful that, excepting the first one, these are all often in my life.
Decisions
July 27th, 2012
I dislike the feeling of stringing someone along. I dislike even more, uncertainty. But I’m a stubborn one. Especially when it comes to changing a decision I had already made with finality. When I decide, this is what I’m doing for the rest of my life, and then something comes along and disrupts that, I dig in my heels and fight. I get upset, I get angry, I get sad. I do whatever I can think of to not have to change. But sometimes, change happens. Choices, even long term choices, don’t always last, don’t always survive the passage of time. Look at the divorce rate.
I posted a month ago, about taking care of the now, of change and of the whirlwind of life. Most of those things are in the process of being sorted out now. The immediate needs were taken care of and the rest are processing at their own speed. I posted about not having expectations, and letting things fall as they would.
One of those things has fallen in a very decisive manner, changing my poly landscape. Hubby and I have made the decision to remove romantic and sexual expectations from our marriage. I have been stepping back from these things most of this year. I have been stubbornly suggesting they are the goal of our counseling sessions. That we will eventually get back to a “normal marriage” which would include those feelings and interactions again. But, as we worked on that, I found myself uninterested in those things from him, uninterested in returning to those things with him. But that’s what we’re supposed to do, right? That’s gotta be the goal, cuz that’s “normal,” right?
Hubby kindly pointed out that if I don’t want those things, there’s no use forcing them. It will only make us both miserable. He also pointed out, that doesn’t mean we have to divorce, we’re poly after all, we make our own relationship rules. We don’t have to conform to the “norm.” So, we are still married, still planning our lives together, still loving and supporting each other. Romance and sex are simply not a part of the relationship anymore. Some say this is where all marriages end up, eventually, we just hadn’t planned on it being this soon. But as I said a month ago, nothing ever goes as planned.
Wants, Needs, and Poly
July 21st, 2012
I am a woman of many desires. I have a lot of interests, a lot of curiosity, and never enough time and energy to do it all. I enjoy the outdoors: hiking, camping, stargazing, swimming, canoeing, kayaking. I enjoy computers: programming, web design, internet browsing, WoW. I enjoy writing: blogs, stories, journals, articles, novels. I enjoy reading: fantasy, erotica, motivational, entrepreneurship, health, fiction. I enjoy movies and television: crime, drama, scifi, fantasy, action, cartoons, some anime. I enjoy kink: bondage, corporal, electricity, fire, wax, suspension, body manipulation, power exchange, service, and more. I enjoy sex: intercourse, masturbation, oral, vibrators, dildos, hugging, kissing, licking, biting, massage. I enjoy learning about everything.
But there is only so much time in the days, days in the weeks, weeks in the year. So I don’t get to do everything I enjoy. I have to work, I have responsibilities, and I have to eat, and sleep and take care of myself. The same goes for my partners.
That’s what is great about Poly. I have many wants and needs, but I can’t do everything I enjoy myself, so I know that one person cannot fulfill all my wants and needs either. I live in a wonderful kink community, within my community, I have a poly family. Within this poly family there are many individuals, each of whom adds to my life in the way he or she is able. I do not expect any one of them to fulfill my every want or need. And if a member leaves my poly family, I don’t expect the others to fulfill the wants and needs that one was carrying. Sometimes someone can and does, but to expect them to take on more than they were already doing is unfair. Each person gives me what they are able, and in return, I give them what I am able.
And this changes sometimes. On both sides of the equation. People and relationships grow and change all the time. What one is able to give and receive can change, as well. Time, affection, attention. And as we can see from the divorce rate, even love changes. It is unrealistic to expect relationships to be constant, or even consistent. The only way to manage this is through communication. Keep talking. Keep being honest with yourself and your partners. If you notice a change that has not been communicated, ask. Maybe they didn’t realize it was happening. Find out if it was intentional, or caused by exterior forces. Do not assume the worst. Ask first.
