Words... At the end of a Week

Let me be clear.
Our family is well. Living in the midwest, we are dry, safe, secure. We've watched and listened to the reports from the Gulf coast with ever growing horror and disbelief and fury. How can such misery go on and on in a major US city -- unchecked? How can our so-called "leadership" allow the appalling lack of any sort of response to even the most basic needs for relief continue? We are in the hands of madmen. In the hands of fools so far removed from reality that it is utterly frightening. I sincerely wonder if the tremors set off by the devastation of Katrina may not rock us all in ways as yet unforseen. We've no one with any clue about how to steer this boat...

Tuesday night was the appointed night for my face-off with those who were gunning for me in the parent community at school. After weeks of preparation, I made a one-hour presentation to explain the junior high mathematics program in it's entirety -- its basis in terms of the graded course of study, its foundation in terms of theoretical research and NCTM standards, its compliance with state and district standards, and the accommodations that I make to meet the needs of students of different learning styles and needs. Every family was supplied with a 39-page packet of informational materials. I took questions from the group for as long as anyone wanted to ask. The group of people who have been passing rumors and spreading gossip; those who have been most vociferous in their complaints, did not bother to attend. However, the larger percentage of my students' parents, who did come that night seemed pleased with what they heard, and were supportive. Now we'll see if the rabble rousers will go back to their caves...

Cleo, the wonder cat -- my old lady feline companion, who is about 14-1/2 years old, is terribly ill. I suspect that she is likely suffering from kidney failure. She's basically quit eating anything except a bit of turkey. Not drinking anything. Mostly just sleeping. I was there the morning she was born. She's been companion in my world for a lot of years. I know that a vet would likely force fluids, perhaps suggest dialysis, charge a lot of money, scare her half out of her wits, and make her utterly miserable. At this point, my sense is that she is not uncomfortable, she is peaceful, she feels safe and loved. Mostly, she is sleeping. I am feeling sad, but hoping, that if it is time for her to go on her way, that she finds her way easily...

There was an anonymous commenter to my last post that said that I might be letting my mind write checks my butt couldn't cash. Suggesting that perhaps a bandaid over the damaged spot on my butt would be prudent. If it were that simple, we'd have done that. Duh. We've shredded bandaids by the score trying to protect that spot. Tried covering it in a variety of ways. I've tried to support that skin with any number of creams and potions, purchased at every sort of pharmacy and health food store. Some scene folks talk about a condition called "leather butt." It implies, to some, a condition where the skin becomes tough and insensitive. Others consider it to be more like what I have experienced, a sort of thinning or brittleness that makes for an area of particular weakness. One solution that works to some degree is to spank over clothing... That can reduce the chances of that skin breaking, but has other drawbacks -- He can't see what He's hitting, and that has risks too. In reality, the fact that it bleeds isn't particularly painful from my perspective. It is "messy." It requires a level of aftercare. It is a reality that we deal with.

And then there was Loki, suggesting that He was surprised that I hadn't already known that ... What? I'm not exactly sure what it is I might already have known. I suspect that what I ought to have known was that I should have told Master of my need, sooner, more clearly, more definitively. Not let it get to the place where I was feeling so lost, so cut off, so adrift... That it was my responsibility to make that situation clear, not wait for it to become known somehow...
It is a reasonable suggestion. A reasonable expectation. An expectation that Master, Himself has of me.
There is a delicate balance that one who is slave maintains, and I think it is complicated to explain, even complicated to understand for the one who attempts to keep the balance. I know that my needs are important to Master, that He wants to know what they are. At the same time, I understand that it is not my place to make demands, to drive our play or our D/s. The pacing, the style, the nature and enactment of that is His to define and determine. With the levels of stress that were so much a part of our lives in the months leading up to the knee surgery, it was easy to let the active D/s become more and more quiessent, and chalk it up to stress, or take the blame for the fall off because of my own emotional volatility. It was easy to tell myself that it was being put on hold until things were more "normal." I told myself that He knew what my needs were and that to reiterate that to Him was to "nag" in a way that was inappropriate for a slave. So, Loki, it wasn't really that I didn't "know" so much as that I put what I knew in abeyance for the time being because it simply couldn't be made to make sense...

We've got three glorious days off. A soccer game tomorrow for the lone remaining "kid," but other than that, a relatively light schedule. Perhaps there will be time for some sincere hedonistic stuff. That would be just good for us all...

swan