Ahhh…Vacation Time. For normal people, being on “Vacation Time” means sleeping in every morning. For moi (odd bird that I am) it means waking at the asscrack of dawn every morning (unless W’s kept me up til 3am partying like a rockstar on board a cruise ship.) I don’t mind, really. It just means I have that much more time to enjoy my time off. I think I started Vacation Time yesterday at W’s, even though vacation didn’t officially start until 12 noon, when I got off work.
I was in luck, though, and W schtupped me good for an hour or so, so I wasn’t actually up and out of bed at 6am, which would have been blasphemy at his house.
I’d spent the night before with him, and we’d talked and talked (well, mostly I talked and babbled and cried a bit and talked some more) as I explained a bit more about the SAD. He’d read my previous blog, of course, and had thanked me for that, since the days since Sunday had been a bit…touch and go. Not as much “go” as he’d thought, from my perspective, but apparently my meltdown had shaken his confidence in things somewhat.
I felt really really bad about that, and hastened to reassure him, even though he said that what I had written had clarified things and helped him to understand. “Now it all makes sense,” he said. “I wasn’t buying what you were saying at all, and I thought maybe things had just run their course with us, and that you were done.” Just hearing those words from him set my heart racing with anxiety so bad I couldn’t speak for a few minutes. And when I could finally think again, and communicate, it was to babble stupidly, praying that he would believe me that it wasn’t that.
Although, feeling as crazy-in-my-head as I was, it might have been. I’ve done some crazy bad shit before during previous SAD episodes.
What I keep wondering now though, what’s niggling at me and bothering me, is that he didn’t put up any kind of resistance to my apparent almost-defection. He did write me an amazingly warm, tender note, telling me why all the crazy shit I believed to be true wasn’t, but…it makes me wonder. Would he have just let me go that easily? Just let me walk away, because, as we’ve both acknowledged, nothing “lasts forever?” I hope not. When I say I accept that nothing lasts forever, that doesn’t mean that I hope it doesn’t. Or even expect it not to. This is not a self-fulfilling prophesy. Or at least I hope it isn’t. It’s merely an acknowledgement that the expectation of “happily-ever-after,” “til we die,” monogamous bliss is not, in my opinion, very logical, and at times inhibits people from enjoying what they have here, now, to its fullest. Forcing a thing to be what it’s not is a recipe for pain and unhappiness. Things–including relationships–have a natural life cycle, and sometimes what we need from them is not a lifetime.
On the other hand I want a lifetime with my two Guys. I want to grow old together (although I’d sure as hell like to enjoy this not-old phase for quite a while more.) ;-) I want us to share a life that we can look back on when maybe our bodies can’t do all these things anymore, but our hearts can still feel it all. I want to be the oldest damn triad at the old-folks home, still together and still madly in love, demanding that we get a room for three when we’re 90 years old.
Until then, though, if I ever have an episode like Sunday’s (and the past couple weeks) I hope that W will fight for me, and for us.
Anyway, after a lovely, restorative bath-by-candlelight, with W close by so we could talk, and then sleeping cuddled in his arms all night, I was starting to feel my equilibrium again. By the time I got home that afternoon and got to spend some time cuddling and debriefing with Ad, I was feeling like I could manage this thing, and actually looking forward to my trip with the Missy again. It was also fun trying to pack the chime balls, buttplug and red slutty heels without her seeing what I was doing. ;-)
And now, here we are! On the road. In Portage, IN, to be exact, and heading out soon for our cabin by the lake, near Manistee, MI. The first Wonderful Thing to have happened on the trip was that the car rental place didn’t have the Itty-Bitty-Teeny-Tiny cheapo car that I had reserved, available. Instead I got a Jetta for the same price. I know, not much bigger, but–a fun car! I am not a “car girl,” but I do love those new-fangled inventions like power windows and doors and cruise control. ;-)
Speaking of “cruise control,” we got pulled over near Springfield by a little rat-faced BoyChild policeman. Because I had failed to use a signal to merge from the center lane to the right lane. What a load of crap. He followed us for about 10 miles, looking for an excuse (there were probably 10 police cars pulling cars over in that stretch of highway.) I am a freakishly safe driver, very law-abiding, and so I am fairly certain I did not fail to use my blinker, but I wasn’t going to argue with the pimply-faced kid. He had me get out to talk to him (a demand that Missy texted to her friend while I was out, “He’s making my Momma get out in the cold! She’s gonna freeze to death and I’m going to go to jail for killing a policeman!”) I believe they were really looking for drunk drivers, of which I was not one, and he let me go with a “warning.” I felt I made a good example of how to behave when getting pulled over, even if you think the officer is
full of shit in the wrong. I really am a good little citizen, and know they are only doing their jobs. The Missy’s response: “He thought we were a couple drunk girls out partying!” Which may have had some truth to it. When I told him we were on a mother/daughter retreat he looked surprised. “Oh, that’s your daughter?” But perhaps he was just realizing he’d been ogling some teenage girl’s cleavage in front of her mother (he leaned in the passenger window. Ostensibly because of traffic. But we all know the real reason.) ;-)
I have been having some wonderful chats and sharing lots of laughter with the GirlChild on the drive.
Some tidbits of conversation:
- Apparently, when she was wandering back and forth between her place and ours, packing, she had the Pup-Pup out and he saw a squirrel and chased it. And caught it. By the scruff of the neck! At which point he promptly spit it out, a very surprised look on his face. To say nothing of the squirrel’s surprise. Said squirrel rolled end over end and then shook himself and bolted back up the tree, unmolested this time.
- She also told me that at one point in the beginning of her move over to the studio, all she had in her cupboards was a giant bottle of Cap’t Morgan’s Rum and ten boxes of pasta. “They were on sale, so I bought ten boxes, Momma! It seemed like a good idea at the time.” I am loving watching her set up home there. She is also quite a bit more of a “home-maker” than I was when I lived alone (which I’ve only done for about 6 months total of my life.) She already has her little morning routine and cooks real food for dinner for herself each night. And no, it’s not pasta with a stout Cap’t Morgan’s Rum sauce. LOL She bought real groceries, too.
- We talked about the use of pen names when you write erotica. Why it’s necessary for some people, and what mine is (I told her only “Jade,” not Jade Melisande. I’m not quite ready for her to find this blog. Though if I submit to the Sex+StL Show Me anthology call for submissions, and read for it at one of their their Erotica Out Loud events, there’s a good chance that she will figure it all out. She wants to attend when I read, and her college instructor, who is also a published erotica writer and has read there before (that’s how the Missy knows about the event) wants to meet me.)
- She told me about her desire to date two boys that are friends of her ex (and each other.) They both want to take her out, and both claim to be fine with her dating the other one (as well as her current arrangement with her FWB.) She wanted my opinion on if this was an okay thing to do, and how to make it work, pitfalls to avoid, etc.
- She gushed about the fact that she gets to vote for the President this year, how excited she is about the prospect, and whether or not voting to one issue is an acceptable method of choosing who to vote for (she thinks not.) Segued into whether or not the President actually has any real power to make lasting changes. My girl’s a smart cookie, and it was fun debating these topics.
- We also opined that all of the stupid Twilight chick’s problems could be solved by poly, but then it would be a very short book/movie.