Just because one person cannot fulfill all your wants and needs, doesn’t mean you can’t ask for what you want or need. It means accepting no as an answer. When you love someone, you want to give them everything. But that is not always possible. Being able to accept no, being able to be happy with the yes’s they can give, is very important to maintaining a healthy relationship. If you constantly focus on what you’re not getting, you will never be satisfied with what you have.
I’m a Bootlicker, and That’s Okay
June 7th, 2012
He came in and sat down with his dinner. Tells me he’s really done a number on his boots, with camping and bartending, they’re a mess. I glance down and nod, indeed. Go get your kit. There’s not a lot of time. Oh we have half an hour. Hey, you wanna help? The engineer has been asking for a lesson for a while now. Sure.
So, I get my kit, get some water and set down at his feet. Me on his left foot, her on his right. I begin the lesson. Gotta get new soap. I have a bare ring left in the tin and the edge is all rusted. I get the rust on my hand and onto a spare rag. Gotta keep it off the boot. We make lather and start in. Wiping off a lot more than I usually have to, for all the gunk on them. Even the soles get work this time. We get a few stray comments from the peanut gallery and he comments on how good a massage it is. Then they are clean and I’m about to grab the grease, but I look up at him first.
“Now, this is the time to lick them.” he tells her.
I explain that some people lick after the grease, but that creeps me out, especially with the black dye in mine, but my heart is beating just a little faster. Did he really want us to?
“Guess what I read?” he says to me.
“My blog.” I answer, starting to blush.
“Yep, I got all caught up before I came out tonight.”
I’m blushing harder and mumbling to her, but she hasn’t read it yet. He really means it, he really wants me to do it. She’s a bit in shock to, as he tells her to as well. And then we begin.
I’m scared and nervous and embarrassed and excited all at once. I’ve never done this before, oh I’ve wanted to. Dreamed about it. Went to classes on it. But, but, but. Just do it.
And I do, and it tastes like clean leather. And it’s his boot. His boot. Those Carolina boots I’ve been staring down at for nearly four years now in this form or the other pair. These are the steel-toes I’ve been cleaning and caring for since he bought them. I’m holding his boot and running my tongue down the leather, from toe to heel.
And I can hear him appreciating it. I can hear people around him saying how hot it is. My face is burning, so I bury it in his boot. Kissing and licking. Pressing the sole against my chest and my shoulder as I turn my head to one side then the other. He says it’s a mix of warmth and pressure, and I’m glad he can feel it. I glance occasionally over at her and she is just as happily involved as I am.
So happy, and excited. Arousal has replaced all fear and is chasing embarrassment into a corner. I’m gasping against his boot, kissing and catching my breath. Enjoying the sensation of the tread against my chest. Loving the taste and feel and smell of the leather. I don’t want to stop,
I can hear them getting ready for class. We’ll have to stop then, we are far too distracting and distracted. Not yet, please not yet. I ignore the sounds and keep licking.
The arch of the boot is my favorite, a sensitive spot on my own foot, but hard to get to. I remember what Bootpig said about speaking to the person through bootlicking. I thought I understood it then, watching. But I really understand it now. I pour my love, gratitude and yes, arousal, out my tongue and onto his boot. And it is amazing. I never thought it would feel like this.
And I’m glad the engineer is on the other boot. There wouldn’t have been time for this if I’d had to do both. And while we are separate in our licking, together, we are making him happy.
When class does finally start, I have no idea how long we were licking, but we come up grinning like mad, and curl up, arms around his legs, happy with our first taste of bootlicking.
My Passion
May 21st, 2012
Today, I want you to do whatever is your passion. That was the start of the GRUE this weekend. People were invited to put their passion, in the form of a class title up on the wall, and to lead classes all day to teach/discuss their passions. I’d had a few ideas to put up on the wall until that was said, then I had nothing. Instead, I went and put up his passion instead, he wanted to fly people, and to teach his favorite tie. So, that’s what we did.
He taught the drum tie, with me assisting. It was a big class, so I went around and helped those who were having trouble. I pointed out where they had gone the wrong way, or I showed them what to do next when they got lost. I helped with the tricky knots. It was great, and he often praised or thanked me for it. Once folk were tied, I helped guide their heads off the ground and back down again. In between, I got to watch them Fly.
