With people who don't matter, I'm the most confident woman I know. "This is me. Here it is. Deal with it, or go away, that's up to you."
With my inner circle, I'm scared and insecure. "Am I good enough? Is it really me, or is it just convenient for you?"
I've finally learned not to start hiding. If they stuck around long enough to make it into the inner circle, the hiding is what's going to push them away, not the honesty. I know it's silly for a grown woman to need constant reassurance from the people who clearly already love her. But then, when have I ever claimed to be a grown woman?
I'm just a girl. And a girl needs lots of care. The people who make it past that inner wall -- past the pretence of adulthood -- they are the ones that I trust with that little girl self. They are the ones that I look to for guidance. They are the ones who can hurt me the most easily. All they have to do is ignore me.
I'm not always sure how or when to ask for help. When it's ok to ask for the attention I crave. How to present that I need compliments, reassurance, praise. I'm just little. I'm still learning. I need help with these things.
Pardon my absence yesterday, but I was sick. Fever, headache, congestion... Oh, the joy. And it got worse if I stood up. I'm still not feeling fantastic today, but I'm well enough to be at work.
I got to K's house on Tuesday night, and he played Daddy. Wrapped me up in a blanket and snuggled me on the couch. Watched shows with me. Brought me hot drinks. Tucked me in to bed.
He's good at that.
In the morning, when I still wasn't feeling well, I looked to him. I was ready to leave for work, but I wanted to stay and sleep. He gave his permission, I called in, and he tucked me in once more. He's good for snuggling. He's good for a lot of things.
I woke up in the afternoon. K and I did more snuggling, had dinner, and I headed home to go back to sleep.
Somewhere in that time, I checked my phone to find a message from D. He had already talked to the sitter, and I could sleep in the next morning instead of waking up at 6, when he drops off our son.
Am I too terribly spoiled? Rotten. I'm just so damned lucky!
I suppose I could post this on The Other Side, but it's not really about sex. So, instead, I'll just start off with a warning; My more squeamish readers should skip this one.
I have a fascination with blood.
Yesterday, I went to my regular checkup, and I made sure to request the full spectrum of STI testing. That means having blood drawn for HIV and Hep tests, among other things. I really love having blood drawn. The way that first spurt hits the vial, and then it quickly fills, in a tumultuous wave... It's gorgeous.
Then last night, I was talking to a lady over dinner. She mentioned once or twice her own interest in blood. She wants to taste it. I couldn't help but to develop a bit of a crush on her in that moment.
One of the most deeply touching and romantically erotic things that anyone has ever done with me was to taste my blood. A small needle -- of the sort that diabetics use to prick their skin for testing -- was brought out. It pierced the mound of flesh under my thumb, and a bright bead formed. Lips surrounded that tiny showing of my inner self, and it was carried away to become part of another.
On Sunday, I made a much needed trip to the book store. I didn't really have a book in mind, sometimes I just need to browse.
My favorite section is the metaphysical/other spiritual area. I peek at the Tarot cards in stock. Flip through a book on Palmistry. Roll my eyes at various spellbooks. (Really, who needs 200 pages of love spells?)
On this particular day, I picked up a book on trees and, I suppose, tree magic. I was flipping through it when I felt a tickle on my arm. Looking down, I giggled. A well-spotted ladybug had landed. I watched the beetle crawl it's way toward my hand before it flew up and away. I'm sure other patrons found my giggling and staring at the ceiling rather odd. But who cares!
I bought the book.
I also bought two gifts. I can't say what they are, as they will be going to two individuals that read this blog.
Books make me happy. Sitting on the floor of the book store -- brushing my fingers along the spines of new books, or flipping through something interesting -- it makes me feel good. Healthy. Alive.
I clung to my purchases as if someone might see the title in my hand and take it away. I held the book close to me as I wandered through the store. A precious thing. Mine.