Monday, July 27, 2009

Monday, Monday

I don't like Mondays, and it's not for the usual reason. It's not for the reason you hate Mondays. I don't have to get up to go to work today unless I want to. I don't have some ass fuck boss in my face when I work, I'm my own boss. Well, I do work for another Domme a few times a week maintaining the dungeon, but it's not strenuous at all, and I enjoy the company of my "boss". She's pretty laid back, and pretty understanding of my needs/moods. If I can't quite get myself to work on a day we have planned for me to be there, she's ok with it. It hasn't happened that often, but when it has occurred she's been completely cool with it.

So, I don't have anywhere to be, and even if I did have to work today, session or otherwise, it's not that taxing. What do I have to bitch about, right? Right. I still hate Mondays. I hate this Monday. And I hated last Monday. The Monday before that sucked, too.

Monday didn't always suck, until recently it was very nice, actually. It was a day to reflect for me. I'd think back on the Friday evening before, and the Saturday afternoon following, and smile to myself. I still smile now, savoring those moments.

I have no writings, save what I've managed to record in this blog, about what happens between M and I. Someone stole my communications, they're all gone. Deleted from my life, forever. My pictures of M were also deleted, tho not by my hand. I trusted someone, and I was thanked with betrayal, and spite. I let someone into my home, and I was fooled by their act, again.

Again, I have been lied to, and again I have had something stolen from me. And it was malicious, and it was hurtful, and it was done out of jealousy and pettiness. And I have been guilty of a bit of that recently myself, and I instantly felt ashamed of it. That doesn't excuse what I did, I apologized, but it doesn't make me feel better knowing I spoke in a fit of pique and resentment. I have friends who say it was a small thing to do, and that maybe I have a "right to a little bit of name calling," but I don't think it's my right to speak that way. It didn't make me feel any better to say what I did, it only makes me feel worse.

I don't like Mondays because I have nothing fun to write about...I could talk about my new friend Marissa, and how our burgeoning friendship is helping to distract me from my current pain. I could talk about my mentor, Renee, who is attempting to guide me thru what is a difficult path to traverse, and how she has been so accepting of my emotional outbursts. I could talk about how I have tried so hard to manage the pain and anger and deep sadness I have been feeling. I could try to explain what it is I'm feeling...But this blog isn't supposed to be about any of that.

I hate this Monday because I know M will read this today. I know he will see what I have poured out here, and he will not like it. He will not talk to me today, and I will not reach out to him either, tho I ache for him. I will leave him be, for his sanity, for him to gain clarity. I do not know what he is thinking, or if he is thinking of me at all.

Or, if he is thinking of me, what it is he is thinking of. Is he imagining me lying beside him, my arm across his chest, leg thrown over his thighs, my face nestled in the curve of his neck? Is he wishing I was sitting across the table from him while he eats a dinner I've made for him; telling him some outrageous story about my work, or some tidbit of trivia I picked up that week? Is he holding my hand in his imagination as we walk down my Main Street? Do I open the door for him, smelling like marshmallow perfume and fling my arms around his neck, and kiss him deeply?

Does he think of those things, or does he think of the fights? The anguish I tried to convey to him has probably left an indelible mark. The desperation I displayed (not my finest hour), and the loss of respect could have wiped away all the affection he may have had for me. Maybe I will be an old friend, whipped out every month or so to be a companion for a night. Maybe I will never touch him again, tho I can't imagine not reaching out for him if I were to see him again...Tho, I would try to restrain myself in his presence. I just don't know how I should be around him.

For the moment, it seems I don't need to know how to be around him, because I'm not around him. And he doesn't want to be around me, or that's what he says right now. Last weekend he wished he "could see [me] right now," and it thrilled me to hear that. And I had hoped that would mean that I would see him soon, but it wasn't to be.

And I understand why, and I respect his need for time apart, and I had already decided to give him that before he made it clear to me that that was what he needed/wanted. I don't know what will come of it. I just don't know.

But, today, I don't like Mondays.

1 comment:

slut on display said...

Rationally I get it, emotionally it's just...Guys=poo sometimes. Yes I know this is not the most eloquent comment in the history of blogging but the only time truth truly cannot do without witty eloquence is when it's primary purpose is to sting. So as long as this comment conveys that I think guys=poo sometimes it suits my purpose.