Oh, did they fly! So many new faces, so many first times. Such joy and amazement. And him, bouncing and running and grinning so wide. The onlookers staring and laughing, all of us enjoying the moment and the energy. And when they came down, and I cradled their heads in my lap. They were still glowing so brightly. It was incredible.
And he didn’t stop. He helped put up everyone from the class that wanted to go up. And then he kept going. People kept coming and asking to go up. He had quite the queue. We didn’t even get halfway through it. All day he kept going. And people came by to learn, as well. He taught the tie at least three more times throughout the day.
I was so full of energy, I couldn’t stay still. Often, when he was tying, I would wander off. I wandered off to a bootblack class for a bit. Talking with one of the bootblacks that I learned with, and discussing technique and products with the others that showed up. I cut out halfway through to see if he needed help when I saw him lowering someone, but her boy was catching her. He did have me run out for his gloves then. I went back to bootblacking after that for more discussion. I learned a lot about high polish boots, that being the side I don’t work with at all right now.
I wandered in and out of a lot of other demo classes. Fire, paddles, floggers, cigars, another couple suspension classes. But never for very long. I was curious, but not focused on them. I wanted to keep an eye on everything going on, but I kept coming back to him. Kept checking in. Bringing him water, making his sandwich after another friend insisted on getting us both food. Fetching things from the truck. Cleaning up the ropes between scenes. Keeping track of the queue. Basking in the energy each and every suspension created.
People kept asking if I was having fun. Some concerned that I wasn’t getting suspended. I told every single one of them yes. I was having a great time. Didn’t they See the huge grin on that girl’s face? Didn’t they see how awesome a time everyone was having? It was so great to see so many people have their first experience flying. I had an amazing day.
At the closing circle, my emotions were on a rollercoaster. I was so very near to tears then calm then up near tears again, all joy, full with the energy of that room full of people. Leaning against him, his arms around me. When he spoke up, he said how great a support I had been to him all day. Several people thanked him for his passion. I couldn’t speak, afraid I would cry and be unintelligible. We went to dinner, buzzing about the day, chattering, happy. It was a great day. I’m so glad I decided to go.
I began to wonder though, as he talked about having done his passion all day. What had I done? What was my passion? Had I fulfilled my purpose at the GRUE? Had I followed the rule? I fluttered around all day. Did that mean I didn’t have a passion?
No. No, I did indeed fulfill the purpose of the GRUE. I lived my passion. I spent the entire day serving him. Even my fluttering. To learn more about bootblacking. To keep an eye on who was using the other point. To check on everyone around and see what was happening and that everyone was happy and safe. To help him teach. To help him suspend new people. To share his joy and theirs. I spent the day fulfilling my passion of service to him. And it was wonderful.
Three Years
May 17th, 2012
I started this blog three years ago this week. I’d been in the local community about one year at that point. So, four years in the kinky community. It has definitely been the “bumpy, wild and sometimes very dark” ride that I promised in that first post. I has also been wonderful, amazing and very fun. There has been love and joy. There has been anger and pain. There have been incredible highs and dizzying spirals. My life has been filled with new people, new experiences, new love, new family, and new growth, I have battled old demons, old habits, old programming, and old beliefs. I have learned new skills, new ways of being, new ways of communicating, and discovered new strengths inside myself. I have made plenty of mistakes, uncovered weaknesses, become lost and broken. But through it all, I have found support, I have learned, I have grown, and I continue to strive for better. I have found joy in helping, in serving, in teaching and in guiding others.
I have discovered things that did not work for me, but they do not make me a failure. I have learned from these experiences, just as much as any others, perhaps more. And I am still learning from them, and teaching from them. That is one of the reasons I created this blog, so others who might read it would not feel alone, would know that others are having similar experiences. I have often found it hard to write about these things when they are happening, but I think I got around to most of them eventually. Often when the problem was solved, or at least finally understood, was I able to reflect publicly on it.
I started this blog anonymously. I think it was a year before I started sharing it with people, with my significant others and with my friends in the community. About the same time that I created PervertedImp.com and started double posting at both WordPress and the .com. I still haven’t decided if I’m ever going to stop the WordPress one and just have it forward to the .com. I don’t have much of a following there, but I do have a few. (WordPressers, comment if you’d like me to keep that blog up, or just come join the rest of us at .com.) I still keep a separate Fetlife account, though the lines are getting a bit fuzzy with Modern Dungeon Quarterly posts. And it is the pen name I use for my erotica. The internet created feelings of protective anonymity in my generation, and I find it useful to keep.
Well, that paragraph went around in a lot of odd circles. Let’s move forward.
I’ve put together collections of my erotica from this blog, both stories and scene descriptions. Organized by subject matter, into short PDFs with a few things that were never posted here. Some were posted on Fetlife and some were published in Pill Hill Press’s erotica anthologies. I want to offer them to you, my readers, for free. You can find them on the new Erotica Collections page, where you can also make a donation if you like, or click over to HP Magcloud to purchase a printed copy. Each week I’ll post another one, until they are all up. I’ll also be putting together an anthology of all of them together which will be available next month.
Memory Pain Fear
April 12th, 2012
We are not born afraid. Very young children are fearless. They don’t know there is bad in the world. It is through experience that we gain fear. It is through pain that we become afraid. Physical, mental, emotional, our own or someone we love. I wasn’t afraid of needles, snakes or sparks until I had a bad experience. Loud noises didn’t bother me until they meant pain and fear. A lot of things in the kink world, I didn’t know to be afraid of until they happened. It is that memory of the pain, of the fear, of the trauma, that triggers now. Stronger than the reality. A stun gun pressed tight against my thigh causes far less reaction than the threat and crackling of it six inches away. The memory of the pain causes fear.
Today, I remember pain. A terrible pain, full of confusion and disbelief. And I am sad and crying. But I am also afraid. Afraid of losing someone else. Afraid of reliving that pain. Afraid of being ripped wide open and bare with nothing to hold on to. Afraid it will be worse, closer. So many are far apart, I don’t see them anymore. Today I remember, but I have to let go of the fear.
My family is far and wide. Idaho to Maine to the UP of Michigan. My college family is even further. Stretching over the ocean into England and the other way to China. Both groups have a few more local. My brother and his family. A couple college friends are still in town. My chosen kinky family is here for the most part. Here full of love and support (and all the typical family drama). No matter what happens, there are plenty of people who care and who I can turn to, in one way or another. Living in fear denies their contribution to my life. With their support, I can get through anything.
One day at a time.
Round Two
March 22nd, 2012
“Now for what I want.”
“Yes, Sir.” She gripped the cross legs behind her thighs and grinned back at him.
Crack Snap Crack.
He landed a hit on each nipple and a teasing mid-air snap in front of her nose. She squealed and tensed trying to remain perfectly still. Clenching her hands on the boards lest she reflexively cover herself.
Crack Crack.
Crack Crack.
She let out her breath in a scream when he finished, barely able to keep her hands down, as he laid two lines across each breast. Bright red kisses pointing to her nipples. Mumbling curses as she caught her breath, gazing up at his giddiness.
Crack.
She howled and bounced on one leg as he caught her thigh.
Crack.
He stopped her bouncing with a strike to the other leg.
She gasped and half-glared, half-grinned up at him.
Then she saw the light bulb and he turned to get a different toy.
“Close your eyes.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Her breath quickened as she strained to hear a hint of what he was getting. She could tell where he was, but there were so many toys there, and he was being careful.
She felt him return, closer than before, and he wasted no time.
Thwap!
She yelped as rubber floggers slammed down on her breasts.
Thwap. Thwap.
She groaned into the hits, keeping her eyes closed and her chin up to avoid the falls.
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap!
Left. Right. Both. She gasped and moaned at the hits.
The he picked up a beat. And the rocked together. Single hits per beat. Double. And then triple. Six-count to the beat of the music. She started with a groan, building into a moan and ending with a scream.
He pulled back down. Double and then single hits per beat. Quarter notes on her chest. Pounding out gasps and moans.
“Can… I… Open… My… Eyes… Sir?” She managed between gasps.
His response was to pick up speed again until she screamed and tried to collapse, but there was nowhere to go. Pausing for a moment, he answered.
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Sir.” She managed through ragged gasps, and she opened her eyes to see his glowing face before her. Tears filling her eyes, but her smile matching his.
He returned to simple beats, staring into her eyes now. They moved together, breathed together, energy flowing free and joyful between them.
A new song came on, and he picked up the pace. Not too fast, but fast enough to send her humming into space.
Thwap gasp. Thwap moan. Thwap gasp. Thwap moan.
Into six count, her head fell back, eyes closed, hardly remembering to breathe in as it all came out in a long, moaning growl, fingers digging into the wooden cross.
Thwap!
A downbeat to end the song and she nearly falls, but he is there, hand in her hair, holding her up, kissing her.
“Good girl.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“You’re welcome.” He pulls her off the cross and against his chest.
“I love you, Sir.” She wraps her arms around him.
“I love you, too.” He kisses her forehead and leads her off to blankets and cuddles.
What’s Going On?
March 8th, 2012
So, my blogs lately have been a lot of nonsense, Modern Dungeon Quarterly and the occasional story. Life has been chaotic. Relationships have been chaotic. And I just didn’t want to put it down clearly. I haven’t even been journaling. I’ve meant to, but every time, I find something else to do. Something that won’t make me look at the words on the page. Won’t force me to stare at my thoughts laid bare. Bottling is unhealthy, I know this. I don’t usually do it. But with everything that’s been going on over the last few months, it seemed like my only option in some cases. Bottle it up until other things are sorted, and then let it out in a controlled manner. Wait til they sort things out, then tell her how I feel. Wait til I’m calmer, then tell her why it hurt. Wait til he’s had a few sessions, and then, with the doc there to help us both, say how I’ve been feeling.
Wait. Wait. Wait.
Ready. Set. Go.
New relationships bring whirlwinds with them. Change, adjustment, and new energy. Adding a new relationship to a poly group will forever change that group. Now, that doesn’t have to be in a negative way. Change is neither a positive nor a negative force, it just is. Things spin for awhile, as everyone readjusts, as schedules are resorted, as priorities are reframed. In my life, let’s add in almost everyone in the group entering into new job situations, and new class schedules. And things still aren’t settled because class schedules change every quarter. And toy is still working on getting a different job. Let’s also add in bits of drama, miscommunication, misunderstanding, and two people leaving the group. Stress levels rolling like ocean waves. Storms coming and going. Clashes of personality and sensibilities.
Everything changes. But if you can ride out those waves, weather those storms, and navigate the difficulties, you come out the other side stronger than ever. And, if it’s meant to be, so do your relationships. Not every relationship survives. Not every relationship is meant to last forever. But they all add to our lives, to our selves and to our strength. It takes a lot to rebuild after a storm, whether the tornadoes to our south, or emotional explosions that send everyone spinning. Sometimes you have to remove all the debris, foundation and all, and start again from scratch. Sometimes the remains can be salvaged. And sometimes it just takes a little patching up. Regardless, it takes work.
We are in the midst of that work, trying to see what we’ve been left with. What parts are still useable, what parts have to be made anew, and what parts just don’t fit anymore. Both sides of my poly life are in this situation right now. And while I am hopeful, I am not confident that everything will turn out the way we might wish.
Hubby and I have entered a second round of counseling, this time with a professional. Cheating, broken rules, broken promises, and on top if it all, Lies. We tried a community counselor, but when things blew up a second time, he suggested we were beyond his ken. Hubby went alone a few times to sort out some things and now we are going together. We have a lot of work to do.
Doc has four areas he works with in his couples sections and it seems to me, we have trouble in at least three of them. First is work ethic in relation to the marriage. Putting in the work to have a good marriage, and in this case, to fix the marriage. Are we committed to fixing it? Are we willing to do the work? Our friend kind of asked us a similar thing. Were we there because we wanted to fix things, or because it was our last shot? I told him I wanted to fix things, I wanted to keep the marriage. This time, it kinda feels more like a last shot. I love my hubby, obviously, but I feel so broken, that I’m not as confident it can be fixed. Do I want to fix it? Yes. Do I think it can be? Hopeful, but not confident.
Second, is the all important communication. Doc addresses this in a couple ways. First, is what he calls Face Value communication. That is take what the other person says at face value. If I say, could you take out the trash on your way out the door, that’s all I’m saying. I’m not saying, you’re lazy and you never do your part. I’m just asking you to take out the trash. Second is communicating to problem resolution. Not just saying what’s wrong, or what’s bad, but being able to come to resolutions that work for both parties. And lastly, nurturing communication. Being able to support and nurture each other.
Third, the one I think we actually manage, is having fun together. Enjoying each other’s company. When we’re not angry, stressed or depressed. I think we do a fairly good job of having fun together. Watching shows and movies we like. Playing games together. Having good food and times with friends. Though this last is a little more difficult, depending on the venue. I’m an odd bird when it comes to being social, and he has a difficult time in some of our circles here.
Fourth, always a tricky one for us, physical intimacy. I think with our run at counseling with our friend we tried jumping right to this one before fixing the others first. I mean, we were working on communication and such, but doing it all at once might have not been the best idea. Or maybe it was. But currently, this one will be last. I need trust back before I can even consider this step. And right now, it’s long gone.
So, a lot of work to do. A lot of hard work, to find our way back to our path together. We have help, so maybe we’ll make it. But it’s going to be a long road. If we make it through this, though, we can do anything.
I Don’t Know What I’m Saying
February 23rd, 2012
Souls, so intertwined, finding each other through space and time. Again and again. They meet and fall in love. But is it meant to be, or is it just a force of habit? Was the jealousy true, or just a flash of loneliness? Did she really want him, or just someone, to share her life with? Is it love or just comfort she finds and clings to? The easy path is rarely the best, but neither is the most difficult always the right way. Life is hard, but it doesn’t always have to be a challenge. Love is easy, relationships are complicated. And not always meant to last. Take from each one what you can, but don’t cling to dead and dying things. Let them go. Give them peace.
One more chance. Your last chance. We say these things often, but do we really mean it? How many last chances, how many times do we say one more? When is enough enough? How do we know? Bible says forgive 70 times 7 times, so that you, too, may be forgiven. Not so you count the number of times, but to emphasize unlimited forgiveness. But there’s a difference between forgiveness and staying in a bad situation. You can forgive and still leave.
Do your best. Don’t give up. Quitters never prosper. We are trained from an early age to keep trying. To stick with any commitment you make, never go back on an agreement or vow. Your integrity depends on it. We form bonds and cling to them ever so tightly. And yet, friendships are destroyed with a careless word. Relationships end over single wrong doings, real or imagined. The divorce rate is ridiculously high. We are pressured to hang on, and yet so often we let go. Sometimes for good reasons, some times for bad, and sometimes for no reason at all.
I don’t know what I’m saying. Words are just falling out of my fingertips. I saw this quote today: “Writing, to me, is simply thinking through my fingers.” ~Isaac Asimov It is true for me as well. I think through my fingers, ramble more freely in written or typed words than I do aloud. I don’t worry so much about whether I’m making sense, or speaking clearly or loudly enough. I can just keep going and going, with no concern for whether I’m being heard.
I don’t think today’s post is going to make sense, but I’m not sure I am ready to make sense right now. I’m okay with letting everything continue to spin. Maybe it’ll make more sense when it finally comes out if it’s had enough time to spin and whirl and simmer and boil. I let the top off now and again. I let the steam out, so it doesn’t just explode the pot. Just a little longer and it will be ready to serve. Monkey brain delight. Fresh from the skull.